Dreaming of the Bones

he added, grinning. ”Don’t worry, Alec. I won’t expect you to tell me I’ve been helpful, even off the record.”
    Byrne sat back with an air of weary resignation. ”Just don’t let me hear anyone complain you’ve been harassing them, or misrepresenting yourself as having any authority in this investigation,” he said, and on that friendly basis they parted.

    * * *

    Kincaid had a hurried and mediocre lunch at one of the pubs in Grantchester. When he’d finished, he waited until the barman had a free moment and made his way to the bar. ”Do you happen to know where Nathan Winter lives?” he asked.
    The man’s round, friendly face creased with instant concern. ”It’s just two cottages up the way,” he said, pointing back towards Cambridge . ”The white one with the black trim and the thatched roof. Lots of flowers in the front.” Studying Kincaid with undisguised curiosity, he added, ”Do you know about our Dr. McClellan, then?” He shook his head. ”Who’d have thought it? A beautiful young woman like her dying like that. And who’d have thought Nathan would go absolutely berserk when he heard she was dead? Tried to break her door down, he did, until the neighbors pulled him off and got old Dr. Warren to come and dress his hand.”
    ”You don’t say?” Kincaid looked suitably impressed. ”Have you known Mr. Winter long?”
    ”Since we were kids at school. That’s his parents’ cottage he has now. They died a few years ago, and Nathan came back from Cambridge and fixed it up. His wife had died and I suppose it gave him something new to think about.” It was the mark of the truly insular villager, thought Kincaid, that the man would refer to a city less than two miles away as someplace from which to come back.
    ”Poor man,” added the barman with easy sympathy. ”You’d think he’d had more than his share of grief as it was. And we thought he and Dr. McClellan were no more than nodding acquaintances. Just goes to show you never really know about people, doesn’t it?” he said with great satisfaction.
    Kincaid thanked him and took his leave before the man’s curiosity could turn in his direction. Nosy neighbors were one of the world’s greatest blessings, he thought as he went out into the sunshine, and that little conversation had been well worth the processed chicken and chips.
    Leaving his car in the pub car park, he walked up the road, thinking about what he’d learned. Had Vic been in love with Nathan Winter? And if so, why should he be surprised she hadn’t told him ? He’d had no claim on her personal life, and he’d certainly no cause to feel this sudden stab of jealousy. Whatever the truth of the matter, it meant that Vic’s relationship with Winter had been much more complicated than he realized.
    He found the cottage easily. Its sleek, well-kept air was unmistakable, as was the hand of a master gardener. Tulips filled the beds on either side of the front door—tall, elegant, and pale pink in the background against the whitewashed cottage walls, then shorter, peony-headed tulips in rose, and beneath those the deep blue of forget-me-nots. Kincaid bent and picked one of the small blue flowers and slipped it in his pocket, then rang the bell.
    The man who answered the door wore a dog collar, and held a bunch of herbs in his hand. Tall and thin, with curly graying hair and spectacles that slipped down his nose, he gave Kincaid a friendly smile. ”Hullo. Can I help you?” Covering his surprise, Kincaid said, ”Urn, I was looking for Nathan Winter, actually.”
    ”I’m not sure Nathan’s up to having visitors just now. If I could just tell him—”
    ”Who the hell is it, Adam?” called a deeper voice from the back of the house.
    ”My name is Duncan Kincaid. I’m Vic McClellan’s ex-husband.”
    The man’s eyes widened. ”Oh. You’d better come in, then.” He stepped back so that Kincaid could enter. ”I’m Adam Lamb, by the way.”
    So this was Adam, Kincaid thought, glad now he’d read at least part of Vic’s manuscript.
    As Adam led him down the passageway, he said quietly, ”Nathan’s been very upset. You won’t—” He broke off with a glance at Kincaid. ”But I suppose this has been very difficult for you as well.”
    They reached a door, and Adam led him through it into a large room at the back of the house. ”We’ve been in the garden this morning,” he said, ”and we’d just come in for some lunch.”
    Kincaid took in a living