BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) JANE ADAMS (fox in socks read aloud TXT) 📖

the first place. For Rozlyn, watching their love rekindle had been at once wonderful and embarrassing. She caught them kissing in the kitchen, her mother pushed back against the table so that her buttocks pressed and deformed against its edge, her father’s hand fumbling at her mother’s breast. Rozlyn had been both shamed and exultant. She closed the door, hoping they would not know that she had seen. Later, she found it hard to sit at that place at the kitchen table where her mother’s body had been pressed. It seemed at the one time soiled and intimate and . . . she didn’t know what words to use, only that to touch that place discomforted her beyond any words.

And then, she had been late home, not been with them in the car when it crashed on that wet road. And the dream was ended almost as soon as it had been restored to life.

“There’s just you and me now, girl.”

“I know. What do we do?”

“We carry on. What else is there to do? You’ve got to go back and finish this year of school, then in the summer, we’ll decide if you carry on over there or come and study here.”

“Will you come back with me, Gramps? I don’t want to be alone.”

And so, finally, the worlds had begun to collide. Her grandfather living in her mother’s house and walking through the village street to the tiny post-office-cu-shop a couple of times a day, just because he liked to talk to the owners and then in the autumn, returning to the high towers and hazy skies to finish school in New York.

And all through her memories and dreams Ethan’s words wove and wandered, the language strange and sonorous resolving itself slowly into words that she could understand . . .

“I placed his treasure beneath the altar stone and gave orders that, when I too had fled my body, I should be placed beside these things as guardian. A Pagan thought of which Treven, child of ancient gods, would no doubt have approved. A sword, a spear and a brooch like a shield boss, enriched with red enamel . . .”

* * *

Rozlyn thought she dreamed, but this time she was in another place. She had returned to Mark Richards’ house and this time she knew exactly where to look. She stood beside the chantry wall and turned the object she had found so that the moonlight struck its gleaming surface. It rested in her palm, round and heavy and precious, though surely not so precious that it should have cost a man his life. She had been right in her guess. Charlie had hidden something here. Though not in the bird’s nest but in a chink between the stones, right next to that, where the mortar had been pulled free by the clinging roots of ivy. The bird’s nest had fallen away as soon as she had touched it and as she examined it in the light of her torch, she had realised at once that it had never belonged in that position. It had been shoved among the ivy, settled into place between the roots and leaves. Of course, Rozlyn thought, Charlie would have seen the bird’s nest, used it as a marker. He would not have hidden such a precious object where it could so easily be found. Instead, he had found that little gap between the stones, and pushed the brooch, wrapped in cloth, into it and placed the old nest into position. Such a simple deception, neat and precise. So Charlie.

In the distance, she could hear the barking of the dogs. One let out a howl that chilled her blood and a man’s voice shouted.

In her dream, Rozlyn turned and ran, the grass, wet with rain that was freezing fast now the clouds had been blown away and the night sky opened to draw heat from the sodden ground. Her feet slid and she stumbled, falling to her knees. The cold and damp seeped through her trousers and the hand she put out to slow her fall dug deep into the earth. She scrambled to her feet and ran again, aware that the dogs were gaining.

And then the challenge. A man shouted, a dog appeared from nowhere, teeth bared, snarling and growling, its entire body one mass of sprung muscle waiting to attack.

A second man appeared beside it, with the second dog. Rozlyn stood still, knowing that dogs and men wanted her to move, wanted the excuse to attack. Then a familiar voice.

“Inspector Priest. Well, this is a surprise. When the alarm sounded and Albert told me we had an intruder, I never expected it to be you.”

Rozlyn drew a deep breath. Eyes still on the dogs, she forced herself to reply as calmly as possible. “No, well, you knew it wouldn’t be Charlie Higgins come back. He’s dead, isn’t he.”

“Charlie who? I’m sorry Inspector, but I’ve no idea who that might be.”

“Really. I’d have thought you might remember the man who stole from you. A brooch, wasn’t it, from the cabinet beside the window.”

She noted the slight frown, knew she had hit her mark but his reply was smooth. “I have nothing missing, Inspector. As Albert told you, that item has gone for some conservation work to be done. I like to keep my collection pristine.”

Rozlyn shifted position. Her back and her head ached abominably, the world swam. She could feel the sweat break out on her forehead and her whole body was slick with it. She swayed slightly where she stood. What was going to happen now? She felt too ill to care. Besides, she was dreaming, wasn’t she? When did dreams ever make sense?

“You don’t look too well, Inspector.”

She could hear the distaste in his voice.

“My people will escort you back to the house. I think that’s best.”

“So you can do to me what