Old Sins Never Die (Emmeline Kirby and Gregory Longdown Mysteries, Book 6) by Daniella Bernett
Subgenre: British Mystery, Spy Fiction
About Old Sins Never Die:
Tobermory, Isle of Mull, Scotland November 2010
The few strands of pearly moonlight dangling from the midnight sky shivered in the bracing wind. Soon, they would be swallowed whole by the menacing swath of clouds making its stealthy approach. And never would they be seen again on this miserable, murky night.
Emmeline cast a wary glance at the heavens. They held a teeming, silent threat of rain. Not one of those pleasant showers that freshened the air and coaxed spring blooms from their winter slumber, but rather a pelting assault that sought to punish all humanity for its sins from time in memoriam.
Emmeline tore her gaze from the impending doom Mother Nature had in store and squinted at Gregory. He hadn’t uttered a word in the last five minutes. What she could discern of his profile was set in taut lines. His body radiated tension as he expertly guided the Zodiac dinghy across the harbor’s inky netting of undulating liquid silk. Her fingers clutched for dear life at the rope that ringed the motorized dinghy. Up and down she bounced. Up and down. If, no when—definitely when—it started to rain she probably wouldn’t feel a thing. She was already drenched from the spray of splashing water, while the chill had settled deep in her bones—along with fear.
She hunched forward and hugged her arms around her body. A sadistic tentacle of wind managed to find the gap between the collar of her Barbour jacket and her neck. It slithered down her spine with apparent glee. She wanted to shake her fist at the sky. Only the possibility of tumbling backward into the water prevented her from doing so.
It was madness, sheer madness. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had put the past behind them. She had put the past behind her. She was looking forward to the future.
And now this.
Against her will, her gaze was drawn to the huddled lump curled at her feet. The gloom hid the gravity of the situation. But she knew. She knew all too well in fact. It was a man. She could still feel his blood on her hands. She was certain they would be stained forever.
She squeezed her eyes shut. However, she was ambushed by images of the horror she and Gregory had witnessed not more than ten minutes ago. Was it only ten minutes? It felt as if it had been an eternity already. Her mind wouldn’t let her forget—would never let her forget—seeing the man sprawled, spread-eagled on his back on the floor in the yacht’s parlor. From the sinister hole in the center of his chest seeped his blood—thick, crimson, and terrifying.
She shuddered as her eyes popped open. She carefully bent forward, ears straining against the wind. Was he still breathing? She couldn’t hear anything. She leaned in closer. Still nothing. Her pulse was racing through her veins.
She shot a look at Gregory. The wind caught the tremor in her voice. “I…I think…”
He cut her off, barely flicking a glance in her direction. “Yes, darling, you’re quite right. He’s dead.”