"Crombie, Deborah - A Share in Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Crombie Deborah)

MG Midget. Only the fact that the springs in the driver's
seat had collapsed years ago kept his head from brushing
the soft top when he drove. He stood for a moment, looking
about him. To the west, a low row of cottages, built of the
same golden stone as the house--to the east, the manicured
grounds stretched away toward the bulk of Sutton
Bank.

Ease seemed to seep into the very pores of his skin, and
not until he felt himself taking slow, deep breaths did he
realize just how tense he'd been. Pushing the last, niggling
thoughts of work to the edge of his mind, he took his grip
from the boot and walked toward the house.


The heavy oak-paneled front door was off the latch. It
swung open at Kincaid's touch, and he found himself in
a typical country-house entry, complete with Wellingtons
and umbrella stand. In the hall beyond, a Chinese bowl
of bronze chrysanthemums on a side table clashed with
the patterned crimson carpeting. The still air smelled of
furniture polish.


A woman's voice could be heard clearly through the
partly open door on his left, the words bitten off with
furious precision. "Listen, you little leech. I'm telling
you for the last time to lay off my private affairs.
I'm sick of your snooping and prying when you think
nobody's watching." Kincaid heard the sharp intake of
the woman's breath. "What I do in my off-hours is
nobody else's business, least of all yours. You've done
well to get as far as you have, considering your background
and your attributes." The emphasis on the last
word was scathing. "But, by god, I'll see you stopped.

A share in death 5


You made a mistake when you thought you'd climb
over me."


"As if I'd want to!" Kincaid grinned in spite of himself
at the intimation, as the second voice continued. "Get off
it, Cassie. You're a right cow. Just because you've wormed
your way into the manager's job doesn't make you Lord
High Executioner. Besides," the speaker added, with what
seemed to be a touch of malice, "you wouldn't dare complain
about me. I may not give a damn about your doings