Murder on the Moor by Julianna Deering, DeAnna Julie Dodson

Murder on the Moor

Murder on the Moor by Julianna Deering, DeAnna Julie Dodson (Drew Farthering Mystery #5)
English | 2017 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 3.6 MB

JULIANNA DEERING (also writing as DeAnna Julie Dodson) has always been an avid reader and a lover of storytelling, whether on the page, the screen or the stage.

Mystery Awaits on the Mysterious Yorkshire Moors

At the urgent request of an old school friend, Drew and Madeline Farthering come to Bloodworth Park Lodge in the midst of the Yorkshire moors, a place as moody and mysterious as a Brontë hero. There have been several worrisome incidents out on the moor–property destroyed, fires started, sheep and cattle scattered–and worst of all, the vicar has been found dead on the steps of the church.

Drew’s friend is obviously smitten with his bride of eight months, though it’s hard to imagine what she sees in the awkward man. Drew can’t help wondering if her affections lie more with the man’s money and estate, while her romantic interests focus on their fiery Welsh gamekeeper. As the danger grows ever closer, it’s up to Drew to look past his own prejudices, determine what is really going on, and find the killer before it’s too late.

And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. I lay still a while: the night swept over the hill and over me and died moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to the skin.’”

At Farthering Place, nestled in the Hampshire countryside, the rain also fell fast, drumming against the windowpanes, joining the wind and the thunder to make the cold October night even more forbidding. Eyes closed, Drew Farthering lay on the sofa before the library fireplace, his head in his wife’s lap, listening as she read from Jane Eyre.

“Poor Jane. I’m glad we’re in here and not out there.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Madeline said, but there was a smile playing at her lips and in her periwinkle-blue eyes. She was never very good at scolding. “‘Could I but have stiffened to the still frost—the friendly numbness of death—it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it; but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence.’”

“I beg your pardon, madam, but there is a telephone call for you, sir.”

“My yet living flesh shudders.” Drew opened one baleful eye at the butler’s interruption. “Is it critical, Denny?”

Dennison merely looked appropriately grave. “I couldn’t say, sir. The gentleman claims it is urgent.”

Drew sighed and sat up, disturbing the black-and-white cat sleeping on his chest and the pure white one nestled at his side.

“Sorry, Eddie girl,” he said as, unperturbed, the tuxedo cat stretched and settled herself next to Madeline. The white one glared at him and sat down near the fire to groom himself. “Sorry, Chambers, old man.”

Drew stretched as well and then smoothed down the back of his hair. He couldn’t imagine who’d ring up this time of the evening. True, he’d been taking a bit more interest in Farlinford Processing these days, but surely any matter of urgency would be directed to Landis, who managed the company for him. And it seemed likely that if there were a difficulty concerning Madeline’s family in Chicago, the caller would have asked to speak to her directly.

“Did the gentleman give his name?”

“A Mr. Hubert Bloodworth, sir, of Bloodworth Park Lodge, Bunting’s Nest, Yorkshire.”

“Hubert .  .  .” Drew frowned and looked at Madeline. “Do we know any Bloodworths, darling?”

“Well, I certainly don’t. Why don’t you just go see what he wants?” She snickered at him. “And don’t pout.”

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