Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

20. Market For Murder

"... a billion pounds. The UK company—"

Selwyn Proctor strode into the sitting room where his young wife was doing some embroidery, and she quickly turned the radio down. He didn't seem to notice, though, too absorbed in his own business to have suspicions over hers. "I'm afraid I've got to drive up to town."

Tamsin blinked. "What? Now, Selwyn?"

"There's a bit of a panic on," he admitted. "The Dow Jones closed two hundred points down. You go to bed. I'll be home tomorrow evening." He kissed her hair brusquely, then tutted as he looked around the room. "Honestly, the house is lit up like a damn Christmas tree. It all costs money, you know."

"Good night, then," she called, and the door slammed shut on it.

Outside, Selwyn lifted his mobile to his ear, smirking. "It's me. We're on, the usual place." He climbed into his car, putting on his seatbelt, and turned the ignition...

... and a plume of flame blossomed in his rear view mirror.

His eyes widened, and he turned in his seat to see the fire burning near the rear wheel arch. He scrambled to get out, his seatbelt locking in place; he yanked it once, twice, three times and it finally came loose, spilling him out onto the driveway. And as he dove onto the lawn, hands over head, the car blew up in a great fireball.

***

"You should fit in well with this lot, Winifred," Tom teased the next afternoon as Gavin drove the three detectives into the well-to-do village of Midsomer Market. "You need a mortgage to breathe around here."

In the back seat, Freddie rolled her eyes, her lips twitching despite herself. "I'm rolling in the aisles, Tom. Look at me, I'm simply hysterical." As he turned in his seat to grin at her, she returned it, turning her attention to Gavin. "Are you quite all right, Gav? I've never seen you look in your mirrors so much in all your life!"

"I'm not looking in my mirrors," he told her distractedly, craning his neck to look across the village green. "I'm looking for a newsagent."

"Oh, well, thank goodness for that. That makes far more sense." She nodded to herself. "Carry on."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Tom, holding up a hand. "Why are you looking for a newsagent, Troy?"

Gavin blinked. "To get a newspaper." He spotted one and pulled over with all his customary lack of respect for the Highway Code, hurrying inside.

"In fairness," added Freddie, "you did rather walk into that one, Tom."

"Hmm." Gavin climbed back in, reaching back to put his newspaper on the back seat beside Freddie, and Tom couldn't help but raise his eyebrows as he caught the name of it. "The Investment Daily, Troy?"

"It was all they had left, sir," Gavin said innocently. He pulled away again.

***

A little later, they had arrived at the Proctor residence, identifiable by the rather unmissable burnt out motor car sitting on the drive.

"So, the fire started when you turned on the ignition, is that right?" Tom asked.

Selwyn nodded. "Yes, it was simultaneous."

"Well, we'll let forensics have a look at that. Can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against you, Mr. Proctor?"

"Certainly not!"

Gavin scratched his head, peering at the burnt out wreck. "What kind of car is it, sir?"

"It was a '63 Alvis," Selwyn replied, sniffing.