By Elizabeth George
The unexpected loss of life of man Brouard after his morning swim shocks the citizens of Guernsey. A beneficiant shopper and benefactor of the island for the reason that his arrival there a decade in the past, his loss of life places a question mark over many adored initiatives. whilst a tender American girl is charged with the homicide, her brother seeks aid from the single touch he has within the united kingdom - Deborah St James. Deborah is horrified to discover that her previous good friend has been arrested and persuades her husband Simon to accompany her to Guernsey to avoid this miscarriage of justice. There they discover a tangled net of deceit and betrayal, with its origins in wartime career. In fixing the crime, they need to depend upon their long-standing friendship with Inspector Lynley; they have to additionally research painful classes approximately loyalty and belief, and the loving tyranny of family members ties.
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Additional info for A Place of Hiding (Inspector Lynley Mysteries 12) by Elizabeth George (2012-09-13)
This was early on, before I knew her. ” Simon cast a wry look in her direction. “To keep them from being cut down,” Deborah said simply. “And Cherokee’s father—they have different fathers—he was an environmentalist as well. Did he . . ” She thought about it, trying to remember. “I think he may have tied himself to railway tracks . . ” “Presumably to protect them as well? ” Deborah smiled. The toast popped up. Peach scooted out from her basket in the hope of fallout while Deborah crafted soldiers.
The trees rose on sheer hillsides held back by stone walls. At the base of these, water ﬂowed eagerly from an inland spring, chirping against stones as it raced to the sea. The way switched back and forth on itself, past a shadowy water mill and a misplaced Swiss chalet hotel that was closed for the season. It ended in a minuscule car park, where a snack bar the size of a misanthrope’s heart was boarded and locked, and the granite slipway once used to give horses and carts access to the vraic that was the island’s fertiliser was slick with seaweed.
The next day, neither Cherokee nor his sister was surprised when no one was up and about. They made their way to the kitchen around eightthirty and browsed until they found the cereal, the coffee, and the milk. They assumed it was okay to make their own breakfast while the Brouards slept off the previous night’s drunk. They ate, phoned for a taxi, and left for the airport. They never saw anyone from the estate again. They ﬂew to Paris and spent two days seeing the sights they’d only gazed upon in pictures.