Billy Boyle (Billy Boyle World War II, #1)

by James R. Benn

Her head swiveled back to look at the flowers. She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief she held crumpled in one hand. I could have jumped on a broomstick and flown away for all she cared. She was someplace else. There wasn’t another chair and I had to make eye contact, so I knelt down in front of her. “Mrs. Brey?” Her eyes wavered and finally found me. “Yes? Who are you?” That was progress. “Lieutenant Billy Boyle, ma’am. I’m investigating the death of Knut Birkeland at Beardsley Hall.” She laughed. The laughter seemed to break the spell for her and she focused on me as she smiled. “That’s terribly funny.” “What is?” I asked. “One old man dies and they send a lieutenant. Thousands die in the air, at sea, all over the world, and then who do they send? No one.” She laughed some more. At first, I thought she was crazy, and then I thought it over. It really didn’t add up, did it? “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Boyle. I’m not usually so distracted. I haven’t been back here since Richard . . . disappeared. The memories were . . . I’m afraid I’ve been rude.” She wiped her eyes and tried to smile again. There wasn’t a lot of happiness to work with, so it wasn’t a big smile. She was pretty in a plain English country-girl sort of way, and even that frail grin lit up her face. Her hair was dark brown and pulled back, showing off a long and graceful neck. Her skin was flushed from the heat and a tiny bead of sweat worked its way down her throat and vanished beneath her pale green sundres...