The Bullet That Missed (Thursday Murder Club, #3)

by Richard Osman

“I’m sure,” says Elizabeth. “If murder were easy, none of us would survive Christmas.”

The wife fell in love with a little farmhouse, but there was no room for the husband to keep his hang-glider, and so they didn’t put in an offer. You could see the wife

was heartbroken, but she married him, and so she must shoulder some of the blame.

“Look, we got along fine. I’ve seen worse,” says Pauline. “I don’t know if it was love’s young dream though. You had to get married in those days, didn’t you? Had to find someone.”

“Oh, I didn’t fall in love with him,” says Joyce. “Nothing like that. I just walked into a room and there he was, and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and that’s all there was to it. Like I had always been in love with him, no falling necessary. Like finding the perfect pair of shoes.”

He’s very slow at responding to messages, he gets grumpy easily, especially if he hasn’t eaten.

She is talking so quietly and calmly, it makes Ron want to fling himself out of a window.

There is no escape. He is going to have to be touched, and make conversation. He is going to have to relax, God help him.

He looks up at the faces above him once more. Maybe he just got lucky.

“For God’s sake, Viktor,” says Elizabeth. “Stop smiling and shut your eyes. You’re dead.” I think I was dead, yes, I think I was. Viktor shuts his eyes and, with some difficulty, stops smiling.

If life ever seems too complicated, if you think no one can help, sometimes the right person to turn to is an eight-year-old.

He is very lovely, Viktor, very kind, but he’s not my type. Gerry was my type, Bernard was my type. Perhaps another one will be along one day. He’d better get a move on though, I’m nearly seventy-eight.

Will she be holding Stephen’s hand in a hospice someday soon? Of course she will. But she will laugh with him, and she will love him, and she will give thanks for him, and for the woman he has made her. And she will cry the lifetime of tears she has denied herself.

“So we are many things,” says Elizabeth. “A nuisance, yes. Something you could live without, certainly. A pain in the backside, spot on, you’ve got us. But we are also serious, we are also no threat, and we are, believe it or not, once you get to know us, rather a lot of fun.”

“Admit it,” says Elizabeth. “We do seem fun? And we are investigating two murders.”

“Anahita,” says Kuldesh, looking over. “The Persian goddess of love and battle.” “Love and battle, good for you, Anahita,” says Donna. “I love her.”

He looks over to Donna. “I am but a humble shopkeeper, I don’t really know any criminals.” “And I’m the goddess of love and battle,” says Donna, now looking at a pewter inkwell in the shape of a chihuahua.

they are getting married, so it is going toward their wedding. He must have been fifteen years older than her. I know you shouldn’t judge but really. I wanted to shout to her, “Get out while you

can!”

Where were you on the night of Bethany’s death? fiona: I was doing coke in a hotel with a cameraman. me: We bought ten thousand pounds’ worth of cocaine recently. Who’s the nicest person you’ve ever interviewed?

told her I carry around a picture of everyone I’ve ever slept with in my purse. Then I opened it, and showed her that the only picture in my purse was one of Gerry, and she said, “Yes, I got it the first time, Joyce.”

Mike had a place there years back. It’s like a hall of residence half the time.”

wait I was thinking Pauline but what about Mike??

“Ghost are you, chief?” says Stephen, tapping his notebook. He has the immediate attention of the room. “Nice to see you again by the way. This is the Viking you were talking about, then, Elizabeth.” “Yes, dear,” says Elizabeth. “The very one.”

“I am not Henrik Hansen,” says Henrik Hansen. “I think you probably are,” says Elizabeth. “My husband doesn’t get an awful lot wrong.”

“No, I am not Henrik,” says Henrik again, his anger rising. “You are all wrong, and you are all dead. Every single one of you.” “Henrik,” says Joyce, kindly, “you couldn’t even kill me.”

But each and every one of you in the room, each and every one of you, in your own different way, is absolutely barking mad.”

Was he still an idiot at times? Sure. Could he still be difficult? Yes, particularly when hungry.

Viktor and Henrik are at the dining table, hunched over the financial documents from Heather Garbutt’s trial.

love that these men have been dragged in

“Ron, Henrik is a guest,” says Ibrahim. “A guest?” says Ron, still not looking up from his phone. “Yesterday he wanted to kill Joyce, and now he’s a guest.” “And he wanted to kill me too,” says Viktor. “Guys, it was an error,” says Henrik. “I wanted to be tough. I cannot keep apologizing.”

“Love is very precious,” says Viktor, and takes a sip of his mint tea. “I wonder if I could ask you to put a lace doily under your teacup,” says Ibrahim. “To prevent the wood from marking.” “Could I use your bathroom?” asks Henrik. “I forgot to moisturize this morning, and I can feel myself drying out.” Ron looks at Ibrahim. “So much testosterone in one room, mate. So much testosterone.”

Alan literally can’t believe his luck. Even more people!

“That money is still there, as far as I am able to tell, which is actually quite far, because I am very good at

sort of thing.” “Not so good at killing pensioners,” says Joyce, and gets a “Hear, hear” from Viktor.

Andrew Everton clasps his hands together, as if in a prayer of forgiveness. “I murdered Bethany Waites.”

okay now I dont believe him!? its too tidy?

“But it was important,” says Bogdan. “It was an award. What if you never win another award?” “Thank you for the vote of confidence,” says Donna. “Here’s the basic rule: if I’m up for an award, I want you to be there—unless you’re catching a murderer by livestreaming a confession from the Instagram account of a famous television presenter. Then you’re excused.”

Bogdan reaches into a holdall in the back of the car and presents Donna with the statue of Anahita, goddess of love and battle. “Donna, I highly commend you.” “Bogdan!” says Donna. “I wanted to get it engraved, but apparently you’re not supposed to.” Donna can’t believe what she’s holding. “Bogdan, it was two thousand quid! We could have had two weeks in Greece for that.” Bogdan smiles. “Kuldesh sold it to me for one pound. And he said to tell you to keep dodging the bricks.” Donna looks at her statue, her award. And then back at Bogdan. “Why did he sell it to you for one pound?” “Well,” says Bogdan, opening his car door. “He asked me if I was in love with you. And I said yes.”

” Ron looks at Pauline. He doesn’t want to say it, but he has to. “Your mascara,” says Ron. “Bobbi Brown, your favorite. Bobbi Brown Mascara. ‘Robert Brown

MSc.’

yessss

But he is in love, and he accepts that will bring its own challenges. Bogdan knocks, then opens the door, calling Stephen’s name.

tried chess a few times,” says Stephen. “Never got the hang of it. You play?” “Yes, I play,” says Bogdan. “Any good?” says Stephen. “Depends,” says Bogdan, determined to stop the tears forming. “In chess you’re only really ever as good as the person you play against.”

“It was about half ten,” Pauline begins, barely able to look Ron in the eye. “I was getting ready for bed, believe it or not, early start the next day. There’s a ring on the door. I ignore it, nothing good comes at night unless you’ve ordered it.

Maybe the emails are from Bethany. Mike can choose to believe it if he wishes. And, if they are, he hopes she saw the broadcast the other day. The tribute he paid her. He hopes she knows, wherever she is, up above, down below, or somewhere in between, that he loves her.

And, talking of walking dogs, I do often bump into Mervyn and Rosie. Mervyn is so handsome I have to stop my tail from wagging when I’m around him. He doesn’t say much, but sometimes that can be a relief, can’t it? With some men you spend most of your time just nodding in agreement.

just to see if he takes the hint, but he just says, “Thank you, that’ll last me two days.” But the way he says it, in that deep, commanding voice—well, it’s worth it just for that.

“It has been an adventure,” says Viktor. “I am grateful for that. I have been shot, buried and brought back to life. And I’ve played a lot of snooker.” “Welcome to the Thursday Murder Club,” says Elizabeth.

Henrik is back in Staffordshire, but has started sending Viktor cat videos from the internet. That feels a lot like a ceasefire to Elizabeth.

It is far too cold to swim, but Joyce would not be dissuaded. Elizabeth had told her not to be so silly, and that the pool would still be here in the summer. “Ah, but we may not be,” Joyce had replied, and she was right. It was best to grab everything while you could. Who knows when your final swim might come, your final walk, your final kiss?

Joyce sees Elizabeth looking, and gives her a wave. Elizabeth waves back. You keep swimming, Joyce. You keep swimming, my beautiful friend. You keep your head above the water for as long as you can.

My only job is to try to entertain you, and I really, really want you to have a good time. Even if that “good time” involves crying in public, or missing your stop on the bus.

Natalie is the first person ever to succinctly explain to me when I should be using “which” and when I should be using “that.” It is a piece of knowledge that I will always remember.