Quotes from Faith Martin

What was she supposed to do now? Swoon at his feet? Jenny bit back a grin as she wondered what he'd do if she did. If he attempted to catch her, she'd squash him flat.

both with a mixture of relief and apprehension. Jenny could well imagine

Easily led. And obviously used to being handled by the women in his life. Excellent. It meant that he'd already been thoroughly house-trained.

Still, he was being canny, and that was a good thing. All in all, she rather liked her policemen to be wily. It made her feel safer.

companionable

Miss Starling's first priority is always food, apparently.

Quite simply, the old man had told her, a victim of murder could rely on no one but the investigating officer to fight his or her corner. The family and friends of a murder victim might, for some reason, abandon them. The victim might never even be identified. The case might be open and shut, or never solved. But the dead can't ask questions, or justify themselves, or hunt the guilty, or prosecute, or do any other thing a living person could. The dead needed you.

Pippa was too unpredictable and wild to play away with.

compos mentis.

I've seen it before: a good-looking, middle-aged woman in a dead marriage; they find some young handsome bloke, and it's love's young dream all over again. I think they're trying to recapture their youth, or something. Perhaps they think it's their last chance at romance, or having a last bite of the big, emotional cherry. All I know is, when they get like this, they fall harder than a ton of bricks.

station-house gossip, had seen it all and done it all, and took flack

Usually when somebody did you a favour, you not only looked the gift horse well and truly in the mouth, you checked its fetlocks, mane and chest too while you were at it. Not to mention keeping a wary look out for mange, foot rot and fleas. Well, you did if you were a serving copper.

on the outside, and all of

She was a lady, the real deal, the kind who wouldn't have dreamed of making any apology for themselves, or the way they lived their lives.

frog-marched

supposed he'd get used to the smell eventually, even though he

mendaciously

portentously

CHAPTER ONE It was a beautiful Sunday evening in mid-March when Hillary Greene turned the corner onto a very familiar part of the Oxford canal. Up ahead, she could just make out the first glimpse of the few rooftops and chimneys that marked the small hamlet of Thrupp, which was less than a mile from Kidlington, in the heart of Oxfordshire's Thames Valley. She throttled down the engine of the Mollern, her narrowboat and home for more

peremptorily.

invasion into his market, he wouldn't be a happy bunny,' Mike pointed out. 'There's good money to be had from expensive Toms.' Hillary sighed. 'Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we? We've got one dead student, who happened to be making some money hooking.

busman's holiday

She told herself she didn't need breakfast, and ignoring her rumbling tummy, reached for the coffee jar. She flicked on the radio and spooned some instant into a mug, searching her fridge for milk. Someone further along the towpath was frying bacon. The bastard.

Heard of her,' Hillary said, thinking back. 'Tall woman