21
Fina sat on a cold, hard bench by the front desk of the police station. Merry snowflakes outside seemed to taunt her in this rather un-Christmas-like situation. Her stomach churned and her shoulders ached. She winced as she readjusted her bruised legs. Blasted Mrs Trumper. Blasted village. Blasted police.
“Here, Miss Aubrey-Havelock. Have a cuppa. Sweet and hot.” PC Budge handed her a chipped teacup with some rather dubious brown liquid in it. At least it was warm. She took a tentative sip and burned her tongue, but not before spilling it on her coat. Sums up how this day is going.
“Now, tell me what happened.” He sat down across from her, smoothed out his trouser legs and scribbled on a pad.
“You’ve obviously already made up your mind. Otherwise you would have arrested Mrs Trumper.
