Gemma glanced at her almost-empty glass, deciding she’d drunk as much as she ought if she wanted to keep a clear head. “Better not, thanks.”

“You here on business? We don’t let the rooms much this time of year. November in these hills is not exactly a drawing point for holiday-makers.”

“Quite,” said Gemma, remembering the fine drizzle under the darkness of the trees. Tony straightened glassware and kept an attentive eye on her at the same time, willing to talk if she wanted, but not pushing her. His self-assured friendliness made her wonder if he might be the pub’s owner or manager, but in any case he was certainly a likely repository for local gossip.

“I’m here about that drowning this morning, actually. Police business.”

Tony stared at her, taking in, she felt sure, the curling ginger hair drawn back with a clip, the casual barley-colored pullover and navy slacks. “You’re a copper? Well, I’ll be.” He shook his head, his wavy hair not disturbed a whit by his incredulity. “Best-looking one I’ve seen, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Gemma smiled, accepting the compliment in the same good humor as it was given. “Did you know him, the man that drowned?”

This time Tony tut-tutted as he shook his head. “What a shame. Oh, everyone around here knew Connor. Doubt there’s a pub between here and London where he hadn’t put his head in once or twice. Or a racetrack. A real Jack the Lad, that one.”

“Well liked, was he?” asked Gemma, fighting her prejudice toward a man on such good terms with pints and horses. Only after she’d married Rob had she discovered that he considered flirting and gambling as inalienable rights.

“Connor was a friendly sort of bloke, always had a word and a pat on the back for you. Good for business, too. After he’d had a couple of pints he’d buy rounds for everybody in the place.” Tony leaned forward against the bar, his face animated. “And what a tragedy for the family, after the other.”