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- Book Name:Death Comes to the Costa del Sol (Astrid Swift #3)
- Book Author:M.H. Eccleston
- Book Series:Book 3 in the Astrid Swift series
- Book ASIN:B09WZ6N9Q5
- Date of Publication:April 13, 2023
- PDF File Size:3.89Mb
- EPUB File Size:4.20Mb
- Downloads:24
Amateur sleuth Astrid Swift swaps the sporting summer in England for a British expat enclave in Spain, where everyone has a secret for leaving the UK.Amidst the sun and sangria, something sinister is lurking. A world-famous restaurant has been the victim of a robbery, and soon the perfect seaside town finds itself rattled by a poison-pen campaign that is teasing out its residents’ secrets on social media.With priceless art gone missing – and her own father insistent that his life is under threat – Astrid is called to piece together the puzzle before it’s too late for both the town and her father.
The Following Text Is From Page 126 Of Death Comes to the Costa del Sol (Astrid Swift #3)
rake that was lying on the grass next to the other bunker. She used it to smooth over her own and Declan’s footprints. Not because of golfing etiquette, but because she didn’t want the police to know she’d been nosing around. She gave Elliot’s golf bag a thorough search and found a water bottle (half drunk – smelt like water), a bar of cherry flapjack in a clear wrapper, a pair of light waterproof trousers and the usual golfing accessories: tools, brushes, tees, pencils and spare balls – unmarked Titleist Pro V1s. There was a scorecard tucked into a clip on the trolley handle. She pulled it out and checked his score – seventy-five for sixteen holes. Elliot had had an excellent day on the course… well, apart from the dying bit. She was about to put her phone in her pocket but realised that Declan’s rangefinder was there – he’d rushed off before she could give it back. She brought it up to her right eye and turned slowly round. To the right of the green was a high wire fence that ran behind a flank of olive trees. There was nobody on the sixteenth tee box, or the couple of holes behind. Then it was over the lake, and back to the clubhouse. She’d come full circle without seeing any other players. She put the rangefinder in her pocket and set off towards the eighteenth hole. It was surprising that nobody had come out to see her – better check what was going on. The clubhouse terrace was still busy. A few of the members stood up and watched her drag her trolley up the path. They seemed excited – ready to greet her. The news must be out, she thought. When she was ten yards away, Yellow Shirt and Blue Shirt pushed their seats back from their table. It was cluttered with empty pint glasses. They got up unsteadily and weaved down to the low wall. ‘We heard,’ said Yellow Shirt mournfully. ‘Is it true?’ ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Astrid. Blue Shirt took his visor off and waved it in front of his face. ‘Unbelievable. I mean—’ ‘Just unbelievable.’ Yellow Shirt finished his sentence. He shook his head in utter disbelief. ‘We never thought it would happen.’ ‘Uh, sorry…?’ said Astrid, now confused. ‘Declan… He shot under ninety.’ rewbook.com
rake that was lying on the grass next to the other bunker. She used it to smooth over her own and Declan’s footprints. Not because of golfing etiquette, but because she didn’t want the police to know she’d been nosing around. She gave Elliot’s golf bag a thorough search and found a water bottle (half drunk – smelt like water), a bar of cherry flapjack in a clear wrapper, a pair of light waterproof trousers and the usual golfing accessories: tools, brushes, tees, pencils and spare balls – unmarked Titleist Pro V1s. There was a scorecard tucked into a clip on the trolley handle. She pulled it out and checked his score – seventy-five for sixteen holes. Elliot had had an excellent day on the course… well, apart from the dying bit. She was about to put her phone in her pocket but realised that Declan’s rangefinder was there – he’d rushed off before she could give it back. She brought it up to her right eye and turned slowly round. To the right of the green was a high wire fence that ran behind a flank of olive trees. There was nobody on the sixteenth tee box, or the couple of holes behind. Then it was over the lake, and back to the clubhouse. She’d come full circle without seeing any other players. She put the rangefinder in her pocket and set off towards the eighteenth hole. It was surprising that nobody had come out to see her – better check what was going on. The clubhouse terrace was still busy. A few of the members stood up and watched her drag her trolley up the path. They seemed excited – ready to greet her. The news must be out, she thought. When she was ten yards away, Yellow Shirt and Blue Shirt pushed their seats back from their table. It was cluttered with empty pint glasses. They got up unsteadily and weaved down to the low wall. ‘We heard,’ said Yellow Shirt mournfully. ‘Is it true?’ ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Astrid. Blue Shirt took his visor off and waved it in front of his face. ‘Unbelievable. I mean—’ ‘Just unbelievable.’ Yellow Shirt finished his sentence. He shook his head in utter disbelief. ‘We never thought it would happen.’ ‘Uh, sorry…?’ said Astrid, now confused. ‘Declan… He shot under ninety.’ rewbook.com
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