Читать книгу Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries 1-3 - Frances Evesham - Страница 24

Libby's bones ached as she turned into the lane leading to Hope Cottage in the dark. She longed to get home, close the curtains to shut out the world, light the sitting room with the gentle glow of table lamps, collapse onto the comfortable sofa and think.

If only Max were here, she could run today's discoveries past him. Had he found out any more about Mickey? Susie's husband had an alibi, but that didn't mean he couldn't mastermind Susie's death from the other side of the Atlantic. It all depended on Susie's will.

She yawned and drove onto the drive. She'd hardly had time to think about Mrs Thomson's fall. Had the old lady been pushed: killed for something she'd seen through the wind and rain of Monday night? Libby shivered. Two women were dead, and the local police weren't bothering to investigate. She felt very alone. If she didn't persist, Susie and Mrs Thomson would be forgotten.

Later, she'd look through the photos in the old lady's album. Who knew what else she might uncover from Susie's past? But first, she needed a large glass of wine. Her mouth watered in anticipation as she parked the car in the drive, fumbled in her bag for keys, and unlocked the door.

As it opened, a wave of noise erupted. Mandy, the Goth. Libby had forgotten all about her. Televisions blared from every downstairs room. Above the racket, Mandy was singing, tuneless but enthusiastic. Libby shouted. ‘Mandy.’ She waited. ‘Mandy.’ She clattered up the stairs to hammer on the door of Mandy's room.

The door swung open. ‘Oh, hello, Libby.’ Mandy, eyes wide, covered her mouth with one hand and pulled an earphone off one ear. ‘Sorry, am I too noisy? Mum thumps on the ceiling with a broom handle when she wants me to shut up.’

Libby's exasperation dissolved. Having Mandy around reminded her of the recent, bitter-sweet days, when her own noisy teenagers lived with her, shoes and bags littering the hallway, damp towels everywhere and the fridge emptied as fast as she filled it. The angry retort died on her lips. ‘Is chicken and chips OK for dinner?’

‘Wow, wonderful. With some of that special sauce you told me about?’

‘Ready in half an hour.’

Bear and Fuzzy were still snoring in the sitting room. The dog had needed to recover and Fuzzy, over ten years old, could snooze for at least three quarters of every day, waking only to eat and wander outside hoping in vain to catch a bird.

Bear woke as she entered the room. ‘You can sleep through Mandy's racket, but you hear me come in on stockinged feet?’ Dogs, Libby decided, were remarkable creatures.

Leaving the animals, Libby opened a bottle of pinot noir in the kitchen. Mandy was lodging permanently so it was time to wean her off sweet white fizz. Forgetting the tired ache in her back, Libby set about preparations with enthusiasm. She made salad dressing, sliced potatoes into chips, washed vegetables and fried a handful of chestnut mushrooms in olive oil. In a minute or two, she'd add some crushed garlic, a slug of brandy, a whisk of mustard and a dollop of cream, and the sauce would be perfect.

She breathed in garlic and olive oil, the scent of sunshine and happiness. Mandy burst into the kitchen. ‘Mm. Smells good.’

Libby handed over a glass, one third full. ‘Sit down, Mandy. You're not to take a single mouthful yet.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘You'll enjoy it more, this way. Trust me.’ Mandy rolled her eyes, but waited, glass in hand. ‘Now, just circle the glass in your hand, so the air gets at the wine. That's it. Be gentle,’ as Mandy's wine threatened to spill over the top of the glass. ‘Now, have a look at the colour. Gorgeous, isn't it? OK, now get your nose in the glass and sniff.’

Mandy giggled and put on a fake, affected wine tasting voice. ‘I'm getting peaches, brambles and a spot of manure.’ Libby threw a tea towel at her. ‘Maybe I need another glass to be sure.’

‘Wait a minute, here's the food.’

Libby served the chicken breasts. Mandy spooned salad from the oversized wooden bowl onto her plate. ‘Mmm. Scrumptious.’

‘Had a good day at the shop?’

‘Your latest recipe went down well. What about your day? Made any discoveries?’

‘Not about Mrs Thomson, I'm afraid, but I found out one or two things about Susie.’

Mandy's phone rang. She bit her lip. ‘It's Mum.’ She pressed the button and her voice rose. ‘Calm down, Mum, I can't hear you.’

Libby could hear Elaine's voice on the other end of the phone. It sounded scared. Mandy's hand shook as she covered the phone to hiss at Libby. ‘It's Dad. He's having one of his tempers – stomping around upstairs and shouting.’

‘Tell your Mum to come over here. She mustn't stay there. No, wait, I'll go and get her.’

Mandy relayed the message to her hysterical mother. ‘No, Mum, stay there, but keep an eye out. Libby's coming.’ Her voice rose. ‘Mum, I can hear him. Get out of the house, now!’

Libby ran to the car and accelerated away, tyres screaming. The drive took less than three minutes. She screeched to a halt, just as Mandy's mother, coat-less despite the cold, ran out, fumbling at the car door. Libby leaned over to release the catch and Elaine half fell into the car, shivering, cheeks wet with tears, teeth chattering so she could barely speak. ‘I s-sneaked out the back door when Bert went to get b-beer from the fridge.’

Bert burst through the front door, bottle raised, and Elaine screamed. Libby stepped on the accelerator.

‘Hold tight.’ The Citroen roared away from the kerb, heading for home. ‘Just in time.’

Home in minutes, Libby slotted the safety chain firmly in place on the front door while Mandy took her mother's arm and settled her in the kitchen, still trembling. ‘Did he hit you?’ A cut on Elaine's forehead oozed blood.

She flinched. ‘No. I – I banged it—’

‘Ran into a door, did you? I don't think so.’ Libby dipped cotton wool in warm water laced with Dettol and dabbed at the cut. ‘It's not deep. I shouldn't think you need stitches, but you do have to ring the police.’

Elaine pushed Libby's hand away. ‘No. Bert's had too much to drink, that's all it is. It'll be fine when he sobers up.’

‘Mum.’ Tears started in Mandy's eyes. ‘It won't be fine. It's all happened before. He'll get drunk tomorrow and do it again, you know he will. Please ring the police.’

Elaine shook her head. ‘I know what's best, Mandy. Just let him be. He'll cool off.’

A heavy blow shook the front door. Libby leapt to her feet.

‘If Bert's cooled off, then who's that?’ Another crash echoed round the house, then a third. A male voice bellowed, but Libby couldn't make out the words. The three women were on their feet, searching for something – anything – they could use to defend themselves.

Mandy grabbed Libby's arm. ‘He's come after us. What are we going to do?’

‘We're going to tell him to go home.’ Libby's stomach lurched. Bert was well-built and strong. The bad back that kept him on sick pay was pure fiction. He could stop hammering on her door, though. How dare he? ‘Stay here, you two.’

Libby straightened her shoulders, strode to the front door and pulled it open a few inches, the chain keeping it safe. Bert thrust his head into the gap. Libby could make out every mark on the man's red face: black, open pores on a bulbous nose, blobs of sweat above a mean top lip and deep lines on an angry brow.

Spit flew from the thin mouth. ‘You little…’

‘Don't you dare speak to me like that, Mr Parsons. There are three of us here, and we're phoning the police at this very moment.’

Mandy was close behind, holding a phone to one ear. ‘Yeah, Dad. Go home and sober up.’

Bert Parsons swore and kicked the door. The chain rattled. Libby took a pace back, bile in her throat. She was vaguely aware of clattering behind her back, as Bert kicked again. Helpless, Libby watched as the screws holding the chain on the door sprang out, clinking as they hit the floor.