Читать книгу Murder at the Gorge - Frances Evesham - Страница 10

Libby, overdue for her shift at the bakery, found Frank loading the van for deliveries. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she muttered. ‘But it’s Max’s fault. I’ll come in early tomorrow, help you with the baking.’

‘No need. Mandy’s coming. Hard worker, that one,’ and Frank was gone, leaving Libby with a gloomy sense of failure and a heap of rolls to fill before the mid-morning rush began.

She’d hoped to take an hour out to visit the florist, curious to know more about Carys’ email, but her pride wouldn’t let her take more time off.

Should she cancel lunch with Max?

No, she wanted to know what he’d been up to with his ex-wife. She planned to get the truth out of him over the most expensive dish in the restaurant. Besides, she was curious to know where he’d been so early in the morning.

At the back of her mind, she knew she’d overreacted. She’d panicked on finding Max had innocently left his house. She’d put it down to wedding nerves, perhaps, along with a shot of guilt at delaying the wedding.

As the morning progressed, the regular stream of customers in the busy bakery gave her little time to brood. She wished Mandy were here, serving up her usual brand of common sense, along with the day’s cheese and pickle sandwiches and doughnuts.

Mandy and Libby had survived some dangerous moments. Mandy had once saved Libby from a knife attack, and when Mandy’s father, Bert, had threatened her mother, Libby – or more accurately, Bear – had sent him packing.

‘Cheer up, Libby, it might never happen.’ Alan Jenkins, the garage owner, flung open the door and burst into the bakery.

‘Already has,’ Libby muttered.

‘That’s not like you. What’s Max been doing to upset you?’ Max and Alan were long-time friends, ever since they’d been at school together. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘Thanks, but I’m being silly.’

‘Not possible.’ Alan was one of Libby’s staunchest supporters. ‘Anyway, I popped in to tell you about a nice little SUV that just came my way. It would do you beautifully, replace that purple monster you drive.’

‘Can’t afford it,’ Libby said. ‘I only just invested in the Hyundai for the business.’

‘But you’re not driving that one. I thought you’d like something of your own before the Citroen gives up the ghost altogether. I can do you a good price.’ He mentioned a sum so ridiculously low that Libby laughed.

‘You can’t give it away like that.’

‘Sure I can. You and Max are a couple of my best customers. You think about it, now. Call it a special reduction as a wedding present.’

At the mention of the wedding, Libby felt her lip wobble.

Alan stiffened. ‘Now then. Something the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ Libby gulped, her voice muffled. ‘Wedding nerves.’ She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose.

Alan, wild-eyed, stared desperately at the door, but for once, it remained firmly shut. A lifelong bachelor, used to calling a spade a spade, he was way out of his depth with a woman in distress. He coughed. ‘Oh dear,’ he murmured. ‘Not to worry.’

As Libby sniffed, wishing she was anywhere else on the earth than here making a fool of herself in the bakery, the door opened. Alan sighed with obvious relief as Annabel Pearson joined him at the counter.

‘Everything all right?’ she asked, looking from him to Libby and back, clearly curious, her eyes agleam.

Libby nodded, blinked hard and asked, ‘Can I help you?’

‘I came for Danish pastries. Jamie’s at school, and I’m giving myself a little treat.’

As Libby served her, she said, ‘I can’t wait for the café to open. Angela’s asked me to work part-time, waiting on tables.’

Libby tried to hide her surprise. Annabel was a widow, with an eight-year-old son at school all day. Hadn’t she once said she was a trained teacher? ‘You’re not looking to work in a school?’

‘No vacancies, at the moment. I teach languages, you see, French and Spanish mostly, but kids aren’t taking languages as much as they used to. I want to get to know more people in town, and I think the café is going to be the best place for that.’

And for gossip, Libby thought. ‘Good for you. You’ll meet everyone.’

Alan was silent. He’d moved away, attention focused on a display of Libby’s chocolates in the window. ‘Could I have a box of those?’ He pointed at the most expensive, lavishly decorated box of the most exotic flavours.

Libby thought she’d burst with curiosity. Who could Alan Jenkins be buying chocolates for? Good heavens, he was blushing.

At that moment, the door burst open again, the bell jangling wildly. ‘Have you heard?’

‘Mandy, you’re supposed to be having a day off.’

‘Sorry, Mrs F, but I thought you’d want to know about Gladys Evans’ sister…’

Annabel interrupted. ‘Carys? The one who had that horrid email?’

Mandy glared at the interruption. ‘Carys Evans is dead.’