Read Online A Market for Murder by Rebecca Tope - Free Book Online Page A

any time we fancied a change of scene …’ It was true: Mary Thomas had definitely given an open-ended invitation to call in. But that had been nearly a year ago.
    ‘Did I? Well, yes, maybe I did. I’m sorry Mrs Slocombe, but it isn’t really a very good day for it. I’m trying to get the raspberry canes in, and I see the peach tree is threatening to blow over again. It keeps coming away from the wall. You know how it is.’ She didn’t seem to care whether Karen knew or not; she was clearly not going to be diverted from her plans.
    ‘Oh. Right. Sorry to have bothered you then.’ Karen backed away, trying not to feel offended. She might have succeeded if it hadn’t been forthe Mrs Slocombe . That had been uncalled for, surely. They’d had plenty of companionable chats in the village shop, in recent months, in addition to Karen’s occasional visits.
    ‘Oh!’ she remembered, turning back. ‘I wanted to ask you …’ But the woman had already covered a considerable distance and was apparently no longer even aware of her visitor. With gritted teeth, Karen accepted defeat. Getting back into the car, she threw a glance at the children.
    ‘Can we get out, Mummy?’ Stephanie asked carefully.
    ‘Sorry, pet, no. We’re going home again. But the rain’s stopping, look. There’s a bit of blue sky – see?’ She neglected to mention that they wouldn’t be able to play outside until Miss Lincoln’s funeral was over. Drew had stipulated that there should be no chirruping children in the garden while a burial was taking place just beyond the fence. ‘It’s not good for them, or the mourners,’ he’d insisted. ‘Sorry, but that’s final.’ Karen sometimes thought he’d got that part of things badly wrong. She wanted her children to feel natural about funerals and death, to regard it as just another part of their normal experience. But now was not the moment to worry about that.
    She sat in the driving seat for a moment,wrestling with her emotions after the encounter she had just undergone. Not only offence but a kind of humiliation was seething within her. And, threading through all that, there was a strong sense of something amiss. Mary Thomas had not been quick enough to suppress the flash of anxiety that crossed her face when she recognised Karen. Nor the flurried movement of one hand, plunging deep into the pocket of that ridiculous skirt.
     
    Drew and Maggs need not have worried about getting the Grafton funeral. At three on Wednesday afternoon, as the last of the handful of mourners for Miss Lincoln were departing, Drew took a phone call.
    ‘Is that the natural burial place?’ came a subdued voice. Drew recognised the tones of a person in shock. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘This is Julie Grafton.’
    ‘Oh, yes. Hello. I’m very sorry about your husband.’ Drew was practised at pitching the condolences at the precise point between gushingly overdone sympathy and callously single-minded attention to the practicalities. The aim, basically, was to avoid eliciting the onset of tears. Undertakers were there to deal with the disposal of the body, and although therewere ways and ways of doing this, the essential purpose remained.
    ‘Yes, well, he’d have wanted to be buried in your … place. He knew your wife.’
    ‘Indeed.’ Drew refrained from mentioning Karen’s close involvement with Mr Grafton’s death. ‘Has the Coroner’s Officer seen you?’ he asked.
    ‘He telephoned me a little while ago. I told him I wanted you to do the funeral. He said you’d understand the procedure – that we couldn’t make any firm arrangements for some time yet.’
    ‘They’ll have to open an inquest,’ Drew agreed. ‘And that isn’t likely to be for a few days yet. There is a police investigation to be taken into consideration, of course. It’s all very difficult for you, I know.’
    ‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet,’ she confided, and although Drew understood that this was