Read Online A Wreath for my Sister by Priscilla Masters - Free Book Online Page B

she?’
    â€˜No. No – she’s quite neat and tidy. And it won’t take long. Don’t worry.’
    There were other points she had to clear up. ‘Who was her next of kin?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’ Christine looked confused. ‘She was married once, to a guy named Sam. Sam Finnigan. She left him because he beat her about.’ For some reason she refused to meet Joanna’s eyes. ‘He’s the father of two of her children – but not Ryan. She had Ryan just before Paul Agnew – that’s the boyfriend she lived with after Finnigan – after he kicked her out.’
    â€˜So is Paul Agnew Ryan’s father?’
    Christine shook her head. ‘No, at least not that I could ever work out. She never really told me, but I think Ryan’s dad was married. That’s why Agnew gave her the boot. She was havin’ an affair.’
    â€˜Who with?’
    Christine made a face. ‘Close as the grave she was about that one. She never told no one.’
    And that, it seemed, was that.
    â€˜Where will I find Paul Agnew?’Joanna asked.
    â€˜He’s got an oatcake shop in the High Street. But he lives in a flat in the town somewhere. I don’t know where.’
    â€˜Where does Finnigan live?’
    â€˜I don’t know where he lives now. Rents rooms somewhere, Sharon said. She told me that was why he didn’t see much of the kids. Nowhere for them to play.’ Christine made a face. ‘Just an excuse, if you ask me.’
    And her parents?’
    â€˜Just a mum, I think. I never heard her talk about her dad. But Sharon and her mum don’t have a lot to do with each other. Not since Ryan was born. Funnily enough her mum quite liked Sam Finnigan. She was mad with Sharon for the business with the married man.’ She thought for a minute. ‘I think she was a nursing auxiliary somewhere or other. I’m not sure where.’
    On the way out they passed through the sitting room. Christine indicated a small girl in grubby blue dungarees holding the hand of a little boy in a red jersey and jeans.
    â€˜These is Sharon’s,’ she said. ‘October and William. And that,’ she indicated a baby crawling towards the television set, ‘that’s Ryan.’
    Joanna looked curiously at Ryan. There was something different about the child. He was plumper, pinker, rounder – a handsome baby with bright eyes that despite his youth looked out to the world with a knowing intelligence which seemed lacking from either his sister or brother. Correction – his half-sister and half-brother.
    Still puzzling, she left Christine’s house and crossed the road to number forty-five.
    Mike had let himself in through the back door with the key he had found underneath the flowerpot. He’d drawn back the curtains and was standing in the middle of the cold room. He looked at her as she walked in.
    â€˜I don’t know what I’m looking for,’ he complained.
    The house smelt stale. Unlike Christine, Sharon had not been a scrupulous housekeeper. There was an unpleasant smell of cooking fat mingled with cigarette smoke, old perfume and hair lacquer. Toys were strewn around the room.
    On the coffee table, in the centre, was a collection of make-up, mascara, foundation cream, a palette of eye colour and a mirror in a pink, plastic frame.
    â€˜Was she killed here?’ Joanna asked.
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Any sign of a man?’
    Mike shook his head. ‘Plenty of signs of kids,’ he said, ‘in the kitchen. All over the place. Nappies, toys, kids’ clothes. I haven’t been upstairs yet.’
    Joanna wandered through to the kitchen. It was untidy – a sinkful of washing up, an opened can of baked beans, a half-eaten loaf of white bread, its wrapper torn apart.
    They walked upstairs and found the children’s bedroom, strewn with toys, bunks with gaudy, bright quilt covers. And