Read Online Even the Dead by Benjamin Black - Free Book Online Page B

behind it that even the hottest summer weather couldn’t eradicate. It had two bedrooms, one with a real double bed, while the other had a sort of large cot, with springs that jangled every time the sleeper in it stirred but that nevertheless had long ago lost their springiness.
    When they arrived at the house, Phoebe attempted to show Lisa around, though Lisa was too distracted to pay attention. They went into the larger bedroom, but Lisa insisted she would take the smaller one. Phoebe said that would be ridiculous, since she would be the only occupant of the house, and in the end she reluctantly agreed, and carried her suitcase into the double-bedded room.
    They had stopped at Mahon’s General Store, on the Wexford Road, to buy provisions, and while Lisa was unpacking, Phoebe stowed the butter, milk, and eggs in the mesh-fronted larder, a pan loaf in the bread bin, the tea in the tea canister. She put away slices of cooked ham wrapped in greaseproof paper, tomatoes, lettuce and spring onions, and a bag of assorted chocolate biscuits. She was sure they had forgotten something essential. She checked the bathroom for soap and other things, laid out clean towels, lit the geyser above the bath. She felt like a little girl again, playing house.
    Wine! They should have bought wine, before they left the city. Too late now, for certainly they wouldn’t find any in Mahon’s. Anyway, she didn’t know if Lisa drank. It was only one of the very many things she didn’t know about Lisa.
    They made tea, and sat at the kitchen table to drink it. An awkward silence fell, neither of them knowing what to say. There were ants in the sugar bowl.
    “You’re so kind,” Lisa broke out at last. “I mean, here I am, a complete stranger, practically, and yet you lend me your house.”
    “Well, it’s not mine. It belongs to my uncle. I used to live with him and my aunt. In fact, I lived with them until I was nineteen. I thought they were my parents, you see.”
    “You thought—?”
    Phoebe laughed. “Oh, it’s a complicated story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you one day.”
    They were silent again; then Lisa asked timidly, “Does your uncle know I’m here?”
    “No. But he wouldn’t mind if he did. His name is Griffin, Malachy Griffin.” She stopped. Something had flickered in Lisa’s eyes; had she recognized the name? “He used to be a doctor—I mean, he’s retired. He hardly comes here anymore, except to check on the place now and then. His first wife died some years ago.” She paused, and looked aside with a dreamy expression. “We used to have such times here. It seems like a world away, now.”
    Yet again the silence fell. Lisa sat crouched over her tea. Despite all the activity of traveling, of buying the things at Mahon’s, of arriving at the house and unpacking, Lisa’s terror had not abated for a moment. When they had come into the house, first she had gone from window to window and peered out, though Phoebe could not think what she might be expecting to see—pursuers lurking in the shrubbery, potential attackers hiding behind tree trunks?
    “Listen, Lisa,” she said, “I can see how frightened you are. You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on. What happened? Did someone do something to you? Why do you think you’re being followed?”
    Lisa was gazing wide-eyed at the tabletop, so that it wasn’t clear if she had even been listening. Then she stirred herself, and sighed, and pushed away the half-drunk mug of tea.
    “Someone was hurt,” she said, picking her way over the words as if they were so many stepping stones, slimed and treacherous. “It was someone I knew.”
    “When? I mean, when was he hurt?”
    “Last night.”
    “Last night ?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is he in hospital?”
    “No.” A long pause. “No, he’s not in hospital. He died.”
    Phoebe’s hand flew to her mouth.
    “Died?” she said in a whisper. “But how?”
    “There was a car crash. He was the only one in the car. It ran