Read Online Murder at the Lighthouse: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 1) by Frances Evesham - Free Book Online
Authors: Frances Evesham
Ads: Link
evening.”
“OK. Mickey won’t go to bed at 9 o’clock, I bet. He’ll be out on the town with his trophy wife. The secretary will tell where he goes: I’m meeting her again at one of the bars here.”
Of course you are. She couldn’t resist you, could she? A nineteen-year-old.
“By the way. None of my business, but what exactly are you in the middle of?”
The cheek of the man. “Mandy’s here. You know, from the bakery? She’s come to-to…”
“To get away from her Dad?”
“Something like that.”
“OK. Good idea. He’s a menace. Send the photo as soon as you can, Libby. See you on Sunday.”
Mandy appeared in the hall. Libby grabbed her keys. “I’m popping out for a minute.”
“Can I come?”
Libby couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. “We’ll have to walk.”
Breaking and Entering
“Mrs Thomson?” Libby rapped on the door. The light was on in the house, and she could hear the TV. Mrs Thomson must have turned the sound up. Libby banged again, harder, and pressed the bell, keeping her thumb on the buzzer, but no one came.
Mandy spoke from behind Libby’s shoulder. “I’ll go round the back.” She disappeared. Libby kept up the banging and ringing, but no one came. Where was Bear? He should be barking his head off, by now.
Maybe Mrs Thomson had gone away. She might be visiting a friend, or a sister. “Libby. Get help.” Mandy was back, panting. “I think she’s had a fall.”
Libby dialled 999, hand shaking. Not again. “Fire, police or ambulance?”
“Ambulance. Police. Both.” Heart pounding, Libby followed Mandy to the back of the house, and peered through the kitchen window. The room gave nothing away: clean, neat and tidy as before; plates stacked on the draining board; tea towels folded over the sink to dry. Mandy grabbed Libby’s arm and pointed. The door to the hall stood ajar, and through the gap, Libby caught a flash of green. She groaned. Mrs Thomson’s slippers.
The door was locked. Libby shook it, but it held fast. She stood back, struggling to stay calm and sum up the problem. A pane of glass ran down the middle of the door. Libby gripped her phone in both hands and smashed it hard, into the panel. Broken shards clattered to the kitchen floor. She elbowed jagged fragments inwards, pulled the sleeve of her jacket down round her wrist, and slipped her arm through the door. The tips of her fingers touched the key. Grunting, she forced her shoulder further in, more splinters tinkling to the ground, until she could grab the key between thumb and finger and turn it in the lock.
Praying Mrs Thomson hadn’t shot the bolt across as well, Libby leaned on the handle. The door swung open. She crunched across glass, and pushed open the inner door. The old lady lay at the foot of the stairs, the back of her head angled against the wall. Mandy whispered. “It looks as though her neck’s broken.”
Another body. A wave of nausea struck Libby. She swallowed it down. No time for that. She felt Mrs Thomson’s neck for a pulse, and fingered her wrist, horribly aware she’d done exactly the same for Susie. “I think she’s dead.”
Mandy’s hand clamped to her mouth, muffling her voice. “She must have fallen down the stairs.” She tugged Libby’s elbow. “Can’t we do anything? Shouldn’t we put a blanket over her?”
“It’s too late for that.” A news programme still blared through the house. Libby’s head pounded. She strode to the sitting room, found the remote control and switched off the TV. Silence fell. A cup of tea, half finished, sat in its saucer on the table. Mrs Thomson had been alone, with no one nearby to help when she fell. How long had she lain in the hall?
The house was quiet: too quiet. What was wrong? Bear. Where was the dog? Why hadn’t he barked when his mistress fell? A cold hand tugged at Libby’s chest. She stepped with care around Mrs Thomson and set off up the stairs. “Where are you going?” Mandy squeaked.
“The
“OK. Mickey won’t go to bed at 9 o’clock, I bet. He’ll be out on the town with his trophy wife. The secretary will tell where he goes: I’m meeting her again at one of the bars here.”
Of course you are. She couldn’t resist you, could she? A nineteen-year-old.
“By the way. None of my business, but what exactly are you in the middle of?”
The cheek of the man. “Mandy’s here. You know, from the bakery? She’s come to-to…”
“To get away from her Dad?”
“Something like that.”
“OK. Good idea. He’s a menace. Send the photo as soon as you can, Libby. See you on Sunday.”
Mandy appeared in the hall. Libby grabbed her keys. “I’m popping out for a minute.”
“Can I come?”
Libby couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. “We’ll have to walk.”
Breaking and Entering
“Mrs Thomson?” Libby rapped on the door. The light was on in the house, and she could hear the TV. Mrs Thomson must have turned the sound up. Libby banged again, harder, and pressed the bell, keeping her thumb on the buzzer, but no one came.
Mandy spoke from behind Libby’s shoulder. “I’ll go round the back.” She disappeared. Libby kept up the banging and ringing, but no one came. Where was Bear? He should be barking his head off, by now.
Maybe Mrs Thomson had gone away. She might be visiting a friend, or a sister. “Libby. Get help.” Mandy was back, panting. “I think she’s had a fall.”
Libby dialled 999, hand shaking. Not again. “Fire, police or ambulance?”
“Ambulance. Police. Both.” Heart pounding, Libby followed Mandy to the back of the house, and peered through the kitchen window. The room gave nothing away: clean, neat and tidy as before; plates stacked on the draining board; tea towels folded over the sink to dry. Mandy grabbed Libby’s arm and pointed. The door to the hall stood ajar, and through the gap, Libby caught a flash of green. She groaned. Mrs Thomson’s slippers.
The door was locked. Libby shook it, but it held fast. She stood back, struggling to stay calm and sum up the problem. A pane of glass ran down the middle of the door. Libby gripped her phone in both hands and smashed it hard, into the panel. Broken shards clattered to the kitchen floor. She elbowed jagged fragments inwards, pulled the sleeve of her jacket down round her wrist, and slipped her arm through the door. The tips of her fingers touched the key. Grunting, she forced her shoulder further in, more splinters tinkling to the ground, until she could grab the key between thumb and finger and turn it in the lock.
Praying Mrs Thomson hadn’t shot the bolt across as well, Libby leaned on the handle. The door swung open. She crunched across glass, and pushed open the inner door. The old lady lay at the foot of the stairs, the back of her head angled against the wall. Mandy whispered. “It looks as though her neck’s broken.”
Another body. A wave of nausea struck Libby. She swallowed it down. No time for that. She felt Mrs Thomson’s neck for a pulse, and fingered her wrist, horribly aware she’d done exactly the same for Susie. “I think she’s dead.”
Mandy’s hand clamped to her mouth, muffling her voice. “She must have fallen down the stairs.” She tugged Libby’s elbow. “Can’t we do anything? Shouldn’t we put a blanket over her?”
“It’s too late for that.” A news programme still blared through the house. Libby’s head pounded. She strode to the sitting room, found the remote control and switched off the TV. Silence fell. A cup of tea, half finished, sat in its saucer on the table. Mrs Thomson had been alone, with no one nearby to help when she fell. How long had she lain in the hall?
The house was quiet: too quiet. What was wrong? Bear. Where was the dog? Why hadn’t he barked when his mistress fell? A cold hand tugged at Libby’s chest. She stepped with care around Mrs Thomson and set off up the stairs. “Where are you going?” Mandy squeaked.
“The
Similar Books
