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 Page B
Authors: Frances Evesham
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yet, don’t you?”
Libby chopped a banana into tiny pieces and dropped them into her bowl. “I can’t just leave him.” Anyway, she wanted to get to the house early. There was a job she must do alone.
Mandy heaved a sigh and pushed herself up from the table. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. I got you into enough trouble yesterday. If Detective Sergeant Ramshore finds out we’ve been back, we’ll go straight to the top of the suspect list. That is, when he works out Mrs Thomson didn’t fall.”
Mandy’s mouth hung open. “You think she was pushed?”
“Of course, she was. How many unexplained sudden deaths does a place like Exham have in the average week? Yet, here are two in a few days.”
“There are lots of old people, here. You know, in Haven House and that new place near the kid’s playground. There must be dozens of people dying every week.”
“Susie wasn’t old. Anyway, it’s too much of a coincidence.” Libby stirred the banana into her cereal. “Think about it. She comes back to Exham for some reason, we don’t know why. Next minute, she’s dead. Then, one of the few people who really cared about her dies.” She pointed her spoon at Mandy. “I was beginning to think the police were right, and Susie’s death was suicide, but this is one coincidence too many.”
Mandy got to her feet and stacked her bowl in the dishwasher. “In that case, I’ll come with you. You can’t go alone. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Libby choked on her cornflakes. “Nonsense. I’ll be careful. Anyway, one of us needs to get over to the shop. Frank can’t bake bread and serve at the same time.”
Libby enjoyed the walk to Mrs Thomson’s house. The wind had died away overnight, and the rain dried. She’d take Shipley out soon. She’d been neglecting him a bit, deserting the poor animal for Bear. They’d have a good run on the beach, maybe later, before the weather broke again. A pale sun peeped out once or twice from between heavy clouds that threatened more storms before long.
As expected, the police had boarded up Mrs Thomson’s back door. Libby walked on, out into the half-acre garden. The late Mr Thomson’s retirement pride and joy looked neglected, the pond full of duckweed and dead leaves. A few remnants of foliage clung to grey overhanging branches. Beds of roses had run to a riot of hips and haws. Something for the birds to enjoy, at least.
Libby called, softly. “Bear?” No answer. She called again, and whistled. What was that? She strained her ears. The sound had come from her right, where a sturdy shed nestled against a ragged yew hedge. Libby tugged at the door until it creaked open. Bear sprawled in the corner. He raised his massive head, staggered to his feet, whined, wobbled and lay down again.
Libby’s stomach heaved as she caught the acrid scent of sick. A pool of vomit stank nearby. Fresh scratches covered the shed door, where the dog had tried to get out. Bear whined again, and lay, head on paws, exhausted. “What happened to you, Bear?”
The shed was clean and warm, and a selection of doggy toys suggested Bear sometimes slept there. His basket was lined with old sweaters, positioned close to an empty bowl. Judging by the nearby splashes, it had recently held water. Another container held a lump of meat, half-eaten. Bear had only taken a bite or two.
Libby rubbed her knuckles against the top of his bony head. The dog nuzzled her hand. “What did they give you? You’re on the mend, old thing, but I’ll take you to the vet to make sure.” She straightened up. “But first, I need to get into the house.” There was a tool box in the shed. Libby grinned. This was going to be easier than she’d thought.
The lock on the back door was still broken. The police had nailed hardboard roughly across the opening, half to the door, the rest attached to the side posts. She’d better be quick. A locksmith would be arriving this morning.
She opened the tool box,
Libby chopped a banana into tiny pieces and dropped them into her bowl. “I can’t just leave him.” Anyway, she wanted to get to the house early. There was a job she must do alone.
Mandy heaved a sigh and pushed herself up from the table. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. I got you into enough trouble yesterday. If Detective Sergeant Ramshore finds out we’ve been back, we’ll go straight to the top of the suspect list. That is, when he works out Mrs Thomson didn’t fall.”
Mandy’s mouth hung open. “You think she was pushed?”
“Of course, she was. How many unexplained sudden deaths does a place like Exham have in the average week? Yet, here are two in a few days.”
“There are lots of old people, here. You know, in Haven House and that new place near the kid’s playground. There must be dozens of people dying every week.”
“Susie wasn’t old. Anyway, it’s too much of a coincidence.” Libby stirred the banana into her cereal. “Think about it. She comes back to Exham for some reason, we don’t know why. Next minute, she’s dead. Then, one of the few people who really cared about her dies.” She pointed her spoon at Mandy. “I was beginning to think the police were right, and Susie’s death was suicide, but this is one coincidence too many.”
Mandy got to her feet and stacked her bowl in the dishwasher. “In that case, I’ll come with you. You can’t go alone. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Libby choked on her cornflakes. “Nonsense. I’ll be careful. Anyway, one of us needs to get over to the shop. Frank can’t bake bread and serve at the same time.”
Libby enjoyed the walk to Mrs Thomson’s house. The wind had died away overnight, and the rain dried. She’d take Shipley out soon. She’d been neglecting him a bit, deserting the poor animal for Bear. They’d have a good run on the beach, maybe later, before the weather broke again. A pale sun peeped out once or twice from between heavy clouds that threatened more storms before long.
As expected, the police had boarded up Mrs Thomson’s back door. Libby walked on, out into the half-acre garden. The late Mr Thomson’s retirement pride and joy looked neglected, the pond full of duckweed and dead leaves. A few remnants of foliage clung to grey overhanging branches. Beds of roses had run to a riot of hips and haws. Something for the birds to enjoy, at least.
Libby called, softly. “Bear?” No answer. She called again, and whistled. What was that? She strained her ears. The sound had come from her right, where a sturdy shed nestled against a ragged yew hedge. Libby tugged at the door until it creaked open. Bear sprawled in the corner. He raised his massive head, staggered to his feet, whined, wobbled and lay down again.
Libby’s stomach heaved as she caught the acrid scent of sick. A pool of vomit stank nearby. Fresh scratches covered the shed door, where the dog had tried to get out. Bear whined again, and lay, head on paws, exhausted. “What happened to you, Bear?”
The shed was clean and warm, and a selection of doggy toys suggested Bear sometimes slept there. His basket was lined with old sweaters, positioned close to an empty bowl. Judging by the nearby splashes, it had recently held water. Another container held a lump of meat, half-eaten. Bear had only taken a bite or two.
Libby rubbed her knuckles against the top of his bony head. The dog nuzzled her hand. “What did they give you? You’re on the mend, old thing, but I’ll take you to the vet to make sure.” She straightened up. “But first, I need to get into the house.” There was a tool box in the shed. Libby grinned. This was going to be easier than she’d thought.
The lock on the back door was still broken. The police had nailed hardboard roughly across the opening, half to the door, the rest attached to the side posts. She’d better be quick. A locksmith would be arriving this morning.
She opened the tool box,
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