Read Online Murder on the Levels: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 2) by Frances Evesham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frances Evesham
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smell of polish. “But is the engine OK?”
“She’ll stagger on for a bit, yet. A good goer, that’s what she is.”
“And this time, I want a proper bill. No discounts. OK?”
He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” She held out her credit card. “First, though, I want to ask you a few questions about the cycle club picnic.”
Alan gazed at his feet, arms folded. “Yeah. Thought you might start on that. Bit of a private eye, aren’t you?”
She let the silence grow. Alan weakened. “Well, I was there when it happened.”
“Were you? I didn’t see you. Were you ill, too?”
“Nah, not me. Took my own grub, didn’t I? The wife made up some cheese and pickle sarnis and a piece of pork pie.”
“I never thought of pork pie as healthy eating, before.”
Alan’s brow furrowed. “Healthy eating?”
“Never mind. It was a joke. I’m glad you were OK, but I was really wondering about Vince. He’s not been around Exham long, has he?”
“That’s right. He’s new. Arrived about ten years ago, when they opened that new business park affair.”
“You mean the place by the M5 with the hideous green warehouses?”
He grinned. “That’s right. Vince drove a fork-lift truck.” Libby bit her lip. This was no time for jokes about lifting forks. “He used to come down here of a weekend, and work on the old girl with me.” Libby deduced he meant the Cadillac. “Kevin came over, too.”
“So the three of you were friends?”
The mechanic frowned, looking perplexed at the thought. “Suppose so. Used to do a day on the car, clean up and have a few drinks in the Lighthouse Inn of a Saturday. Vince used to keep on at us to go out to the clubs, but my wife wouldn’t have that. Kevin went, once or twice, I think.”
“Kevin and Vince were both single, then?”
“Kevin used to be married, until Sheila ran off with the window-cleaner. Good riddance, he reckoned. Don’t know about Vince. He might have had a wife once, but not living with him any more, if you know what I mean.” He was frowning.
“You’ll miss the two of them, won’t you?”
“Ah. Reckon I will, at that. We had some good times.”
Libby handed over her credit card. Alan grunted. “Yep, gonna miss old Vince and Kevin around here.” As an epitaph, it didn’t seem too bad.
***
Libby left the Land Rover outside the garage, to be picked up when Max got back from his mysterious, government affairs, and drove home to a quiet house.
She’d hardly hung her coat in the hall cupboard, when a white van drew up. She answered the door to a smiling Eastern European, who heaved a weighty cardboard box into her hall. “For Mrs Foster.”
“Foster? That’s not... Oh, Forest, you mean.” Was it what she thought? Heart thumping, Libby grabbed a knife and ripped open the box. Yes. Her brand new cookery books.
She lifted out the top copy and laid it on the kitchen table, with as much care as if it were a diamond necklace. A real book, with her name on it. She stroked the raised title on the front cover, ran her finger over her own name and opened it to the dedication. “To Robert and Alison.”
She replaced the book in the box, sudden tears pricking the back of her eyes. If the bakery had been open, she’d have taken a pile of them in. With Mandy out, Ali off on her own adventure in South America, and Fuzzy in the airing cupboard, there was only Bear to share Libby’s achievement. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s have that walk.”
Poisoned chocolates
Cheered by a long run with Bear in the fields, Libby put that moment of sudden loneliness behind her, humming as she lined her beautiful new books neatly along a shelf in the study. The doorbell rang again, but this time, Libby’s visitors were solemn-faced police officers. Her mood plummeted. “Mrs Forest?”
“You’d better come in.” She offered tea. “Milk, two sugars?” The older of the pair was Police Constable Ian
“She’ll stagger on for a bit, yet. A good goer, that’s what she is.”
“And this time, I want a proper bill. No discounts. OK?”
He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” She held out her credit card. “First, though, I want to ask you a few questions about the cycle club picnic.”
Alan gazed at his feet, arms folded. “Yeah. Thought you might start on that. Bit of a private eye, aren’t you?”
She let the silence grow. Alan weakened. “Well, I was there when it happened.”
“Were you? I didn’t see you. Were you ill, too?”
“Nah, not me. Took my own grub, didn’t I? The wife made up some cheese and pickle sarnis and a piece of pork pie.”
“I never thought of pork pie as healthy eating, before.”
Alan’s brow furrowed. “Healthy eating?”
“Never mind. It was a joke. I’m glad you were OK, but I was really wondering about Vince. He’s not been around Exham long, has he?”
“That’s right. He’s new. Arrived about ten years ago, when they opened that new business park affair.”
“You mean the place by the M5 with the hideous green warehouses?”
He grinned. “That’s right. Vince drove a fork-lift truck.” Libby bit her lip. This was no time for jokes about lifting forks. “He used to come down here of a weekend, and work on the old girl with me.” Libby deduced he meant the Cadillac. “Kevin came over, too.”
“So the three of you were friends?”
The mechanic frowned, looking perplexed at the thought. “Suppose so. Used to do a day on the car, clean up and have a few drinks in the Lighthouse Inn of a Saturday. Vince used to keep on at us to go out to the clubs, but my wife wouldn’t have that. Kevin went, once or twice, I think.”
“Kevin and Vince were both single, then?”
“Kevin used to be married, until Sheila ran off with the window-cleaner. Good riddance, he reckoned. Don’t know about Vince. He might have had a wife once, but not living with him any more, if you know what I mean.” He was frowning.
“You’ll miss the two of them, won’t you?”
“Ah. Reckon I will, at that. We had some good times.”
Libby handed over her credit card. Alan grunted. “Yep, gonna miss old Vince and Kevin around here.” As an epitaph, it didn’t seem too bad.
***
Libby left the Land Rover outside the garage, to be picked up when Max got back from his mysterious, government affairs, and drove home to a quiet house.
She’d hardly hung her coat in the hall cupboard, when a white van drew up. She answered the door to a smiling Eastern European, who heaved a weighty cardboard box into her hall. “For Mrs Foster.”
“Foster? That’s not... Oh, Forest, you mean.” Was it what she thought? Heart thumping, Libby grabbed a knife and ripped open the box. Yes. Her brand new cookery books.
She lifted out the top copy and laid it on the kitchen table, with as much care as if it were a diamond necklace. A real book, with her name on it. She stroked the raised title on the front cover, ran her finger over her own name and opened it to the dedication. “To Robert and Alison.”
She replaced the book in the box, sudden tears pricking the back of her eyes. If the bakery had been open, she’d have taken a pile of them in. With Mandy out, Ali off on her own adventure in South America, and Fuzzy in the airing cupboard, there was only Bear to share Libby’s achievement. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s have that walk.”
Poisoned chocolates
Cheered by a long run with Bear in the fields, Libby put that moment of sudden loneliness behind her, humming as she lined her beautiful new books neatly along a shelf in the study. The doorbell rang again, but this time, Libby’s visitors were solemn-faced police officers. Her mood plummeted. “Mrs Forest?”
“You’d better come in.” She offered tea. “Milk, two sugars?” The older of the pair was Police Constable Ian
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