Read Online North Sea Requiem by A. D. Scott - Free Book Online Page A

Mr. Corelli.”
    â€œGino. Pleased ta meet you.” Gino beamed. Mae Bell smiled back, and they both instantly knew they would be friends.
    Joanne took her favorite seat by the window with a view over the river and castle and the intersection where traffic slowed down to pass through the narrow stone archways of the suspension bridge.
    Joanne asked for a cappuccino, Mae Bell an espresso. Gino himself brought over the order. “I’ll leave you lovely ladies to chat,” he told them. “An’ I hope you stay a long time, Mrs. Mae.”
    Chiara had mentioned Joanne’s friend to her family, and although curious, Gino would not dream of intruding—but he knew a refugee when he saw one.
    â€œSo, anything further on finding friends of your late husband?” Joanne asked.
    â€œNo. But thanks for the story in the Gazette . It seems to have done the trick.” She laid out another envelope. Took out another sheet of the same lined notepaper. Joanne looked at another anonymous message.
    â€œIt’s the same writer as the first one,” Mae said.
    I HAVE WARNED YOU. NO MORE INTERFERING IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO LOSE YOUR LOOKS.
    â€œThat’s not nice.” Joanne shivered. “And it must mean the writer knows what you look like.”
    â€œI agree,” Mae said as she exhaled a long stream of cigarettesmoke. “I’m losing my looks as it is—don’t want to hurry the inevitable.” Her laugh sang out across the café, but an edge to it made Gino look across at the pair.
    â€œYou’re not losing . . .” Joanne started, but was interrupted by Rob walking up to the table.
    â€œI saw you through the window. Hello again.” He took a seat without asking, oblivious to the glare from Joanne. “How are you doing? Had any response to the article about your husband?”
    â€œOnly this.” Mae picked up the letter and passed it to Rob.
    Joanne was furious. This is my story. But she knew how petty that would sound.
    â€œBloody hell! Another one.”
    Both women stared at him. Gino too. “Language, ma boy, there’s ladies here.”
    â€œSorry, Mr. Corelli. Sorry, Mae, Joanne.”
    Joanne shrugged but had caught the use of Mrs. Mae Bell’s first name.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Mae was watching him, “Another one?”
    â€œI . . .” Rob stopped, unsure if he should explain. “I think we should show this to McAllister.” He stood. “Meet you at the office,” he called out as he left.
    The two women nodded back and, not saying much, not looking at the river and the cold clear rare sunshine reflecting off the water, the castle, the distant hills of the Black Isle, they walked across the bridge, up the steep street, on to the Gazette building, not conversing but not uncomfortable, both considering the contents of the letters, both curious as to the writer, and Mae Bell, more than Joanne, worried in a What? Me? Worried? way.
    Joanne took them straight up to McAllister’s office. Rob was already there. When she introduced Mae Bell, she was expecting McAllister to be entranced by the visitor and was not disappointed. Mae Bell sat on the chair and crossed her legs,her nylons making that shimmering sound that normally set Rob a-fantasizing, but this time he managed to ignore.
    â€œMrs. Bell had a response to her advertisement and the article in this week’s paper,” was all Joanne said.
    Mae Bell laid the envelope on McAllister’s desk. He stared at it. Poked it with his pen. Then opened it and read. “Is this the first note?” It was obvious from the wording that it was not the first warning.
    â€œThe second. I tore up the first. Never pay attention to anonymous letters,” Mae said. “It only encourages them.”
    â€œI’m not sure how much I should tell you,” McAllister began, “but this has to go to the police.”
    â€œNow