Read Online Sabotage by Karen King - Free Book Online

out and saw from the screen that it was Max. I’d missed four calls from him. I’d told him not to contact me, I thought in annoyance as I flicked the phone open to answer.
    ‘Don’t you ever do as you’re told?’
    ‘Where are you?’ he sounded agitated. ‘I’ve been worried sick. Anything could have happened to you. If you didn’t answer this time, I was going to tell Auntie Sue what had happened.’
    ‘Don’t you dare do that!’ I shouted.
    ‘Is everything all right, Amy?’ Mrs Brewson asked.
    ‘Yes, thank you.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Mrs Brewson is giving me a lift. I’ll see you soon. Don’t call me again, okay?’
    ‘Mrs Brewson? But how … ?’
    ‘Bye, Max.’ I ended the call before he had the chance to say anything else.
    When we finally arrived back, I had to help Mrs Brewson into the house with all her shopping before I could go home. Max must have been looking out for me because he ran to meet me as soon as I got to Gran’s back gate. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Where did Mr Smythe go?’
    Before I could answer him, Mr Winkleberry shouted, ‘Is that you, Amy? Your Gran’s been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?’ He must have been standing at the kitchen door, just waiting for me to show up.
    I sighed. Now for the inquisition. ‘I’ll speak to you later,’ I told Max. ‘Come around in an hour or so and rescue me.’
    Gran read me the riot act about going off without telling her where I was going, and how she was responsible for me, with Mr Winkleberry chiming in now and again for good measure. They were both too busy lecturing me to ask where I’d been, so at least I was saved from having to come up with some excuse.
    Thank goodness Mrs Langham came in and distracted them enough for me to make a retreat. Max sent me a text to say he had to go out with his Mum, so I made myself a sandwich and took it up to my room, deciding to keep out of the way for the rest of the day.
    I surfed the net for a bit, but got bored. My friends back in the USA were still fast asleep, so I couldn’t speak to them on messenger. I lay back on the bed, thinking about my eventful day. I was so angry about everything I’d heard in the pub. But what did it all mean? My mind was in a complete muddle.
    I knew that I would feel better if I got my head around all of this new evidence. So, I reached into the drawer of my bedside cabinet, took out my notepad and lucky green pen and started making fresh notes.

    I chewed the end of my pen as I mulled it over. Were any of them desperate enough to deliberately wreck old Joe’s roof and flood out his kitchen? If so, how far would they go in their attempt to make him sell? Would Joe eventually give in? I hoped not. I hated to think of that lovely cottage being demolished. Joe’s family had lived there for years. It would be nice to think that they would still live there in years to come. However, Old Joe didn’t have any family to pass it on to, did he? I thought of all that stuff in the attic; the painting, the clothes, the diaries. The diaries! They were still in the basket on my bike. Thank goodness it hadn’t rained.
    Max and his mum returned as I was taking the diaries out of the basket.
    ‘I’ll come round straight after tea,’ he promised. I could see he was dying to find out what had happened that afternoon.
    ‘Okay.’ I took the diaries upstairs, sat on my bed and opened the first one. The name Samuel Whittington was written in black handwriting on the inside cover, with the date 1920 underneath. I remembered Gran mentioning Joe’s name was Whittington, so guessed that Samuel must be his father. There was a date at the top of the first page – I couldn’t make it all out, but it looked like April. It was filled with old-fashioned black handwriting, with loops and curls that made it difficult to read.
    I glanced through a couple of pages. Evidently Old Joe’s parents ran some sort of smallholding. I guess a lot of folk did back