Read Online The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones by Tim Roux - Free Book Online

have money on it,” he explains.
    Inspector John looks shocked. He evidently hasn’t heard about the Wil iam Hil syndicate which has been set up at the Château. “What do you mean, Mike?” he asks.
    “It’s a bit revolting,” Mike starts to explain with sudden embarrassment, “but we have been betting on what parts of the body would turn up next.”
    “How disgusting! Have you lot not got anything better to do?”
    “It reduces the shock, I suppose,” ventures Mike by way of self-exculpation.
    “It adds to my shock,” counters Inspector John.
    “Yes, I can imagine it would.”
    “Wel , out with it, what are you betting on?”
    “A rib.”
    “Any specific one?” I throw in.
    “No, I am the only one with a rib, so I don’t need to be specific yet.”
    “And you, Paul?” Inspector John chal enges me.
    “I haven’t taken part.”
    “Good for you. Please don’t.”
    “I might tomorrow.”
    “For God’s sake, why would you want to do that?”
    “To win.”
    “How do you know that you wil win?”
    “Yes, how do you know?” Mike chimes in.
    “I always win when I place a bet.”
    “That is usual y because you have come up with some sneaky way of discovering the outcome in advance. Paul is a spectacular cheat, Inspector. Never play games with him, and definitely not for money, whatever you do. He is right. He always wins. It’s not a boast; it’s a criminal confession. So how are you going to fix it, Paul, this time? Are you hoping to find something here today, bet on it, then rediscover it in a couple of days’ time. Is that your plan?”
    “It’s a good plan,” I confirm. “I may just do that.”
    “Wel at least you wil be taking this search seriously then, Paul,” smiles Inspector John, “so we had better get started.”
    For about two hours we scour this real y quite smal garden as if playing Grandmother’s Footsteps without Grandmother, although stil expecting something to turn round and say boo. In fact Mike and I boo each other a couple of times, and it occurred to me that it would be great if Alice could make an impromptu appearance and boo Mike on her behalf too, but she must have had other plans.
    Needless to say, we found nothing at al , not even a dog bone.

    * * *
    We came directly from Inspector John’s garden to the Château, in fact we walked which seemed a healthy idea at the time except that it took us much longer than we thought it would, knowing that we would have to go and get the car later again in the dark.
    “Don’t’ worry,” offered Peter. “I’l drive you back to get it.”
    Mike must be off tracking down Sarah somewhere. I am watching Peter and John Jr. playing tennis. Fiona says “May I?” and sits next to me (she certainly keeps turning up). Peter and John are playing impeccably together. They seem to know every aspect of each other’s game, and to be able to anticipate each other’s moves faultlessly, even when on the wrong end of a triple-feint. It suddenly occurs to me that Fiona’s whole marriage must be like this – being an observer watching Peter and John cavorting together.
    Talking of the which, Marcel and Natalie are over by the pool in tactile conversation. I look away again.
    “Do you mind?” Fiona asks me, solicitously.
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “It doesn’t hurt you to watch them together?”
    “No. It doesn’t matter.”
    “You can’t be that hard, Paul.”
    (Some days).
    I switch my gaze over to Fiona. “We were already in the hissing phase. The next one would have been biting. French women always bite when they want to break up with you. I have the marks to prove it.”
    I don’t suppose that Fiona believes me, but I turn to show her two scars on the top of my forearm which are sufficiently delineated to indicate teeth marks.
    “Ow!” Fiona exclaims.
    “And you?” I riposte. “Does it hurt?”
    “What?”
    “When you bite,” I elaborate, but Fiona has realised exactly what I am referring to.
    “Yes it does,