half of bitter last exactly his customary half an hour, had left the pub with a hearty,
‘Cheerio, mine host.’
The two women’s conversation for the rest of the evening moved away from their personal details. Jude was intrigued by the two dramatic events of Carole’s day and kept returning to
the body on the beach and the woman with the gun, offering ever new conjectures to explain them. Only once had Carole managed to get back to her neighbour’s domestic circumstances.
She’d said, ‘So you’re not married at the moment?’
‘No.’
‘But is there someone special in your life?’
But this inquiry had prompted only another throaty chuckle. ‘They’re all special,’ Jude had said.
Carole’s recollections of the end of the evening were a little hazy. Of course, it wasn’t just the alcohol. She may have drunk a little more wine than she usually did – quite a
lot more wine than she usually did, as it happened – but it was her shocked emotional state that had made her exceptionally susceptible to its effects.
She comforted herself with this thought as she slipped into stupefied sleep.
The other thought in her mind was a recollection of something her new neighbour had said. Carole couldn’t remember the exact words, but she felt sure Jude had suggested their working
together. If the police weren’t going to show any interest in doing it, then the two of them should find out who killed the body on the beach.
Chapter Eight
Carole was woken by Gulliver’s barking. This was unusual. Normally, when she went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, he was still comatose in his basket by the Aga.
And the idea that he might have been barking to alert her to some intruder in the house was laughable. Such behaviour was not in Gulliver’s nature.
As she looked around her bedroom, Carole realized something else was odd. The curtains were not drawn and thin but bright daylight was trickling through the windows. She raised an arm to check
her wristwatch, but couldn’t see the hands without her glasses. She fumbled and found them on the far edge of the bedside table, not neatly aligned on the near side where she left them every
night.
She squinted to focus on the watch. A quarter to ten! Good heavens!
She sat up sharply, and then realized how much her head was aching.
Carole hurried into some clothes and rushed Gulliver out on to the open ground behind the house. The grass was still dusted with frost and her ears tingled in the cold air.
The speed and relief with which the dog squatted at the first opportunity made her realize what a narrow escape her kitchen floor had had.
She couldn’t blame the dog. He’d been very good, exercising all the control of which he was capable, while his mistress overslept. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself.
Except of course for her new next-door neighbour. It was Jude who’d led her into self-indulgence at the Crown and Anchor. Maybe Jude wasn’t such a suitable companion after all.
Carole decided that any future communication between them should be strictly rationed.
She felt a little tremor of embarrassment. She had talked far too much the previous evening, confiding things that she had never confided to anyone else.
No, Jude was definitely a bad influence. Carole couldn’t remember when she’d last had a hangover.
At first she’d decided she wouldn’t take anything for the pain, just brazen it out. But after an hour or so, ready to succumb, she had gone to the bathroom cabinet, only to find it
empty of aspirin. Oh well, that was meant. Serve her right. She couldn’t take anything.
Half an hour after reaching that conclusion, though, she had decided she’d have to go to the shop to get some aspirin.
As she set out, neatly belted up in her Burberry, Carole heard a heavy regular thudding which she knew didn’t come from inside her own head. There must be some construction work happening
somewhere in the Fethering area. Whatever it was, the
‘Cheerio, mine host.’
The two women’s conversation for the rest of the evening moved away from their personal details. Jude was intrigued by the two dramatic events of Carole’s day and kept returning to
the body on the beach and the woman with the gun, offering ever new conjectures to explain them. Only once had Carole managed to get back to her neighbour’s domestic circumstances.
She’d said, ‘So you’re not married at the moment?’
‘No.’
‘But is there someone special in your life?’
But this inquiry had prompted only another throaty chuckle. ‘They’re all special,’ Jude had said.
Carole’s recollections of the end of the evening were a little hazy. Of course, it wasn’t just the alcohol. She may have drunk a little more wine than she usually did – quite a
lot more wine than she usually did, as it happened – but it was her shocked emotional state that had made her exceptionally susceptible to its effects.
She comforted herself with this thought as she slipped into stupefied sleep.
The other thought in her mind was a recollection of something her new neighbour had said. Carole couldn’t remember the exact words, but she felt sure Jude had suggested their working
together. If the police weren’t going to show any interest in doing it, then the two of them should find out who killed the body on the beach.
Chapter Eight
Carole was woken by Gulliver’s barking. This was unusual. Normally, when she went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, he was still comatose in his basket by the Aga.
And the idea that he might have been barking to alert her to some intruder in the house was laughable. Such behaviour was not in Gulliver’s nature.
As she looked around her bedroom, Carole realized something else was odd. The curtains were not drawn and thin but bright daylight was trickling through the windows. She raised an arm to check
her wristwatch, but couldn’t see the hands without her glasses. She fumbled and found them on the far edge of the bedside table, not neatly aligned on the near side where she left them every
night.
She squinted to focus on the watch. A quarter to ten! Good heavens!
She sat up sharply, and then realized how much her head was aching.
Carole hurried into some clothes and rushed Gulliver out on to the open ground behind the house. The grass was still dusted with frost and her ears tingled in the cold air.
The speed and relief with which the dog squatted at the first opportunity made her realize what a narrow escape her kitchen floor had had.
She couldn’t blame the dog. He’d been very good, exercising all the control of which he was capable, while his mistress overslept. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself.
Except of course for her new next-door neighbour. It was Jude who’d led her into self-indulgence at the Crown and Anchor. Maybe Jude wasn’t such a suitable companion after all.
Carole decided that any future communication between them should be strictly rationed.
She felt a little tremor of embarrassment. She had talked far too much the previous evening, confiding things that she had never confided to anyone else.
No, Jude was definitely a bad influence. Carole couldn’t remember when she’d last had a hangover.
At first she’d decided she wouldn’t take anything for the pain, just brazen it out. But after an hour or so, ready to succumb, she had gone to the bathroom cabinet, only to find it
empty of aspirin. Oh well, that was meant. Serve her right. She couldn’t take anything.
Half an hour after reaching that conclusion, though, she had decided she’d have to go to the shop to get some aspirin.
As she set out, neatly belted up in her Burberry, Carole heard a heavy regular thudding which she knew didn’t come from inside her own head. There must be some construction work happening
somewhere in the Fethering area. Whatever it was, the
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