The Stabbing in the Stables by Simon Brett Page B

there was nothing wrong with that—so long as nobody ever found out she was actually watching it.
    But even her favourite chat show could not completely eradicate from her mind the unease planted there by her nonconversation with her daughter-in-law. Stephen and Gaby hadn’t yet been married six months—surely things hadn’t soured that quickly?
    Maybe Carole would have to ring Stephen and question him about the situation. It wasn’t a prospect she relished.
    Her programme came to an end, and Carole stayed to watch the news. That was an indulgence she could always justify. It was important, as one got older, to keep abreast of current affairs. That night’s offerings weren’t very edifying—more people killed in pointless international wars and intractable civil ones, a minor royal committing yet another gaffe, the government setting up another target destined never to be attained. The mixture as before.
    It wasn’t until the local news came on that there was an item to surprise Carole. And the surprise wasn’t a pleasant one. The previous night two mares had been slashed at with knives at a stable yard in West Sussex. The incident had taken place west of Horsham, some way away from Fedborough and Long Bamber Stables, but the news was still unsettling.
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    Jude had an exceptional knack of getting people to talk to her. Even the most buttoned-up individuals usually succumbed after a few minutes to the easiness of her company. But she made very little headway with Imogen Potton.
    As they walked back along the Fether through the gathering dusk, overtures about school, tastes in music and television, even her beloved Conker, were cut short by curt monosyllables. The girl kept just to the right side of rudeness, but she left no doubt that she’d rather be on her own. Her instinct was to run off and leave Jude; only the fear of her behaviour being reported to Sonia Dalrymple and ending her riding rights prevented her from doing so.
    Imogen had started by trailing behind her minder, swinging her battered riding hat at her side, but, soon realising that this formation opened up too much danger of Jude looking back and making eye contact, she now marched resolutely ahead.
    â€œWill there be someone at home when you get there?”
    The girl couldn’t refuse to answer such a direct question. “I think my Dad’ll be there. Mum works late on a Thursday.”
    â€œWhat does your mother do?”
    â€œShe serves at Allinstore.” Fethering’s only—and highly inefficient—supermarket. “Money’s been tight since they started the divorce proceedings. Mum thinks the work is very definitely beneath her.” Imogen seemed to derive some satisfaction from her mother’s discomfiture.
    â€œSo what time will she be back?”
    But the brief window of communication was closing. All Jude got was a terse “Later.”
    â€œWell, look, if you have any problems, or you’re left on your own too long this evening, give me a call.” Jude stopped for a moment and scribbled down her mobile number. The girl hadn’t waited for her and Jude had to hurry to catch up and hand it across. Silently Imogen shoved the scrap of paper into the pocket of her puffa jacket, but not in the manner of someone who was ever going to use it.
    Jude tried again. Surely the murder of Walter Fleet would get some reaction from the girl.
    â€œHorrible, that business up at Long Bamber, wasn’t it?” Silence. “You know, the reason why Conker and Chieftain have been moved back to the Dalrymples’.”
    â€œI do know what you’re talking about,” said Imogen pityingly.
    â€œIt must have been a shock for you.” Jude persevered. “I mean, because you spent so much time up at the stables.”
    â€œI didn’t spend much time there.”
    â€œBut I thought you looked after Conker, helped with the mucking out?”
    â€œNot