A Wreath for my Sister Read Free Page B

you up to this?’ she asked again.
    He blinked and she sighed. ‘While you’re bloody well at it solving vendettas amongst the police force why don’t you charge after the damned Merc?’
    â€˜Sorry?’
    â€˜Never mind. Don’t trouble yourself. I can guess.’
    He stared back at her without a trace of humour.
    She pressed the switch for the window, muttering, ‘And you can forget about your bloody promotion, Parry, my boy.’
    As they moved off she glared at Tom and they spoke the name together: ‘Korpanski.’
    Then she added, ‘I might have known. He’s always had a complex about the people I mix with.’
    â€˜The Nobs?’ Tom laughed. ‘A bit old-fashioned, isn’t it.’
    â€˜Mike is old-fashioned – in many ways. I’ll kill him in the morning.’
    Tom was still laughing and after an angry pause she joined in. ‘Blowing in the bag,’ she said. ‘Blowing in the bag! What a night.’
    She looked at Tom. ‘I watch Matthew having a ball with his wife, have your senior partner request I find his long-lost daughter ... get breathalyzed. Look at the snow. And it’s only September.’
    They both laughed.
    She paused for a moment to concentrate on the road. ‘I bet it’s lying thick on the moors,’ she said, peering through the space galaxy of swirling snowflakes.
    She changed gear carefully. ‘I wonder where that car did come from. It was coming from the direction of the moors, but there was no snow on the roof.’
    Tom yawned and leaned back in his seat. ‘Stop being a nosey policeman, Joanna,’ he said. ‘Probably came from one of the side streets.’
    â€˜Still, no snow,’ she said, thoughtfully.
    The orange flash of a snowplough illuminated the car as it drove past, leaving the road clear, Moses parting the Red Sea. She accelerated and they were back at her cottage in under ten minutes.
    At three a.m. the snowplough struggled along the moorland road, carving a lane into the drifts. It tossed a shoe into the pile of snow pushed from the road but did not go within six feet of her freezing body.
    She parked the car outside and locked it, then turned to Tom. ‘Nightcap?’ she asked. ‘Or have you had enough?’
    He grinned. ‘I can manage a small brandy,’ he said, ‘if you’re offering.’
    â€˜Just one,’ she said, ‘and I’ll join you. I need it. Then you’re back next door where you belong.’
    When they were sitting down, glasses charged, she turned to Tom. ‘Tell me a bit about Deborah Pelham,’ she said. ‘My curiosity is aroused.’
    Tom screwed up his face. ‘I didn’t really know her. Only met her once. She lived abroad. Deborah Halliday was her married name.’
    Joanna sipped a little brandy. ‘I wonder what did happen to her.’ She met Tom’s eyes. ‘I sometimes wonder about the long lists of missing persons we’ve circulated. How many of them are alive – perhaps living alternative lives – an existence away from previous family and friends. And how many of them are dead. How many lie somewhere undiscovered.’
    â€˜What a morbid fantasy,’ he said, grinning. ‘You know, Joanna, you’ll have to change the subject or I’ll be having nightmares.’
    They both laughed at that, then Joanna sighed and stared at the glass in her hand.
    â€˜I thought Matthew looked happy tonight.’
    Tom didn’t know what to say. He shrugged and she looked at him. ‘He did,’ she insisted. ‘You thought so.’
    â€˜I couldn’t tell.’
    She drained her glass and set it down on the table. ‘Well, he isn’t my province any more. And you, Tom, had better not forget. You promised to come to the police Christmas party.’
    Tom laughed. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But next time I’ll drive.’
    She also laughed.