Dead Secret Read Free Page A

meandering, over-stocked bookcases.
    “Hello!” she called, peering round a dark oak bookcase laden with used paperbacks.
    A voice answered, “Coming!” and a fresh-faced, forty-something, auburn-haired woman appeared, apologising profusely,
    “I’m so sorry, I was next door sorting through some books I picked up at a library sale at the weekend; I wasn’t expecting a rush.”
    Ava looked around, and then realised that the remark was humorous.
    “Are you looking for something in particular or just browsing?”
    “Actually I’m looking for you,” Ava explained.
    “Oh, well, that’s nice. Are you a rep, or looking for a job perhaps, because I’m afraid I don’t stock a lot of new titles and I’m not looking for extra help at the moment.”
    Ava shook her head and showed the woman her ID.
    “Oh,” the woman said again, “is something wrong?”
    “Poor Nancy,” she sighed, when Ava finished explaining the reason for her visit. “Just when she was beginning to sort her life out a bit. She worshipped that daughter of hers.”
    Had Ava imagined it, or had Anna Foster intended to imply that Amy Hill was not worthy of her mother’s adoration?
    “Did you know Amy Hill, Ms Foster?” Ava asked.
    Anna Foster shook her head, and her hair swished.
    “Not that well. I met her a couple of times. Pretty girl, but . . .” Ava arched an eyebrow, “well, she was inclined to be rather selfish. I didn’t like the way she spoke to her mother. Then again, how many teenagers respect their parents these days? Not many.”
    She sighed, “it’s unkind, isn’t it, speaking ill of the dead? Nancy was devoted to Amy, she must be devastated.”
    Ava nodded, thinking that ‘speaking ill of the dead,’ was often a help in a murder investigation.
    Anna agreed immediately to offer her support to Nancy.
    “Is it alright if I grab a few things before we go? And I need to call my son to see if he can mind the shop while I’m gone.”
    Ava followed Anna Foster along a passage narrowed by bookcases on either side, with doors leading off to further small rooms stacked with books. The floor was uneven in places and tripping hazards were indicated by large red arrows pointing downwards. Pondering the nightmares a risk assessment might raise, Ava concentrated on watching her feet as Anna Foster led her to the rear of the shop, and through a door opening into a small square hallway with stairs leading steeply upwards.
    “Do you live here?”
    Anna Foster smiled. “There’s a small flat upstairs.” Ava waited in the hallway while Anna Foster hurried upstairs to collect her belongings. The woman’s voice could be heard talking on the telephone.
    Ava picked a book at random from one of the shelves on a small pine bookcase in the space under the stairs, and leafed through it.
    “Do you like poetry?” asked Anna Foster moments later.
    Ava replaced the slim volume hurriedly, muttering, “no, not my thing really. I prefer a good thriller. Or horror, you know, Stephen King’s good. Are you ready?”
    “I’ve just been phoning my son. He’s coming to keep shop. I’ll lock up behind us. He has his own keys.”
    Ava noticed that Anna Foster had replaced the bright red shirt she had been wearing with something darker. She had clasped her abundant hair away from her face, emphasising her hazel eyes. With her full lips and striking looks, she resembled a sultry French actress whose name Ava had forgotten. One of her ex’s had been a big fan.
    “What did you mean just now when you said that you didn’t like the way Amy Hill spoke to her mother?”
    Anna Foster shrugged, “I really don’t want to speak ill of the dead. It’s just that Amy was always asking for money, and nothing her mother did for her was ever good enough. When Nancy opened the shop Amy refused to help out. Once I heard her making fun of her mother’s business. I think she was put out to discover that her mother had an interest in her life other than her