Disappeared: MANTEQUERO BOOK 2 Read Free

probably a house beyond.
    Big garden, Alison thought. Miss Blacker’s grandma must have been well-heeled.
    The house, when she reached it, would have been more properly-described as a cottage. It did have two storeys, but the upper was really just the attic space in the roof. Alison could see two dormer windows peeping through the thatch. The front door was of old, weathered wood with an iron horse-shoe for a knocker. The whole effect was charming. A hidden fairy-tale cottage in the middle of the urban complex.
    She knocked on the door and waited but she didn’t really expect an answer. The house felt deserted, the knock had a hollow, empty sound. She bent down to peer through the letter box. Nothing. All the windows must have been shuttered. It was pitch black in there and the space felt tiny, enclosed and musty.
    “Can I help you?”
    Alison shot up from her crouching position – so quickly that she felt giddy – and swung round to face the owner of the voice.
    “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, feeling her face flare red. “I was looking for Miss Blacker.”
    The owner of the voice turned out to be an old lady of the twinset and pearls variety – literally - Alison could see the pearls peeping from the open neck of her sensible tweed coat.
    “And did you expect to find her in the letter box?” The old lady’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners as if she were suppressing a smile.
    Alison, suddenly assailed by a vision of the enormous Miss Blacker crushed inside a letter box, had to smother a giggle. That was why it was so dark inside. It was actually, literally, a box attached to the inside of the door.
    “I’m sorry.” She gulped. “I must look as if I’m casing the joint.”
This time the old lady really did smile. “I think a real burglar might be a little more discreet,” she said. Then, proffering her hand, “Mavis Wetherspoon. I’m Miss Blacker’s neighbour. I’ve come to feed the cat.”
As if on cue, a small grey and white tabby shot round the corner of the house. It halted for a moment as it took in the two women standing on the path and then launched itself into Alison’s arms. Alison, caught off guard in the act of shaking Miss Wetherspoon’s hand, let go automatically and opened her arms to catch the little creature.
    “Well, goodness me,” said Miss Wetherspoon, as the cat nestled in Alison’s arms and stretched its neck to lick her face. “I’ve never seen her do that with anyone but June. She must like you.”
    “I’m Alison Metcalfe,” Alison said, laughing as the cat’s rough tongue tickled her cheek. “I work with Miss Blacker.”
“Ah, you’re a teacher at Graystones. I expect that’s it. You probably smell like June. Chalk dust and so forth, don’t you know.”
    At this Alison did burst out into laughter. “Well, I don’t know about that, but it’s very nice to be given such a welcome.” She smiled down at the little cat. “What’s she called?”
“Jessica,” said Miss Wetherspoon, with a slight grunt of disapproval. “Rather fanciful name for a cat if you ask me.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” said Alison, quick to counter any possible criticism of the absent Miss Blacker. “I think it suits her.”
    “A cat by any other name . . .” said Miss Wetherspoon, inconsequentially. “Anyway, she’ll be expecting her supper. Would you like to come in?” She produced a key from her coat pocket and opened the cottage door.
     
    It was cold inside. Miss Wetherspoon shivered. “I’ve got the heating on low, but I don’t think it’s quite enough. I’ll just go and check.”
    Alison looked down at the little cat, now licking her neck with every appearance of ecstasy. “Poor little Jessica,” she murmured. “Lonely and cold. This is no life for a cat.”
    Hugging the animal to her chest, she wandered around the room. The furniture was old-fashioned, the settees and armchairs over-stuffed and comfortable, the walls lined with books. It was exactly the