Lost Lives (Emily Swanson Mystery Thriller Series Book 1) Read Free Page B

one evening he was, after running some errands for me. A gang of heathens appeared out of the shadows and attacked him! Took his wallet, his phone—not that anyone calls him, but that’s beside the point. He had to have stitches, didn’t you, dear? And the police never caught the buggers, did they? Probably didn’t even look if you ask me. It’s enough to make an old woman scared to leave her home. I bet you don’t have all those troubles with teenagers in the countryside do you?”
    “It’s all drugs and videogames these days.” The words shot from Andrew’s mouth in quick succession.
    “Do you want children some day?” Harriet set out a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “Lord knows, I’ll be dead in my grave before I’m ever made a grandmother.”
    Emily stiffened, shook her head.
    “Fancy that, a young woman like you not wanting children. What’s that’s about then?”
    Emily froze, her mouth half-open, the flesh under her fingernails turning white against the teacup.
    Harriet waved a hand in the air. “Oh don’t mind me. Just tell me to keep to my own affairs. Andrew always does, don’t you?”
    Emily put down the cup with an unintentional clatter. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to go back home. Not to the apartment across the hall, but back to the safety of her cottage. Except that it wasn’t her cottage anymore, and it hadn’t been safe for a long time.
    “Oh look, I’ve gone and upset the girl.” Harriet reached over and patted Emily on the knee. “I am sorry, dear.”
    “It’s fine.” Emily could feel tears filling her ducts, her throat hardening. She would not cry, not in front of strangers. She forced a smile to her lips. “How long have you lived in this building, Harriet?”
    The old woman looked around the room, as if all the years she had spent here were scattered among the books and newspapers.
    “Since I was ten years old.”
    Emily sat back in her chair. The distraction was working. Tears receded. Her throat relaxed.
    “See, back in the day, when The Holmeswood was still a hotel, me and my parents came to live here. It was during the war. Father couldn’t go off to fight, on account of him only having one leg. Lost the other in a car accident a couple years before. Anyway, our own house had been destroyed and we had nowhere else to go. The Holmeswood started renting out rooms long-term. The rooms were cheap and so here we stayed. When the war was over, people were still on rations and busy trying to put their lives back together. No one came to stay at The Holmeswood anymore. Most of those that were living there eventually moved out. The owner lost all his money. That’s when Mr Christie stepped in, bought the hotel and turned it into the place it is today. My old dad may have lost a leg but he was still a fine carpenter. Mr Christie offered for us to stay on for cheap in exchange for his help—to convert the hotel rooms into apartments.”
    Emily sat forwards, intrigued by Harriet’s story. Andrew, who had clearly heard the tale a hundred times, dropped his book and picked up another.
    “By the time all the work was done, Mr Christie had become like family to me and my mum. He was always bringing round clothes and whatnot for me to wear. Said they belonged to his daughter when she was little. Father didn’t much like it. He was proud, you see. And he didn’t much like the attention Mr Christie paid to my mother. When he was found murdered one night, God bless his soul, Mr Christie stopped coming round altogether. I suppose it was unbecoming—a young widow receiving married gentleman callers.”
    Sighing, Harriet added another spoonful of sugar to her cooling tea and stirred.
    “Murdered?” Emily was aghast.
    “They found his body in a dumpster out back.” Andrew’s eyes appeared over the top of his book. “Whoever killed him hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess. Granddad had been stabbed seventy-two times while taking the lift. His body was dragged