Next Door to Murder Read Free Page B

aware of their proximity, went self-consciously up the steps and into the house, Gus at her heels. And that, she thought resignedly, might well be the last words they’d exchange. Certainly they hadn’t been forthcoming, but it must be unsettling for them at their age – which she estimated to be mid-seventies – moving not only house but country. She wondered idly why they’d gone to Canada, and, more particularly, why they’d come back. No doubt she’d never know.
    â€˜I’ve established contact with our new neighbours,’ she told Max, when he phoned later, ‘but I doubt if it will progress any further. They seemed pretty reserved. Their name’s Franks, and they’re from Canada.’ She paused, her thoughts moving on. ‘Have you ever met Julian Willow?’
    â€˜That’s an abrupt switch! No, I know him by sight, that’s all. Why?’
    â€˜I saw Georgia at lunchtime, and she offered to invite him and his wife to dinner with us.’
    â€˜Nice of her, but again, why?’
    â€˜Because I’m considering Willows’ for my next assignment.’
    â€˜Ah! Well, I’d say it’s a good choice. They’re a well-known Marsborough family, after all.’
    â€˜I’ve not reached a firm decision, but Linz and I had a sniff round the shop. It’s very plush.’
    â€˜And pricey, I should think. Look, love, the class will be arriving any minute. I’ll have to go, but I’ll give you the usual call later, to say goodnight.’
    Rona looked out at the garden. The sun was off it now, which made it a good time to do some watering. She went outside, filled the can at the outdoor tap, and began the time-consuming routine. There were at least a dozen urns and containers to attend to, and several hanging baskets.
    It was as she was reaching up to a basket on the dividing wall that a movement caught her eye, and she glanced up at the house next door in time to see a curtain at an upstairs window twitch back into place.
    Rona paused, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Someone up there had been watching her, she thought. Why? Then she shook herself. She was being neurotic; no doubt whoever it was – probably Mrs Franks – had simply been straightening the curtain.
    She risked another, furtive, glance up at the house, but nothing else moved, and she continued her watering. That was the second time she’d felt slightly uneasy about her new neighbours, and both times, she told herself roundly, totally without cause.
    Resolving to put them out of her mind, she finished her watering and went back into the house, closing and locking the door behind her.

Two
    M id-morning was a quiet time at Belmont Library, and they were enjoying a cup of coffee in the minute staff room.
    â€˜How are you getting on with your lodger?’ Mary Price enquired.
    Avril Parish put down a book she’d been flicking through. ‘Fine, thanks, though I’m still on a learning curve.’
    Mary smiled. ‘You said she has a will of her own.’
    â€˜Oh, she has. A very determined young lady.’
    â€˜That’s schoolteachers for you, even young ones! Perhaps they’re born, not made.’
    It was through Mary’s good offices that Sarah had come to her – Mary having a friend at the school, who’d heard she was looking for accommodation – and Avril didn’t want to seem ungrateful. ‘In fact, it’s working very well,’ she added. ‘If she’s not out, she spends the evenings in her room, so we don’t impinge on each other, and so far, she’s been going home to Stokely at weekends.’
    â€˜So far?’
    â€˜Well, I’m not sure how long that’ll continue. She’s acquired a boyfriend.’
    â€˜Ah! Have you met him?’
    â€˜Briefly, when he called for her one evening.’ She paused. ‘Actually, Mary, I might be anticipating difficulties where none exist,