01 - The Filey Connection (#Sanford Third Age Club Mystery) (STAC - Sanford Third Age Club Mystery) by David W Robinson

Author:David W Robinson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Crooked Cat Books
Published: 2012-02-25T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The day moved on quickly. Returning to Filey from the Brigg, they caught the bus to Scarborough, Joe complaining at the cost of the fares when he had a perfectly good car back in Sanford, and they arrived in the area’s premier resort just before two.

“We’ll be on the sea front tonight,” Joe told them, “and time is getting on. Why don’t you just do your shopping in the town?”

They agreed and headed for the Brunswick Shopping Centre on the Westborough pedestrian precinct, where Joe elected to stay outside.

“Keep your phone on, Joe,” Sheila urged.

“In case we need a pack mule,” Brenda chuckled.

While they disappeared into the shopping mall, Joe took a seat on a nearby bench, savouring the sun on his skin, while he enjoyed a cigarette and permitted his agile mind to run over the strange events of the last few days.

Eddie Dobson’s disappearance had overtaken Nicola Leach’s death, but his brush with Ivan Irwin over the Land Rover had brought Nicola back to the forefront of his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the two deaths were linked. Brenda had linked Eddie to Nicola and now the pair were dead.

“I don’t like coincidences,” he said to his two companions when they came out of the Brunswick Centre half an hour later, “and we’re wading in them.”

Ambling along Huntriss Row, towards the monolithic Grand Hotel, Brenda asked, “are you suggesting that Knickers-off and Eddie were up to something that got her killed and persuaded him to jump into the sea?”

“Maybe he didn’t jump,” Joe suggested. “Maybe he was pushed.”

“Not according to Constable Flowers,” Sheila countered. “He said there were no suspicious circumstances and no one else was involved.”

“No,” Joe disagreed. “He said he didn’tthink anyone else was involved.”

“All I can say is it must be something really bad,” Brenda said, pausing to study the window display of a craft shop. “I do like some of these African wood carvings.”

“Most of them are turned on lathes in Leeds,” Joe argued. “What do you mean it must have been something bad?”

They reached the end of the narrow, pedestrian lane, with the Grand Hotel, its four domed spires framed in the afternoon sun, standing over to their left.

“I know a little café over there,” Sheila said. “Let’s have a cuppa.”

While they manoeuvred their way through the throng of afternoon traffic and people, Brenda said, “Let’s be brutally honest about this, Nicola wasn’t much better than a tart. I reckon I’m fairly freewheeling, but she makes me look like a Trappist Nun.”

“You mean Trappist Monk,” Joe said.

“She means Trapistine Nun,” Sheila corrected them both.

Joe sighed as they crossed the public car park outside the Grand. “Get to the point, Brenda.”

“What I’m saying is, Nicola would have to commit a murder before she’d show any regret.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Sheila said, leading the way to the left hand corner of the Grand and the upper station of the funicular railway that ran down to the promenade.

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