A Deadly Ride: A Charleton House Mystery (The Charleton House Mysteries Book 4) by Kate P Adams

Author:Kate P Adams [Adams, Kate P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-22T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

We pulled up outside a red-brick semi-detached house on the kind of smart-looking street I imagined to be inhabited by teachers and solicitors. The driveway was empty, but I had no idea how Betsy was travelling here, so it didn’t mean she hadn’t arrived.

Overgrown bamboo formed a canopy across the path to the house and we had to crouch a little as we went. Betsy opened the door before I had a chance to ring the bell.

‘Hello, ladies, come in, come in.’ She peered beyond us. ‘Where have you parked? I left the driveway free for you.’

‘On the side of the road,’ replied Joyce, ‘just in case you hadn’t arrived yet and wanted to park on the drive.’

‘Ah, never mind.’ Betsy looked as if she’d been crying. ‘I’m in the study, collecting a few things for my dad. I half expected to find it in a bit of a state, but the police seem to have been really respectful.’

The carpets were plush and soft underfoot and I regretted not taking my shoes off, but it seemed a bit late now.

‘Lavender?’ I asked as we walked into a large room at the front of the house. Betsy smiled.

‘Yes, she loved the stuff. There are little bags that she sewed herself all over the place, and the garden’s full of it.’

It was just another reason for me to like Olivia. I was really starting to wish our paths had crossed much earlier and I’d had the chance to get to know her.

One wall of the study was filled with dark wooden shelves. A roll-top desk stood against the chimney breast, and two old-fashioned wooden filing cabinets stood against another wall. I loved that style of cabinet, but I’d yet to find one where the drawer didn’t stick. The room was refreshingly clear of electronic clutter.

Betsy was going through a cabinet drawer as she talked. ‘Dad told me where she kept things like her funeral plan and I said I’d dig them out.’

Joyce was looking at the collection of black-and-white photographs on the wall and I took a seat at the desk.

‘Please, help yourself,’ Betsy said over her shoulder. ‘I know the police have already been in here, but you might find something they missed.’

My interest was drawn by neat piles of paper, a beautiful speckled-red fountain pen in a carved walnut stand and a bottle of ink. Betsy noticed me handle the pen.

‘She insisted on handwriting notes. You’d never get a thank you in an email, she didn’t think that was personal enough.’

I flicked through the papers. Bills, newsletters from a historical cycling organisation that clearly hadn’t taken the electronic route either. Nothing really caught my eye.

I joined Joyce looking at the photos on the wall. There was a group of suffragettes on bicycles, one of a woman on her own wearing almost the exact same outfit that Olivia had worn at the Cyclemania event. A vintage poster had a woman pedalling away and the line ‘Chains that set women free’ underneath it.

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