A Murder for Christmas: An Amateur Female Sleuth Historical Cozy Mystery (Miss Riddell Cozy Mysteries Book 3) by P.C. James

Author:P.C. James [James, P.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Gang Publishing
Published: 2021-04-02T16:00:00+00:00

15

It Wasn’t Her – January 2

After a sleepless night where her mind trotted around the parable of the Prodigal Son and how angry the decent hard-working son had been to learn his father was planning a feast for the Prodigal and wondering if that’s what she was witnessing here in Yorkshire with Frank and Anthony, Pauline rose at dawn. The early start ensured that by nine o’clock she was up, dressed, had done the farm chores, breakfasted, and driven to Goathland. She hid in the same place she’d watched the Dower house from on the previous occasion, only this time she was better prepared. Her feet were wrapped in nylon stockings, woolen socks and a pair of her father’s leather work boots. As well as the stockings, her legs were protected by corduroy work pants, two petticoats, and a thick winter skirt. Two blouses, a sweater, and a jacket protected her upper body, a thick woolen scarf her neck and a wool cap, her head. On top of all this, she wore a thick winter coat with a wide collar that she’d lifted around her ears. Her hands were encased in thin gloves – the kind worn to a ball in days gone by – her kidskin gloves, and on top of both, wool mittens.

According to the plan, Peacock was to phone the estate agents shortly after nine and demand a tour of the premises immediately. Pauline was sure the agent would delay the inspection for as long as possible to allow the loot to be removed. It would be a long, cold wait if nothing untoward happened, but she was sure the squatter, whoever it was, would be escaping the house soon after receiving word from the real estate agent.

Pauline settled down to wait, confident she’d be released from her vigil very soon. The biggest drawback she could now foresee was that in the middle of winter the sun barely rose above the rim of the dale at this time in the morning and the back of the house was still in a dark shadow. The squatter could be well on their way to the gate, and the lane behind, before she was able to identify him or her and would be off down the lane before she could catch them. She wished she hadn’t so casually brushed aside the offer of help from the police.

Another drawback she saw now was she was so well bundled against the cold she could barely move, let alone chase criminals. Both these problems, however, faded into nothing as the minutes ticked away into an hour and she realized no one was going to come racing out of the house at all. Her spirits began to fail.

Even wrapped against the cold as she was, by mid-morning her feet and hands were growing numb. She’d expected that once the call was made, there’d be a flurry of activity as the estate agent’s boy and the mysterious lodger worked to remove all the evidence of occupation and probably a lot of the stolen property as well.

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