An Unfinished Murder by Ann Granger

Author:Ann Granger
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788631068
Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Ltd
Published: 2018-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

It was market day in Bamford. Meredith didn’t really need to go to the market every week but she enjoyed it there. She liked the jumble of stalls, the heaps of vegetables and fruit, the racks of clothes, the stalls selling the gleanings of house clearances claiming to be collectibles, and the air of general organised chaos. So, she abandoned the piano tuner to his latest sleuthing and set off, shopping bag in hand.

Living in a former vicarage meant living next to the churchyard. Neither Meredith nor Alan bothered about this. It was like an extension of their own large garden. There was even a little door in the dividing wall that allowed her to walk straight out from the garden into the churchyard without having to go round by the road. She stepped through it now and on to the damp grass. There were trees dotted about between the graves, and a thriving resident population of grey squirrels. One ran up a tree trunk at her approach and perched on a branch, staring down at her inquisitively, perhaps hoping she’d brought some food. But he was out of luck today. ‘On my way back from the market!’ Meredith called up to him. ‘Not on my way there!’ His bright eyes fixed her for a moment longer and then he scurried away.

A little further on, a small white cat with tortoiseshell patches was prowling amid the headstones, looking for mice. Birds flapped from one tree to another and the jackdaws circled the church tower, uttering their discordant cries. But of other human life there was only one example. Meredith’s attention was called to it by the sound of running water and the clang of a metal watering can. An elderly man was stooped over one of the taps dotted around the churchyard for the use of people putting flowers on graves. He stood up as she looked. Can in hand, he turned and set off towards a headstone nearby. He was tall, with wispy grey hair, and wore an old-fashioned raincoat. Meredith walked casually nearer so that she could read the legend on the headstone.

Brenda, beloved wife of Arthur Hellington

There followed the dates of her birth and death, but Meredith did not need to know those. The man was on one knee, carefully arranging the flowers he’d brought in an urn.

She waited until he had finished his task and stood up. Then she cleared her throat tactfully to let him know she was there, and asked, ‘Mr Hellington?’

He turned and looked at her vaguely, then in puzzlement.

She hastened to explain. ‘I’m Meredith Markby, Alan’s wife. You came to see my husband recently, about your daughter.’

His expression cleared and he came towards her. ‘Oh, Mrs Markby, yes, of course. Your husband was involved in the search for Rebecca at the beginning, when she disappeared. And now, of course, they’ve found… they’ve found her.’

He sounded so lost that Meredith said, impulsively, ‘There’s a bench over there. Would you like to sit down for a moment?’

‘Yes,’ he said gratefully, ‘yes, I think I should.

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