BEFORE I TRUST YOU a Gripping Mystery Full of Killer Twists by Daisy White

Author:Daisy White [White, Daisy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07HYXG37F
Publisher: Joffe Books crime, thriller, and mystery
Published: 2018-10-01T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The Monday papers all carry banner headlines about the fire at Tommy’s yard, and the murder of stable lad Simon Arden. It’s a shock to everyone, and I know I’m going to see the burnt body in my nightmares for months to come. I’m also concerned about another note that was slipped under the salon door, waiting for me when I unlocked it this morning.

To Ruby Baker

I’m watching you. You saw what happened to Simon. You are next. Stay out of Rita’s business.

This is your last warning.

It’s written in the same style as before, with pages torn from a newspaper. This time they are glued onto the front of an envelope, but there is no address or stamp.

“Are you going to telephone the police?” Eve asks, worry lines wrinkling her pudgy face. “That’s nasty.”

“Yes, I’ll ring them later, but I’m sure it is just some crank, like Johnnie said.” I have started looking over my shoulder a lot more since the first threat, but this one worries me more. Who is watching me? Of course, anyone could have written that, it doesn’t have to be someone spying on the salon from across the road.

“Report it, just like you did before,” Johnnie says, re-reading the note. “Keep pretending you aren’t worried, darling, but don’t go anywhere by yourself in the evenings. Make sure at least one of us is with you. Interesting that it says ‘Rita’s business,’ not Tommy’s or Simon’s . . .”

“So you think it might be about Rita?”

“Either that, or whoever sent this wants to throw you off the real reason for these horrid happenings.”

Chills running down my spine, I take the paper into the back room, studying it again as I make the tea tray up. I decide to take it down to the police station this time. I can walk there after work, before I get the bus to see Joanna. So it doesn’t drop out of my pinny pocket at work this morning, I lift the paper up, intending to pin it to the board next to my investigation maps.

As I hold it up, the flimsy envelope catches the light, and I can see writing. It’s just the faint outline of words, but it looks like an address. Someone must have been resting on the envelope while they were writing, and this has pressed through. A rush of excitement makes my hand shake, and I twist the paper this way and that, trying to make out the letters.

“What are you doing, Rubes?” Johnnie wanders in with two boxes.

“Look at this! I can see an address underneath the message,” I tell him. “I’ll write it down, but I’m pretty sure . . .”

Johnnie peers at the envelope, then at my writing. Even allowing for the odd indecipherable letter, the address is obvious:

Mr Tommy O’Mara,

Tegdown Stables,

Patcham Road,

Brighton

Johnnie and I stare at one another, and I swallow hard. “Do you think Tommy has been getting these poisonous little letters too? Or do you think the letters have

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