Murder in Friday Street by Amy Myers

Author:Amy Myers [Myers, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Josh could obviously guess what Georgia was thinking, because he half smiled.

Excitement conquered her irritation at having to beg for help. ‘You don’t believe in volunteering information,’ she said lightly.

‘Need-to-know basis, Georgia. A question of trust.’

‘Not of truth?’

‘I don’t recall telling you anything that wasn’t true. Might not have been the whole truth, but who’s to know what that is? As soon as Bob takes over, you can come over to the house. Hazel’s at her sister’s, so we can talk in peace. Likes to put in her ha’p’orth, does Hazel.’

And Josh, she suspected, preferred being sole monarch of Friday Street’s affairs. The lock-keeper who controlled the flow both in and out. The problem was that she was dependent on it, a situation she didn’t much relish. She was reasonably sure that although Josh was cautious he was on the right side of justice, but in Friday Street it didn’t pay to rely on anything.

Half an hour later, after minding her Ps and Qs in the pub with a toasted sandwich, she was ensconced with Josh in his living room where he produced exceptionally good coffee. ‘We buy it in France,’ he told her. ‘Bob won’t let us bring back any liquor – killing his trade, he says – but he doesn’t object to coffee. Or a cheese or two. He’s partial to them himself.’

Georgia mentioned a disagreement she and Luke had had with a particularly smelly cheese they’d brought home from Lille last year, and waited patiently for him to return to the subject of Brian Winters.

Eventually Josh cleared his throat. ‘Now then,’ he began promisingly, ‘Brian was a good mate of mine. I still miss him. Died too young, he did, like his son Bill. Bill was only just forty when he went. Car accident. Tragic it was. And now Jane has the farm to run and not even her daughter to share it with.’

Perhaps he was thinking this went too near the heart to tell an outsider, for he quickly cracked a joke. ‘And before you’re thinking that someone here bumped him off, let me tell you it was an accident. You might think we’ve got nothing else to do up here on the downs but go around murdering each other, but we’re a village. It’s rare, but it does happen.’

‘It doesn’t always leave scars the way it seems to have done in Friday Street.’

‘Murder always scars someone. So does any death. It’s bloody unfair the way God made the world, but everyone has to die. For all the Reverend says we can, we can’t change that.’

‘Natural death makes wounds that heal,’ Georgia said firmly. ‘Violent or inexplicable death, or . . .’ She forced herself to say it. ‘Or when there’s no body, only a missing question mark, then the wound doesn’t heal.’

Josh looked at her curiously. ‘Personal experience?’

‘Yes.’

She felt more kindly towards him when he did not enquire further. The shadow of Rick hovered, then gradually vanished as Josh said, ‘Suppose I said that’s how the Friday Street music treats it? Open wounds.

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