Sealfinger (Sam Applewhite Book 1) by Heide Goody & Iain Grant

Author:Heide Goody & Iain Grant [Goody, Heide]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pigeon Park Press
Published: 2021-06-25T16:00:00+00:00

39

They were halfway to Welton le Marsh before Delia twigged where they were going. “The old lady’s house?”

Sam nodded. “Something’s not right.”

“Poking around old lady’s houses isn’t right. I thought you went to the police.”

“I did. The trainer they found in the alligator pool at Seal Land is a match for that print by the churchyard wall.”

“And?”

“That idiot, Cesar Hackett, has refused to investigate the matter.”

Delia winced at her harsh comment. “If the police don’t think this trainer thing is significant then—”

“Cesar doesn’t think anything’s significant. He thinks crimes are like chicken pox. If you don’t scratch it, it’ll just go away by itself.”

“Whereas you can’t resist scratching an itch?”

“Ha ha,” Sam huffed, then gave a genuine laugh. “Okay, so I’ve got a curious streak. I can’t leave a job half done.”

“Job?”

“I can’t leave a mystery unsolved.” The fifth car in a row overtook her slow Piaggio van, beeping as it accelerated past. “On my eighth birthday, I had a cake with candles. And I remember blowing the candles out and my dad asking me what I’d wished for. I said ‘To know who Jack the Ripper was.’ They laughed and gave me funny looks.” She looked at Delia. “I just wanted to know, I guess.”

Delia’s expression was doubtful but sympathetic. “Fine, we go visit the old lady’s house again. As long as we’re not breaking in to poke around.”

“Then you stay outside as lookout while I break in and poke around.”

Delia groaned.

At Mrs Skipworth’s cottage, Sam knocked on the front door again, just in case the woman had returned, and the mystery of her disappearance was nothing more than a last minute coach trip to Scarborough. When there was no reply, Sam went round the back, pushed through the carboard taped over the back door window, and let herself in.

“You’re just contaminating the crime scene, if that’s what it is,” said Delia at her shoulder.

“I thought you were staying round the front as lookout,” said Sam.

“You said that. I just said it was a bad idea to break in and poke around.”

Sam went to the shelf of stern-looking cat mugs. “It occurred to me while I was making tea.”

“What did?” said Delia.

“There’s four mugs here. There were six previously. There’s two missing.”

“That’s some expert arithmetic you’re doing,” nodded Delia. “And?”

“There’s two missing,” Sam repeated.

Delia tried to look supportive. “A lost trainer. Two missing mugs. This isn’t exactly coming together as solid evidence. Not unless you think a one-legged man broke in here to steal some rare and valuable cat mugs.”

Sam took one down. “Are they valuable?”

Delia looked at the underside. “Modern factory-made stuff.”

As Sam put it back, Delia flipped open the bin by the sink. “They’re in here. Broken. The one-legged man came in, broke some mugs, and left.”

Sam rushed to the bin. She half reached in to scoop up the shards. “Let’s—”

“Glue them back together?” said Delia, reading her thoughts. “Why? What’s going through your brain, Miss Marple?”

Sam sighed wearily. “Don’t you just think something is a bit … off?”

“This…” Delia waved her hands about, fingers splayed.

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