The Shortest Journey by Hazel Holt

Author:Hazel Holt
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: british detective, cosy mystery, cozy mystery, female detective, hazel holt, mrs malory, mrs malory and the shortest journey, murder mystery, rural england
Publisher: Hazel Holt

Chapter Seven

The following week my son Michael came home for the summer vacation with two suitcases of washing, a heavy cold and a copy of The Good Beer Guide with every pub within a radius of fifty miles of Taviscombe hopefully marked in red. This meant that a large proportion of my life for the next few days was spent in the kitchen making hot lemon and honey and mounds of chilli con carne (‘Feed a cold, Ma, and starve a fever’) to the relentless hum of the washing machine.

‘Is there any more news of Mrs Rossiter?’

We were sitting out in the garden drinking home-made lemonade.

‘No, I’m afraid not. Things seem to have come to a standstill. There’s been no sign of her, dead or alive. There’s nothing more the police can do – or anyone else, for that matter. It’s just an extraordinary mystery. I can’t help worrying. Is she hurt or ill, or in some sort of difficult or dangerous situation?’

‘I hope she’s all right, she was a nice old bird. I liked her.’ Michael fished a lemon pip out of his glass and flicked it into the flower border. ‘She was very kind to me. Do you remember when I had measles? She came and read to me every day, for hours. I think we worked our way through the whole of the Jennings books!’

‘She loved children; it’s a thousand pities she has no grandchildren. I think the happiest time of her life was when Thelma was a very little girl.’

‘Before she could talk, you mean!’

It really did seem as though Mrs Rossiter had vanished from the face of the earth. Michael reported that Thelma had telephoned one morning while I was out shopping to see if I had heard anything. I was quite glad to have missed her. After our last conversation I didn’t feel very inclined to talk to her.

‘Very tra-la, she was,’ Michael said. “Now do tell me how you’re getting on!” ’ he continued in a passable imitation of Thelma’s affected drawl. ‘ “And don’t you just love being in London after the dreary provinces? Such fun being where it’s all at! You must come and have dinner with us one evening and meet some really fascinating people!” Yuck.’

‘Don’t you want to be where it’s all at?’ I asked, laughing.

‘If it’s where Thelma Douglas is, then no thanks!’

Tris and Tessa, excited by our laughter, rushed round in circles barking, until Michael got up and began to chase them round the garden. I gathered up the glasses and went back into the house. As I stood by the kitchen window, watching Michael throwing a ball for the dogs, I thought once again about Mrs Rossiter’s disappearance. A sudden thought struck me: Annie Fisher. Surely she must be very distressed, wrapped up as she was in Mrs Rossiter, yet I hadn’t heard a word from her. I would have expected her to be on the doorstep straight away, questioning me in that fierce way of hers.

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