The Midnight Hour: Twisty mystery from the bestselling author of The Postscript Murders (The Brighton Mysteries Book 6) by Elly Griffiths

Author:Elly Griffiths [Griffiths, Elly]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2021-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

They stopped at the first phone box so that Meg could ring the DI. She steeled herself for a reprimand, perhaps even an order not to go to Whitby. But, instead, the DI said, ‘That might be an idea. You can interview Seth Billington. We’ve had some new information about him.’ He told her about the fingerprints on the letter, warned her not to stay more than one night and to drive carefully (‘the roads are very rough up north’). Then it was Emma’s turn to telephone. She got back in the car looking thoughtful.

‘Edgar says he’s having a fantastic day with the kids. He’s even thinking of baking a cake.’

‘Well, he doesn’t have to do it every day, does he?’ said Meg. ‘Mind you, I can’t remember my dad ever looking after us.’

‘Never?’

‘Never.’ Was this odd? thought Meg, as she manoeuvred the unfamiliar car through the unfamiliar streets (they had agreed that Meg would drive to Whitby and Emma would drive back). Meg loved her dad, he was a benign presence in the house, but she could not remember him ever cooking a meal for his children. Her mother did everything; all the cooking, cleaning, caring, and all the shouting and disciplining too. Meg was eleven when Connor was born and she remembered being roped in to change nappies from the start. She had never seen her father do it though.

‘My dad didn’t help around the house either,’ said Emma. ‘But, then again, my mother didn’t do much housework herself.’

‘I suppose you had servants,’ said Meg. She’d read about houses like this. Aisling used to have a magazine that was full of stories about scullery maids marrying lords. Their houses were chock-a-block with uniformed servants, all bowing and curtsying like mad.

‘Well, we had a housekeeper, Ada,’ said Emma, sounding defensive. ‘But she was more like a friend really. And we had a cook.’

More like a friend, thought Meg. She wondered if Ada would say the same. But she didn’t answer because they were caught in a maze of streets that suddenly, and terrifyingly, turned into a road that soared into the sky, the docks and the factories far below. There were signs everywhere and it was only at the last minute that Emma saw one for Leeds.

‘That’s the right direction,’ she said. ‘Left here.’

Meg saw a gap in the traffic and wove through. A tunnel, another bewildering junction and then they were on a wide, clear road with hills on either side.

‘Well done,’ said Emma. ‘You’re a great driver.’

‘I love driving,’ said Meg. ‘But I don’t often get the chance.’

‘Of course, women aren’t allowed to drive police cars,’ said Emma, ‘what with us being such sensitive flowers and all that.’

‘I wish I could drive instead of DI Willis,’ said Meg. ‘He’s so slow.’

Emma laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in a car with Bob but I can imagine. Who taught you to drive?’

‘My dad. He’s a mechanic so he knows all about cars. He taught me when I was seventeen.

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