Burying Bad News by Paula Williams

Author:Paula Williams [Williams, Paula]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: darkstroke books
Published: 2020-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Martin and Suzanne Naylor lived in the Old Forge, one of the oldest and largest cottages in the High Street. When it was originally built back in the days when Judge Jeffreys went on his rampage around Somerset it had been a simple one up, one down dwelling with a blacksmith's forge (hence its name) on one side. Over the centuries, it had bits and pieces added to it so that inside, it was a bit of a rabbit warren, while outside, the uneven roofline told the old place's history.

Before Martin and Suzanne moved in, the interior of the house had been gutted. Builders swarmed all over the place, blocking the High Street with their vans, disturbing the peace with their power tools and radios and generally not doing anything to endear the newcomers to the other residents.

I'd always fancied seeing inside and hoped they hadn't done too much to wreck the ambience of the old place.

But that morning I had things other than interior decor on my mind. I took a long steadying breath before lifting the old-fashioned iron knocker which, I was happy to see, they'd retained. Was I doing the right thing? The more I thought about it, the more I managed to convince myself that Martin's wallet had indeed fallen during their little scuffle and that Ed had picked it up, intending to return it.

The sound of the heavy iron knocker was loud enough to scare a pigeon that had been scratching around in a bank of laurel bushes that grew alongside the path between the house and what I assumed was now the garage. The pigeon, in its turn, scared me as it flapped and crashed around in the bushes in a panic before flying off.

My heart rate had only just returned to normal when the door opened. I was relieved to see Suzanne Naylor standing there. I hadn't been looking forward to explaining to Martin how his fancy designer wallet had ended up in my dog walking bag.

I'd interviewed Suzanne a couple of weeks earlier when the village choir gave its inaugural concert in the old people's home (this was the interview Mitch had chosen to spike and had described as 'boring snoring').

She was in her mid-twenties although she dressed a lot older, in a long line grey cardigan over a heavy tweed skirt. She was one of those naturally pale people. Her skin was almost translucent, her eyes a strange silver colour. Her fine light blonde hair was fashioned into a chin length bob that swayed like a silk curtain as she moved her head.

At that time of the interview she'd been animated, happy, her eyes shining as she talked about her plans for the newly formed choir. Now they were red-rimmed and the dark shadows under them that stood out so sharply against her pale skin gave her the look of a startled panda.

“Mrs Naylor, I don't know if you remember me, but I'm -” I began.

“Oh yes. Yes. You're the girl from the paper.

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