Murder at the Abbey by Frances Evesham

Author:Frances Evesham [Evesham, Frances]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Upload
ISBN: 9781800480513
Published: 2021-11-11T06:00:00+00:00

29

Rosalind

‘What do we know about Rosalind Thurston?’ Max asked, as he drove with Libby and the dogs, who grunted happily in the back of the Land Rover, along the road that hugged the north coast of Somerset. ‘You spent hours this morning nosing into her background.’

‘Well, you’re the one who showed me how much you can find out from Facebook, Twitter and so on. I’ve even mastered Instagram. It’s full of photos of my cakes and chocolates, these days. Can’t seem to understand TikTok, though.’

‘No one over forty can.’

‘Anyway,’ Libby continued, ‘as we know from our phone call with Rosalind, she lives in Porlock, which is a lovely little town, apart from its ridiculously steep road. Her garden looks out over the bay. All terraced flower beds and Mediterranean herbs. Had a visit from a Gardener’s World presenter, once.’

‘Husband? Children?’ Max prompted.

‘Husband in residence, children grown up and left home, a boy at university and a girl married and living in Scotland.’ Libby ticked them off on her fingers. ‘Rosalind retired from a job as the finance director of some non-governmental organisation. Which means,’ she added, ‘they get money from the government to do something worthwhile. Something to do with training the social care workforce, in this case.’

‘Financial director, eh?’

‘Yes, I thought you’d like that. The two of you can bond over a spreadsheet or two.’

‘It’s a bit of a leap from finance to chasing ghosts. Do you think she’s having a midlife crisis?’

‘You can ask her.’

Max had no time to reply, as a tractor loomed into view ahead with a line of four cars in low gears following it up a hill, and he slowed to join the queue. ‘This is what I love about the A39,’ he said. ‘You never know how long it will take to drive to Minehead, never mind Porlock. It adds a touch of the unknown to every journey.’

Libby looked at her watch. ‘I hope Rosalind sees it that way. We’re already late. I’d better send a text before she puts the kettle on.’

Bear yawned loudly behind her.

Max said, ‘Are you sure she’s OK with us bringing the dogs?’

‘She insisted. She has a pair of Labradors, herself.’

‘Let’s hope they all get on, that’s all I can say. We can do without a dog fight.’

Finally, the tractor pulled over into a layby to let the cars through, and soon Libby and Max drew up outside Rosalind’s thatched cottage.

Max whistled. ‘Talk about chocolate boxes.’

‘Pretty, isn’t it?’

He shook his head as they scrambled from the car. ‘Expensive to repair that roof. And isn’t it a fire risk?’

‘Nonsense. It’s as good as any other roof. Just more photogenic.’

Max grunted. ‘The windows are too small,’ he objected. ‘I bet it’s dark inside.’

‘Stop it, you grumpy old man,’ Libby said. ‘Here’s Rosalind.’

The ghost-hunter had flung her front door wide open and welcomed the visitors like long-lost friends. ‘And your dogs are beautiful. Come through, we’ll let them out into the garden with my two.’ She called, in a piercing voice,

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