The Cut Throat by Liz Graham

Author:Liz Graham [Liz Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

T hat scene had been plenty weird. Bridget had refused to talk with either Carmel or Roxanne. Instead, she’d locked herself in her house. Why was Bridget so upset at Melba’s claim to know who the murderer was? Once she really turned herself to answering that question, Carmel’s mind reeled because there were so many possibilities––none of which led to the same conclusion, and none of which she liked. One, Bridget was the murderer Melba saw, and naturally Bridget didn’t want the old woman spreading the word. No, that couldn’t possibly have worked––Bridget might have had time to run down to the bridge, but how likely was it? It could only have happened if Bridget had pre-arranged to meet Peters, otherwise she wouldn’t have known he was down there waiting to be attacked. On the other hand, maybe Bridget went down that way to check on Melba with the storm coming, noticed Peters standing around and slit his throat with a cut-throat she just happened to have in the voluminous pocket of her hippie cotton dress along with her tankard and crystal goblet? Very unlikely.

Get back to the list. Two, Melba was the murderer. Bridget knew this and was trying to protect her. Or, along the same lines, both of them knew the identity of the person from the cove who was Peters’ killer, and Bridget wanted to protect the person and didn’t want Melba telling.

Or three, an option which had nothing whatsoever to do with the murder. Bridget knew Melba was slightly senile and didn’t want the evidence of that spread around. Didn’t both Bridget and Phonse insist that they looked after their own in the Cove? If Community Services found out about Melba, an old woman living alone in the woods in her senility, they’d want to remove her to a nice safe nursing home in the city, a world away from her cottage in the cove. Carmel didn’t know Melba very well, but well enough to know the old woman would be miserable in that situation. She was happy enough living with her fairies and cat for company.

Carmel had to take her mind away from all this––these divergent lines of thought weren’t getting her anywhere. Besides, she had to catch the news, just to watch how the nasty Vee Ryan had comported herself in front of the camera. Gerald Smythe and his crew had been down at the little bungalow for a good two hours.

“More on the mysterious murder of Eric Peters,” she caught Smythe’s smooth voice-over to yesterday’s footage of the police cars and the bright yellow tape fluttering off the bridge.

The cameras opened on Gerald Smythe in front of the weathered church sign. Carmel realized this old sign was the only indicator of a place name in the community. Against the gray cliff face to his right, Smythe’s lurid pink shirt was the only bright spot to be seen.

“The village of St. Jude Without,” he said portentously. “But the question on everyone’s mind is, what is it exactly that St.

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