Throttled by Morgan A B

Author:Morgan, A B
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hobeck Books
Published: 2021-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

24

SCORN IN ACTION

Sending a text to her husband before setting off, Connie was feeling proud of her efforts and, with help from Ryan’s laptop revelations, particularly pleased at how easily she had been able to find a home address for Stephanie Fletcher. There was plenty of time for her to drive to Theale and back and still prepare supper for four people by eight o’clock that evening. It wouldn’t be much of a chore to put on a simple buffet.

The motorway journey was taken up deciding what to cook, and her mind soon wandered to thoughts of the coming festive season. It was months away and most people wouldn’t have given it room in their lives until November, but she was so excited to be having both her sons together at the same time that she had broken the waiting time down to weeks. It sounded so much nearer. With little Euan there for Christmas it would be magical.

‘Take the next turning on the right,’ Sat-Nav-Suzie directed.

‘Turning right,’ Connie announced, checking her mirrors before flicking the indicator. ‘Oh, this is dead posh,’ she said. The street was tree-lined and tranquil. Impressive brick-built detached houses were set back from the road, many with gravel driveways and lavish entrances, some with security gates barring visitors.

‘You have reached your destination.’

‘Thank you, Suzie. Very good directions, as usual,’ Connie said, patting the dashboard. Progress was slow as she searched for the Fletcher residence, scanning the walls and gateposts as she drove by. ‘Why can’t they have numbers like everyone else?’ she grumbled. ‘The Haven… Idlewild… Landfall.’ The end of the private road was fast approaching where there was a convenient place to make a U-turn and glide past the houses on the other side of the road. Ahead of her, a silver saloon car pulled out from one of the properties and sped off towards the main road. There were two occupants in suits and ties. Connie grinned.

‘I think we may have found the house,’ she said, continuing to talk to Sat-Nav-Suzie as if she were a real person. ‘Those were policemen. Takes being married to one to know one.’ Having checked for the correct house name, she pulled over to the kerb, deciding to give Stephanie Fletcher a breather from questions before bowling in and annoying her. She stepped out of the car to stretch and take in the summer air, faltering when she heard a wild cry of anguish followed by a metallic clanging sound, followed by another, and another.

Swiftly she grabbed her handbag from inside the car, locked the vehicle and ran towards the house, taking her mobile phone from her pocket. On the driveway was a Mercedes, private number plate confirming to Connie she was indeed at the correct address. The double-garage door was wide open, and a raging woman was swinging wildly with something resembling a length of scaffolding, hitting out at what Connie assumed must be a prized car belonging to Scott Fletcher. A wild array of expletives punctuated each forehand and overarm swipe.

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