“Maxwell didn’t have a key to get into the house. The only one with them was the one on her key ring, currently on the grubby, stained table in front of her along with her phone and a cup of rapidly cooling coffee.She was just running through a silent list of imprecations, some of which would have made even whiter the hair of the little old ladies who seemed to surround her on every side, had she said them out loud. Tom Medlicott sat slumped in his seat like a puppet with its strings cut. She co...uld tell by the condescending looks and nudges that the old dears had decided she was his minder. And, in a way, she had to admit that she was. She turned to check the view out of the window, which wouldn’t have helped her much as she had no idea of how long Southampton Water was or whereabouts the ferry terminal was. But it beat staring at Tom Medlicott. Her phone rang, the jaunty tones of what Maxwell chose to call ‘The Bum of the Flightlebee’ making the witches’ convention shudder and bridle.‘DS Carpenter.’ She couldn’t quite make out who was on the other end, but he seemed to be calling her darling.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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