The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery)
“There’d be heavy lifting later, so she dressed casually: jeans, her waisted white shirt and old woolly jumper the colour of dried sage. Faith sat drying her hair at the kitchen table, gazing at the scrap of manuscript paper Jim Postlethwaite had given her. His writing was spiky and slanted. She liked that he used a fountain pen with real ink. A proper musician’s hand. She clicked off the hairdryer and picked up the phone. Last chance on the donkey front.
Her call was picked up on the third ring....
“Joy Whittle.” Ms Whittle’s voice was gruff, her tone no-nonsense. Faith drew breath, gathering her confidence to take the leap – she had to secure this donkey!
“Hello, Ms Whittle? I am sorry to trouble you so early…”
“Not early. Been up for hours. Just on my way out to feed the ducks.” The voice at the other end was clipped, and what Mother would call “County”; the kind of woman once known as a “gel” in certain circles.
“My name’s Faith Morgan. I am vicar at…”MoreLess
Her call was picked up on the third ring....
“Joy Whittle.” Ms Whittle’s voice was gruff, her tone no-nonsense. Faith drew breath, gathering her confidence to take the leap – she had to secure this donkey!
“Hello, Ms Whittle? I am sorry to trouble you so early…”
“Not early. Been up for hours. Just on my way out to feed the ducks.” The voice at the other end was clipped, and what Mother would call “County”; the kind of woman once known as a “gel” in certain circles.
“My name’s Faith Morgan. I am vicar at…”MoreLess
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