Bones in High Places Read Online Free PDF Page B

matter?’ I asked.
    ‘It’s your sister, she refuses to wear this black headscarf,’ explained Nicholas taking it from his pocket.
    I stared in bewilderment. ‘But why ever should she?’
    ‘Because it will all contribute to the clerical effect. Seeing her with you the Customs will probably think she’s a sort of part-time nun. Lot of them about these days. The more sober we look the better.’
    I eyed him up and down. ‘Nicholas,’ I said firmly, ‘do not imagine that anyone could ever take you for being sober, either in look or in deed. I think this whole thing is utterly preposterous and I see no reason why my sister should be expected to go around with squashed hair looking like a quasi nun just because you cannot resist filling your car with alcoholic contraband.’
    ‘Exactly!’ added Primrose.
    He looked at us, slightly taken aback by our joint revolt, and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh well, if that’s how you feel, we can waive the headscarf, I suppose – but mind you display that collar, Francis, until we’re out of Dieppe at least … and remember to smile. It makes you look witless.’ I scowled, lifted our cases into what space there was, and leaving Nicholas to arrange the ‘vestments’ clambered into the back seat. I was not looking forward to the voyage … In fact I was not looking forward to anything.

The Dog’s Diary
     
     
    They’ve put up a lamp post, you know – at the end of the road. Only a couple of canters from F.O.’s front gate, and BRAND new. What do you think of that! I told O’Shaughnessy, and he said we should have a race to see who could christen it first. He bet me his leftover bits of Chum that I couldn’t get there before him. Well, that was a challenge all right. I mean, I wasn’t having that setter sniffing around and shoving his leg all over the place ahead of me, so I took his bet – and won! They don’t call me Fleetfoot Bouncer for nothing … Though as a matter of fact it’s got nothing to do with speed but all to do with KNOWING the route. Which I do. It’s the route that F.O takes me on his nightly hike around the churchyard, and I know every inch, corner and paving stone of the way. And I know about that crumbling kerb in front of Edith Hopgarden’s house that she’s always moaning about, and the way the pavement dips just before you reach the place where they’ve put the lamp post, and the short-cut by Tapsell’s fence. So for all his long legs, poor old O’Shaughnessy didn’t stand a chance – not a cat’s chance in hell.
    And talking of cats, I’m beginning to miss that bastard. I think he’s only been gone a short while – though I’m not too clued up about time and such things, so can’t be sure. But it’s already starting to feel a bit draughty without him … You get used to all that hissing and spitting and laying down of the law, and somehow without him and the general ballyhoo from F.O. life seems a bit tame. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Staying with Florence the wolfhound and her owners is jolly good. The grub is first class and everyone is very nice and chummy, and I’ve been given a new blanket with a really good SMELL. I sneaked over to the church yesterday and dragged it down to the crypt and had a kip among the ghosts. Then I tried to fix some more of those Latin words in my mind so I could tell Maurice when he comes back, but the ghosts were making such a racket it was difficult to concentrate. But I’ve managed a couple, such as tua culpa which means ‘It’s all your fault, Maurice,’ and canibus gratias – ‘Thanks be to dogs’. Of course the cat will look superior and pretend I’ve got it all wrong but secretly he’ll be quite impressed. After all, no fleas on Bouncer!
    Matter of fact, though, I am feeling a bit itchy – but it’s nothing to do with fleas. It’s my Sixth Sense (the one the cat is so sniffy about): it gets into the bones and doesn’t half make me feel funny. Like now for