Grave Stones Read Online Free PDF Page A

places; they breed flies and animals are noisy. We could have bought no end of places for the price we paid for this. I told you you were being a fool.’
    Along with Frankwell his wife was good at making him feel a fool. Which was why he’d taken up with Faria. She made him feel something else. Something quite different. Subconsciously he straightened his shoulders, puffed out his chest, flexed his muscles and drew in a long, deep breath. He morphed into someone powerful, sexy, interesting. Fascinating. He fished his mobile phone out of his pocket. As he’d thought, the little envelope icon was flashing a message at him. ‘He’s out 2night!!?’
    He tapped one back. ‘What time?’
    She must have been keeping an eye out for his response because her reply was almost instant.
    ‘8’
    He tapped back a quick, ‘C u then.’
    Before deleting all messages.
    Then he smiled. She was hot stuff.

Chapter Two
Tuesday, 18 th September. 10 a.m.
    Joanna looked at her suitcase, which seemed to have shrunk over the holiday, and wondered how on earth she would fit it all in. On the other side of the room, Matthew was more successful. He had already fastened the huge bottle-green Berghaus rucksack he’d had from his student days.
    ‘I don’t suppose you could squash in a couple of pairs of shoes?’ she asked hopefully. ‘These wedges take up an awful lot of room.’
    He opened the top, gave her a severe look and held out his hand. ‘I don’t know why you have to bring so many pairs of shoes,’ he grumbled. ‘Surely hiking boots and one pair of evening shoes is enough?’
    ‘Oh my word,’ she said, mocking. ‘One day engaged and we’re already having a domestic about shoes?’
    Matthew took a sideways look at her and burst out laughing. ‘Do you know how good it feels,’ heconfessed, ‘to see that black pearl on your finger?’
    She looked down at it. ‘Yes, I do know,’ she said. ‘It feels good to me too. I love it. It’s so special. Thank you.’
    ‘Come on then, give me the shoes.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘My pleasure, my lady,’ he said, still grinning. The holiday levity was staying with them both. She wondered how long it would last when they were home and she was back to work with its irregular hours and stiff demands.
10.30 a.m.
    The smell was worse. Kathleen Weston knew it. She didn’t care what her husband said. It wasn’t simply an obsession or her imagination. It was worse. She could even smell it on the pile of washing she’d just ironed.
    ‘Steven.’
    He looked up guiltily. ‘Darling.’
    Now it was her turn to look suspicious. Why would he call her darling? He’d stopped calling her that years ago. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a sharp look. Intuitively, she knew that particular word was well-oiled. It had slipped out without him even thinking. She put a finger on her chin. Now what could that mean? She knew about the lustful looks he’d given that belly dance teacher who lived at the end of the road. The one who exposed her rather plump midriff between low-slung jeans and crop tops and wiggled her backside like a randy grasshopper.
    The witch, she called her privately. The wiggling witch.
    But now looking at her husband’s face, startled because he’d realised what he’d said, she changed the epithet to whore. Wicked whore. Well, she thought. The whore had better look out because she had her in her sights.
    Kathleen Weston was a deeply vindictive and vengeful woman. She was patient too. It was a potentially lethal mix.
    ‘The smell,’ she repeated tightly.
    ‘What smell?’ But his face betrayed him. Steven Weston was a poor liar, which was lucky for his wife because it kept her informed of what he was up to. She stared back at him, waiting.
    ‘I think it’s coming from the farmyard,’ he said finally. ‘An animal must have died or something.’
    Even as he said it he could have bitten his tongue off. She would be bound to want to investigate. He watched her, knowing. He should