Jigsaw Read Online Free PDF Page B

returned, with his mouth full.
    â€˜I’ll look her up in the phone book when we get back.’
    â€˜What do you want to do this afternoon?’
    â€˜We never got our mooch, did we? And we certainly owe Gus a walk, after the indignity of being tied to the gate.’
    â€˜Talking of Gus, I suppose you want me to dog-sit while you’re up here.’
    Rona shrugged. ‘I’d much prefer to have him with me, but it seems we’ve no choice.’
    Someone had left a copy of the local paper at the next table and, having finished his lunch, Max reached across for it.
    â€˜Anything that could be useful?’ Rona enquired idly.
    â€˜Typical local rag, by the look of it. Death and disaster on every page.’
    â€˜Literally?’
    â€˜Well, you know, the usual spate of burglaries and muggings and people dropping dead at their Golden Wedding party. That kind of thing.’
    â€˜No murders?’ Rona asked lightly, and Max shot her a glance.
    â€˜Not that I can see, thank God.’
    â€˜There was quite a well-publicized one some years back. Lindsey mentioned it, and I came across it in the library archives.’
    â€˜Came across it, or specifically looked for it?’
    Rona smiled. ‘A bit of both,’ she admitted. ‘No need to be apprehensive, though; this time it was all cut and dried and the murderer’s safely behind bars. Rather a sad case, actually. A drunk driver killed a child, got a light sentence, and was murdered by the child’s father on his release.’
    â€˜So the court favoured the drunk driver over the bereaved father?’
    â€˜â€œCold-blooded” and “premeditated” figured a lot in the reporting, which I suppose is fair comment. He must have been dreaming it up all the time the driver was inside.’
    â€˜And now his wife has neither her child nor her husband.’
    They were both silent for a moment, then Max tossed the paper back on to the chair.
    â€˜Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go and have that walk.’
    Marsborough, developed during the eighteenth century, had the spacious elegance of Bath or Cheltenham. Buckford, several hundred years older, was quite different. According to the tourist brochure, there was an Old Town and a New Town, though as Rona remarked, they merged into one another and it was hard to tell where each started and ended.
    â€˜For instance,’ she said, ‘the square we’ve just left is, it says here, at the heart of the old town, bordered by St Giles’s Church, the King’s Head pub and an ancient building now housing the post office. But more modern houses have been slotted in, haven’t they, such as the vicarage and the terrace in Parsonage Place, which I’d guess are both Victorian.’
    Beyond the square there was less ambiguity, and they found a maze of narrow streets and alleyways, hidden courtyards, and worn stone steps leading from one level to another. In many cases, the owners of the buildings had renovated their properties and, though careful to preserve their old-world charm, had turned them into boutiques, galleries and coffee shops.
    Max and Rona wandered through the streets, pausing to look at an ancient well, two buildings that met across a narrow alley, the Counting House and the town hall. Another square, with a stone cross in the centre, was the site of the weekly market, and sprawled down one side of it was St Stephen’s Primary School – presumably, as Rona remarked to Max, the one where Catherine Bishop had taught. The original building was unprepossessing, of dark stone and with small, high windows, but new classrooms had been built in the playground, with, doubtless, all the modern equipment education now demanded. St Stephen’s Church, its original sponsor, had, according to the guide book, collapsed back in the nineteenth century and the public library now stood on the site.
    â€˜And here we are, back in the