Murder With Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page A

Petra to come into the kitchen. ‘Sorry about this, but I have to cook. Want a cuppa?’
    Petra shook her head. Her skin looked soft and pasty, as if she spent most of her days in front of the television, smoking and eating junk food. She was carrying far too much weight for her height, and her default expression was sulky. She was wearing a tiny diamond on her ring finger, bright blue studs in her ears and a tattoo on her left forearm. A dragon? A snake?
    Ellie reached for an apron. ‘Petra; that’s a pretty name. Do sit down.’
    â€˜My mum thought it up. She said my dad had been called Peter and she wanted something of his to remind her of him, seeing as he’d walked out on her before I was born. She wanted to call me Petronella, but that’s a mouthful so it came down to Petra.’
    Ellie nodded. She ferried the pots to the utility room, cleaned the sink again, and investigated first the larder and then the freezer for something to eat. A large packet of mince seemed to offer the best hope of getting something on to the table in time for them to eat. Onions, pasta, seasoning, a couple of eggs. A pack of frozen peas. The largest saucepan, olive oil.
    Petra said, ‘This is just like my nan’s kitchen. At least, hers was a lot smaller, of course, but it had the same old cupboards in it. Don’t you want to get it updated? Or perhaps it would cost too much?’
    Well, that was a nice put-down, wasn’t it?
    Ellie chopped onions and put them into the biggest mixing bowl with the mince and the seasoning. She considered explaining that she’d inherited the house from an elderly aunt, whose equally elderly housekeeper – Rose – had decided to stay on to look after Ellie and her husband when her employer died. Rose liked the kitchen as it was. So did Ellie. Petra wouldn’t understand that.
    Ellie broke eggs into the mince and stirred. ‘Tell me about yourself. What made you go to the police?’
    â€˜Well, it’s Auntie, see. Over Chiswick way. It’s a bit of a trek but I used to go over there maybe three times a year, for Christmas and her birthday and mine. She was a widow, had carers come in to get her up and put her to bed and someone else made sure she had a meal in the daytime, but there was always trouble with the upstairs people, unpleasant they are, always complaining about something, but what could she do, she could hardly get out and do something about the garden herself, could she? There was this man used to fetch her to church on Sundays in his car, which I think they, the church, wouldn’t have bothered if they’d known how little she had to live on, but there; I mustn’t speak ill of the dead, must I?’
    â€˜Er, no.’ Tip some flour into a bowl. Set the big frying pan on to the gas, dump in some oil, let it start to sizzle. ‘But she had other relatives, right? Didn’t they keep in touch, too?’
    Petra grimaced. ‘Florrie, that is. My cousin. Born about the same time as me but she’s one that would sour the milk in your tea, and she didn’t stir herself to visit Auntie more than a couple of times a year, if that. Only, the last time I saw her, and that wasn’t so long ago, my birthday was coming up, and Auntie always had a little something in cash put by for me, and she wanted to meet Dwayne, so we went over there together before we went clubbing, but he agreed with me then that Auntie was losing the plot. She was only a bit of a thing and Florrie had been to see her and she’s a right bully, and poor Auntie had got it in her mind that Florrie was going to get the Social to put her in a home, and she’d been in that flat for over forty years, hadn’t she, and didn’t see why she should have to move? And what if she couldn’t do the garden any more, it was no more than a paved area, and my Dwayne said he’d see to it for her now and then, and that cheered her up no end,