The Plague Maiden Read Online Free PDF Page B

accidentally stumbled on the mortal remains of some serial
     killer’s hapless victims, leisure time would soon be a distant memory.
    ‘Anything wrong?’ He looked up and saw Rachel looking at him, concerned. ‘Is it … is it your wife? Is everything all right?’
    ‘Neil … you remember Neil?’
    She nodded. Wesley’s scruffy, long-haired friend from his university days wasn’t the sort of person who was easily forgotten.
    ‘He’s found some skeletons.’
    ‘Isn’t that what archaeologists do?’
    Wesley smiled patiently. ‘Yes. But they weren’t expecting to find any human remains and there’s nothing to date them at the
     moment. They could be old, of course. They could be the victims of some battle or …’
    ‘Or there could be a crazed serial killer about.’
    ‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’m going down there to see for myself. Fancy coming?’
    He glanced to his right and saw that Steve Carstairs was listening intently to their conversation. Wesley turned away.
    ‘I’ll get my coat,’ Rachel said, standing up.
    Steve watched them go, a knowing smirk on his lips.
    Edith Sommerby didn’t like supermarkets. But you didn’t have much option nowadays and Huntings was very near the bungalow
     she had shared with her husband, Fred, since his retirement. But walking through the vast carpark was a nerve-racking experience
     for someone of her age, with thecars coming at her fast from every direction and everyone so impatient, blasting their horns and revving their engines when
     she stepped into their path. Fred didn’t realise what it was like.
    She had to go every other day, of course. Not like those who could pack their car boots with a week’s worth of provisions.
     Edith’s tartan shopping trolley didn’t hold that much and the only freezer she possessed was the small compartment at the
     top of her fridge, large enough to accommodate a couple of packets of frozen vegetables but little else. The visits to Huntings
     were part of Edith’s routine; part of her life. She even knew the checkout girls well enough now to exchange a few pleasantries
     about the weather when there wasn’t a queue behind.
    Edith began to unpack her trolley, placing her purchases carefully on the small kitchen table. Bread and milk, of course.
     A tub of margarine. And two nice slices of gammon for their evening meal – a bit expensive but Fred was partial to gammon
     – which would go nicely with a slice or two of tinned pineapple. A bottle of tomato sauce – Fred insisted on his tomato sauce.
     And sausages for tomorrow: his favourite. He would only allow his favourites in the house – never hers: not in the forty-five
     years since their wedding. It was his house and he laid down the law.
    She looked at the open door and stood quite still for a few moments, listening. Then she reached into the depths of the trolley,
     brought out a small jar and held it, examining the label with a sly smile on her face. It was the first time she had bought
     jam in ages and she had popped it into her basket on impulse, feeling like a naughty child indulging in some secret mischief.
     She liked a bit of bread and jam; it reminded her of her childhood – of the time when she had felt safe and loved. Fred would
     be angry if he ever discovered her little indulgence: he would say she was wasting their pension money on stupid rubbish.
     But with any luck he’d never find out. It was Edith’s little secret … and everybody needs secrets sometimes.
    She put the jam carefully back in the trolley and surveyed the purchases lined up on the table before sinking down on the
     wooden kitchen stool. She took her purse from her coat pocket, emptied the coins on the table and counted them, her face solemn.
     Money didn’t go far nowadays. Especially in places like Huntings.
    She heard a shuffling outside. Fred was crossing the hall slowly in his carpet slippers. She thrust the purse back into her
     pocket and glanced at the