The Truth About Celia Frost Read Online Free PDF

eyes.
“It’s making me feel like you don’t trust me or something. I’ve spent the last fourteen years looking after you and have I ever once complained? Have I ever once said
anything to make you feel bad about all the stress your disorder puts me under?”
    Celia’s head dropped in shame. Suddenly she felt more freakish than ever before. “Sorry, Mum,” she mumbled.
    On seeing Celia chastened, Janice brightened. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” she said, pulling Celia to her and stroking her mop of hair. “We’ve both been feeling
the strain. We won’t mention it again. Look, the duck pond’s over there.” She rummaged around in her plastic bag. “I took some bread from breakfast.”
    Celia picked out the brick-like bread. “We’re meant to feed them, not knock them out.”
    “That’s more like my girl,” Janice laughed. Her mobile started to ring. “This’ll be him!”
    Celia attempted to break the bread into pieces as she listened to Janice affecting a businesslike tone to her caller.
    By the end of the short conversation, Janice was bubbling over with excitement. “It’s all sorted. I’ve found us the perfect place to live.”
    “Where?” Celia asked.
    “One of those commuter-type places, well away from the city. So you won’t have to put up with all the traffic and pollution that you hate so much. You’ve always said
you’d like to live somewhere more rural. Well, this place sounds right up your street.”
    “If it’s so good, how can we afford it?”
    “He’s doing us a fantastic deal on the rent. Says he’d rather see homes lived in by families than standing empty.” Janice grinned.
    “Okay then.” Celia nodded. “So what’s this wonderful place called?”
    “The Bluebell Estate!” Janice announced proudly. “Sounds pretty, doesn’t it?”

Frankie set off early the next morning. He’d lovingly packed all the tools of his trade into the boot of his car. With his surveillance equipment, tracking devices, false
IDs and case full of outfits, he felt ready for action; especially as, hidden behind a false back in the glove compartment, he’d placed his most comforting possession. He’d acquired the
handgun from a raid in his police days. They’d stormed a gang’s meeting place and in the ensuing chaos it had been easy to slip one of their confiscated guns inside his uniform. He
always knew that it would come in handy in his line of work and, over the last ten years, that weapon had got him out of a few sticky situations.
    It was a long, hot journey to south Wales and, as soon as Frankie drove up to the row of terraces, his heart sank. A To Let sign hung outside the house he’d hoped to find them in.
He parked further down the street and changed into a uniform of tan trousers and matching jacket with a courier company emblem on the breast pocket. This was his favourite part of the job.
Frankie’s acting ambitions had been thwarted at school as, year after year, he was banned from participating in the Christmas play. Even now the injustice of it still rankled; just because
he’d cut a clump out of a whinging girl’s hair or set the fire alarm off at parents’ evening. But now, pretending to be someone else to procure information was an essential part
of his job and it meant he got to act to his heart’s content.
    He got out of the car, carrying a big, brown parcel bearing Janice Frost’s name and address. He strode purposefully up to the house and casually looked through the front window. The room
was sparsely furnished with no personal belongings in sight that would suggest someone was living there.
    Frankie made a big show of knocking on the door and ringing the bell. As he expected, there was no answer. He went through the alleyway a few doors down. From here he could gain access to the
back of the house, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t arouse suspicion in his uniform. The yard gate was no obstacle, as it was already hanging off its hinges.