Three Little Maids Read Online Free PDF Page B

their way to the livelier end of Harcombe.
    The picturesque old town, with its good share of black beamed houses still and narrow streets filled to bursting point with antique and second hand bookshops had its obvious attractions. But the pier and entertainment on the sea front, consisting of the slot machines arcade, the dodgem cars, motorboats on the lake, the merry go round and the miniature golf course, along with the rock shops, whelk and cockle stalls, fish and chip shops and the pubs, was what really pulled in the crowds.
    There was a slight quiver of salty breeze coming off the sparkling sea. The tide was going out and the smell of the brown seaweed covering the rocks was strong and pungent as they were exposed to the sun. Noise rose from the beach as children climbed over the rocks with their string nets and plastic buckets to get to the small sheltered pools which gave some sanctuary to the pink starfish, small crabs and the scuttling, darting shrimps till the tide rushed in quickly again.
    Behind her, across the busy road, was the White Rock Hotel, owned by Mrs Esme Frost; still held its own, although it struggled yearly against the high council rates and the increasing stiff competition from the bigger hotels.
    It owed its success mainly because it held a good position on the sea front and Mrs Frost provided good value for money in meals, personal service and rooms. Like the swallows, most of her summer guests came back year after year and she relied on permanent boarders, like the Wilberforce sisters during the winter.
    A change of view further along the sea front gave Viviane a different aspect. She could see the minuscule figures of the fishermen sitting patiently with their rods on the tail end of the long , white painted Harcombe Pier behind the Victorian ballroom and the theatre. Even at that distance, she could hear the distorted blaring music and announcements from the various callers on the rival bingo stalls, rifle ranges and hoopla stalls. The noise of this entertainment blended in naturally with the squeals of laughter and conversation coming up from the beach below.
    She listened with closed eyes behind her sun glasses to the scrunch of hot pebbles shifting underfoot, and the gentle, soporific swish and flow of the tide pulling and sucking up the wet shingle and sand in its haste to retreat further out.
    Everything seemed as normal as it should be on a bright summer day. But it wasn’t, was it? She frowned, stirred uneasily and opened her eyes. There was someone evil in this seaside town that had taken the life of a young girl and it was frightening to think about.
    A chink of falling coins on the ground beside her interrupted her thoughts. A pound coin rolled along the stone tiles to rest by her sandaled foot. She leant forward and picked it up. A girl, hardly more than a child in her skimpy blue cotton blouse and denim skirt, her light brown hair styled in a jagged urchin hair hut, leant round the glass partition Her clear grey eyes met Viviane’s as she took the coin from her and put it into her leather purse she carried on her shoulder.
    ‘Thanks.’
    Viviane smiled. ‘Have you got it all?’
    ‘Okay - thanks.’ The girl left the shelter abruptly and ran lightly down the stone steps on side leading to the underground car park. Just for a second or so, Viviane thought that she’d seen her before somewhere but the memory eluded her.
    Then, as she got up to leave, she saw the canvas tote bag stuffed underneath the seat that the girl had just vacated. It had a newspaper left in it and a women’s magazine; it had either been forgotten by its rightful owner or picked up by the girl. Viviane decided to drop it into the police station on her way back to the library. She gave the girl the benefit of the doubt; the purse , and its contents, might have belonged to her.
    There was no sign of DI. Jon Kent in the station and she handed over the bag to the Desk Sergeant who recognized her with a smile