Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

you.’
    Honey glanced at her watch. Juggling work and such little leisure as she could manage was bad enough. Trying to fit in time for family was a bit of a squeeze.
    ‘Mother, this is not a good time. The guests’ mood gets ugly if they don’t get their breakfast on time. Can we talk later?’
    ‘Well, that’s it! To think a daughter of mine prefers to take care of perfect strangers rather than help her poor old mother!’
    Gloria Cross was far from being a frail old woman. In fact she was feisty, flirty, and frightening to know. She was also selfish, irritating, domineering, and downright testy when she wanted to be.
    Honey used both hands to strangle the phone before gritting her teeth and diving back in.
    ‘So who’s rattled your cage?’
    Her mother’s tone turned whiny. ‘Well, that’s pretty typical. You youngsters lead hectic lives and have no time for the problems of old folk, even your own mother! Never you mind about my problems. Your mother can look after herself despite being an old-age pensioner.’
    This was serious! Never, ever –  not ever  – had she heard her mother refer to herself as an OAP. A mature lady; a senior citizen, maybe. But ‘old-age pensioner’ conjured up a vision of decrepit old lady in wrinkly stockings and squashed felt hat. Her mother was far from being that.
    Honey immediately felt contrite.
    ‘Mother, if there’s a problem, tell me about it.’
    ‘I wouldn’t want to burden you.’
    The voice on the other end of the phone took on a fragile tone.
    As though she’s drawing her last breath.
    ‘What if you call in for coffee?’
    ‘Fine! I’ll ring reception and fix an appointment!’
    Slam went the phone.
    ‘Ouch!’
    There always followed a sense of relief once her mother stopped talking. There was now, but there was also guilt. By the time she got to reception she was already flicking open her phone and ready to beg forgiveness. The line was engaged.
    ‘Later,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I’ll phone her later.
    Shirking responsibility meant hiding in the dry goods store. There was something therapeutic about sorting out jars of rice, pasta, sugar, and salt while she wiped the shelves. Borrowing Lindsey’s iPod helped things go with a swing. She wiggled as she worked; she’d read it helped reduce the waistline. Kept her mind occupied too.
    Honey scrubbed at a particularly vigorous stain. Keep focused. That was the secret. Everything was fine and would stay fine.
    Then Murphy’s law kicked in. If something’s likely to go wrong it will.
    Lindsey poked her shoulder. Tina Turner’s ‘Simply the Best’ was put on hold.
    Lindsey’s expression was bad news. ‘There’s water everywhere! It’s pouring in.’
    Recovered from his hangover, Smudger the chef came running from the kitchen, his fair complexion pink with irritation and steam from the dishwasher.
    ‘That bloody drain’s blocked again.’
    It was the third time that week. Honey began rolling up her sleeves. ‘Here we go again. Fetch the wet and dry.’
     while Lindsey went off to wrestle the vacuum from Dumpy Doris’s meaty hands, Honey headed out to the yard at the back of the kitchen. Smudger followed her out.
    The thought of donning rubber gloves, lifting a drain cover and hauling out all manner of gunge was not exactly appetizing. Mentally, then orally, she began to squirm. ‘It’s really a man’s job  … and by the way, that bag of peas  …’
    ‘I’ve got severins to sauté.’
    The kitchen door slammed shut. Smudger was gone. What were severins ? Or had she misheard? Had he in fact said ‘several things’? Whatever it had been, it translated that she was on her lonesome for the time being.
    The drain was situated in a narrow area bounded on three sides  by the hotel itself; a funny inlet set into the stone. The sun never reached here, so moss and ferns sprouted to their hearts’ content. It was a mini eco-world complete with a small lake when the drain blocked. A slope