Death on the Lake Jo Allen (the ebook reader .TXT) 📖

got down there? What I care about is them filling some innocent girl up with drink and drugs and leaving her to drown. And about my so-called neighbours grassing me up to the police for something I never done!’

‘And if anything goes missing from the Lodge, I bet we’ll know where to find it. The police won’t need me to tell them where to look for it, will they?’

‘The place is like a fortress. You can’t get through them gates without being seen.’

‘Sussed it out, have you?’ jeered George, then stepped back, dipped his head, and smiled. ‘Evening Mrs Neilson.’

‘You bastard!’ White with fury, Luke made another, futile swipe in George’s direction and gave the old man the satisfaction of seeing Miranda Neilson step in to break it up. ‘Luke. It is Luke, isn’t it? Goodness, don’t be so angry.’ As he stepped back, she moved forwards, placing herself neatly between Luke and the wall. ‘Of course, I understand why you’re angry. Let me tell you. I’m just so sorry about what happened to Summer.’

There was silence.

‘I know it must have been very hard for you,’ Miranda continued, her brisk tone infused with just the right amount of sympathy. ‘Of course you’re upset.’

‘I’m upset because this old goat has been telling the police I done it.’ Luke flung another contemptuous gesture in George’s direction.

‘The police are so persistent. I’m sure nobody really thinks that. Everybody knows it was an accident.’ She held up a warning hand to prevent Luke getting any closer to the wall that separated him from the cottage garden. ‘It was just unfortunate. If the boys hadn’t fallen asleep they’d have made sure she got home safely. Or if I’d been there—’

‘If you’d been there?’

Fascinated, George picked up the very slight emphasis on the word if, the obvious sneer that accompanied it.

‘Yes.’ Miranda’s tone was light. ‘I didn’t get back until after she’d left.’

‘Is that right? Then it must have been someone else I saw driving your car along this road that afternoon.’

‘There are plenty of people in the dale on a Sunday afternoon.’ Miranda turned away from him. Her face was expressionless. ‘I expect it was someone driving a similar car.’

‘You can get on your way, now.’ George flapped a hand at Luke. Having a witness made him brave, and he was relieved to see Miranda could stand up to Luke’s bluster. ‘No doubt you’ll want to get down to the pub and fill yourself with drink, and be bold and brave like you always are when you’ve had a skinful.’

‘George.’ Miranda lifted an eyebrow at him. ‘This isn’t helping anyone. Is it?’

He liked Miranda. Yes she was rich, yes she was posh, yes when she came to the dale she’d approached everything with the wide-eyed nervousness of Johnny Town Mouse abandoned in the country, but she’d done her best to adapt. She’d been friendly to her neighbours — far more than Robert had ever bothered to be, even though he’d known some of them all his life — and done her best to settle in, and it wasn’t her fault people like Luke refused to accept her, deliberately and sneeringly reinforcing her perceived different status by steadfastly rejecting her invitation for them to call her by her Christian name. And there was something about her that appealed, that made him feel young again. Perhaps it was that she treated him with respect but not awe, and never patronised him. ‘Maybe not. But he can’t speak to me like that.’

Luke had resumed his place leaning on the wall, and he pushed himself off from it like a swimmer from the edge of the pool and gave himself a good five yards down the road before he turned. ‘If I hear anyone’s been spreading lies about me, George Barrett, I’ll know who it is and I’ll be back. One way or another you won’t do it again.’

He strode out, his shadow lingering behind him, reached the turn of the road and headed towards home, leaving George face to face with Miranda.

He missed company, and sometimes he thought she must be lonely too, with her husband so often away. ‘Come by and have a cup of tea.’

She paused for a moment, her expression pensive. ‘Oh, why not?’ she said, after a moment, and followed him up the path and into the cottage.

‘I do hope Luke didn’t upset you.’

They’d got through the formalities quickly and easily enough and now Miranda, cradling a china cup that was as frail and translucent as George’s own skin and was probably at least as old as he was, finally managed to bring the conversation round to where she wanted it without raising George’s suspicions. At least, she hoped so.

‘No.’ His cup trembled in his fingers, she noticed, and she suspected he wasn’t as robust as he wanted people to think. She’d stop by and visit more often in future, make sure he was okay.

‘It’s none of my business, of course, but it must be difficult for you living alone. If there’s ever anything I can do—’

‘I’m all right. Ruth — my niece — comes sometimes. My great niece comes more often. They make sure I’m looked after.’ George pushed the biscuit tin across the kitchen table. ‘Sometimes Ruth brings me her home baking. Becca brought these. Malted milk.’

It was evening and Miranda associated biscuits with the morning, but it would have been impolite to refuse, so she took one and turned it over in her fingers, looking at the raised image of contented cows. ‘Do you argue with Luke often?’

‘It’s not just me. He falls out with everyone. All the time. Trust me, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’

Miranda bit into the biscuit and found it had the taste of her childhood, a flashback to a time when nothing could touch her and no-one could harm her. The comparison with now, with ten years of haunting, sent her heart hammering. ‘Surely you don’t really think he