A Watery Grave (Karen Cady Book 1) Penny Kline (primary phonics books TXT) 📖

All the same, others might pass the building, notice the sign and store it away in their memory for a future date.

She rang the bell and waited, willing him to be home – in his office, or maybe still in bed after a night out on surveillance.

The door opened a crack, as though he was expecting an unwelcome visitor, then his long, thin face broke into a smile. ‘Come in then if you’re coming.’ He stepped back into the house and stood in the hallway, scratching his neck. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

‘No classes between eleven and one. I phoned yesterday evening but you were out.’ She followed him into the office and sat on one of the easy chairs designed for his clients.

Before her parents split up all three rooms had been used for his business. Now his books and papers were squeezed into the room at the front of the house and the other two rooms had been converted into a kitchen with a shower in one corner, and a living room with a divan bed and a fitted cupboard for his clothes. Surely having a whole house between her mother and Alex was an unfair distribution of assets. Not that anyone ever took any notice of what she thought and, to be fair, her father never seemed depressed. Just the opposite as a matter of fact.

He was dressed in a dark suit, with a white shirt and a navy blue tie, and he was holding a stack of papers in his hand as though he was in the middle of sorting out a filing cabinet or collecting up notes before he left for an assignment. He still looked like a policeman but lately there had been something different about him. He was quieter, more relaxed.

‘Working on a case?’ Karen ran her finger along a dust-free shelf. ‘It’s funny, you’re much tidier than Mum. Of course Alex does most of the cleaning now. The New Man. What a nerd.’

Her father’s eyebrows moved a little but he said nothing. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, waiting for her to tell him the reason for her visit. Lack of money? A complaint about her mother?

‘I haven’t come on the scrounge,’ she said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Good.’

‘Yes, I thought you’d be relieved.’

‘No. Just pleased it’s a purely social call.’

‘Really?’ It was so unlike him to show his feelings. Not that he had ever been cold or aloof, just not the kind of person who splurges their emotions all over the place.

‘D’you remember the Natalie Stevens case?’ she said. ‘The only reason I ask, Alex says Natalie’s sister works at the Arts Centre. It must be awful for her knowing the murderer’s still at large and the police aren’t doing anything to find him.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. As far as I know they have no immediate leads, but the case is still open and will remain that way for a while.’

‘Where does the sister live? I mean where do her parents live? Or I suppose she could be married or something.’

He stood up and closed the window. ‘As I remember the parents live in Burnham Close, up near the golf course.’

‘Those big detached houses with enormous gardens?’

‘No, there’s a new development, well, fairly new. I’ve no idea if the sister lives with them.’

‘What about Natalie Stevens’ boyfriend? Liam Pearce. D’you know what he’s like? And the baby? I feel really sorry for Mrs Pearce. Imagine having to look after your son’s girlfriend’s baby. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?’

‘What a lot of questions! He’s her grandson.’ He opened a desk drawer then closed it again. ‘No, from what I’ve heard Olive Pearce is a bitter creature who feels very hard done by. Not that anyone could blame her. First she nursed her invalid husband, then she had to start all over again caring for someone else’s baby.’

‘Thanks, Dad, just what I need to know.’

‘Why this morbid interest in a case that went cold months ago?’ Her father was halfway through the door. ‘Coffee?’

‘What?’ Karen thought fast. ‘Oh, I just thought I might write a piece for the local paper.’

Her father’s face broke into a grin. ‘Karen Cady, ace reporter? Not such a bad idea. The Pearce family live in Arkwright Way. All these people, they’ll be in the phone book, only watch your step, you don’t want to cause any trouble.’

‘Yes. I mean, no. Just thought I could try my hand at a bit of journalism. Unsolved crimes, that kind of stuff.’

They were in the tiny kitchen, where everything had been stacked neatly on shelves or on the draining board. No unwashed plates or dirty cutlery. No half-eaten packets of biscuits, old apple cores, remains of previous meals.

Karen stood in the doorway, chewing the edge of her thumb nail. ‘D’you like living on your own, Dad?’

‘What?’ He turned round sharply. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Has its compensations though, has its compensations.’

*

Simon had arranged to meet her at four-thirty. Karen saw him waiting by the drinks machine, fiddling with the ring pull on a can of coke.

‘What have you done this time?’ She took the can from his hand. ‘These things are virtually fool-proof. How come someone who’s such a genius with computers is so useless with simple everyday objects?’

He shrugged. His long straggly hair had fallen over one eye. The pocket on his shirt was coming unstitched and his trousers had shiny grass-stained knees. He towered above her but Karen doubted if he weighed half a stone more than she did, and no-one had ever called her overweight.

‘Where are we going?’ She dropped the can in a plastic bin and pushed open the swing door that led to the staff car park. ‘How about a walk along the river? We could