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

‘What on earth for?’

‘Suit yourself, that’s where I’m going.’

If he had come up with a better suggestion she might have given up her plan, but as usual he had no bright ideas as to how they could spend the rest of the afternoon, just expected her to make the decision for him.

‘I suppose you found it hard to drag yourself away from your computer,’ she said, squeezing his arm to make up for all the criticisms of him that kept jumping into her mind. ‘D’you still use the one you’ve got at home?’

‘Yes, but it’s not really powerful enough to . . .’ He broke off, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘The river it is then. Actually I wanted to ask you something. No, I’ll tell you later, after we’ve passed the Sports Centre.’

‘What’s so special about the Sports Centre?’

‘Nothing.’

They crossed the main road, then used the underpass that ran beneath part of the roundabout and came out near the track leading down to the river.

Simon never said much but today he was even more silent than usual. Whatever he was going to ask her it had to be something personal. Anything else he would have come out with right away. This was something that was making him anxious. Karen felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if she had gone too far, taking him for granted, teasing him about his appearance.

Walking a few yards ahead of her he turned his head and shouted above the noise of the traffic. ‘Been talking to Glen again have you? What is it about that Natalie Stevens? You never seemed particularly interested at the time it happened.’

‘Yes, I was.’ She caught up with him and took hold of his hand. ‘I just thought the police would catch whoever did it. Charge Liam Pearce. Everyone thought it was an open and shut case.’

He laughed. ‘You sound like your father. How is he? S’pose he has to cook his own meals and everything. My Dad wouldn’t stand a chance.’

The Sports Centre was coming into sight. Karen put her hands in her pockets. ‘Right, you can ask me now.’

‘Ask you what? Oh, that. It’s not important. I just thought you’d gone off me, wondered if you and Glen–’

‘Me and Glen?’ She couldn’t stop laughing.

‘People often go off with their best friend’s boyfriend. Or girlfriend if it’s the other way round. You’re always telling me you can’t stand Glen but people often say that when–’

Karen gave him a push and he stumbled towards the river, pretending he was going to fall headlong into the water.

‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t go with Glen Fortune, not if he was the last guy on earth.’

*

Arkwright Way was more than a mile long, with side roads every fifty yards or so, leading to more identical redbrick houses. Karen had checked the phone book but there were two ‘Pearces’, one at number forty-six and the other at eighty-eight. She had no means of knowing which of them was Liam Pearce’s house.

In the front garden of number forty-six two small boys were fighting over a skate board. They looked about eight or nine years old so that was unlikely to be the right house, unless they were visitors, and their mother was a friend of Mrs Pearce.

‘What’s the other number?’ said Simon. He had listened in silence to Karen’s plans, then muttered something about how the whole thing was crazy and what dreadful secrets could she possibly stumble across that the police had failed to uncover? He had come with her just the same.

Number eighty-eight was on a corner. It had no front garden but round the back a woman was taking washing from a line. Tiny red track suit bottoms and a matching sweatshirt. Pyjamas with 101 Dalmatians on the front.

‘Look.’ Karen caught hold of Simon’s sleeve. ‘No, don’t stare or she’ll know we’re watching. D’you suppose lots of people came round to gawp – after Natalie’s body was found?’

They crossed the side road and Simon took a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and pretended to be checking a map.

After a moment or two he cleared his throat noisily. ‘All right then, back to the main road, then second on the left.’

As he started moving away Karen made a mental note of the woman’s appearance. Large, but not all wobbly fat. Muscular, big boned. Short, brown hair, flecked with grey. Shapeless blue trousers. Dark red sweater. Grey sleeveless cardigan.

The baby was nowhere to be seen. Karen had estimated that he must be about eighteen months old. No-one could remember his name, or even if it had appeared in the newspaper. Presumably he was inside the house, in a play pen, or sleeping in his cot.

With a movement that seemed remarkably quick for someone of her bulk, the woman dropped her bag of pegs, bent down and scooped something off the ground. A little boy – well, it looked like a boy – beautifully dressed in striped dungarees, a red tee-shirt and white denim jacket. The woman held him high in the air, then drew him close and covered his cheeks in kisses.

Karen let out a small gasp. If this was someone who resented being saddled with her dead daughter-in-law’s baby she was putting on a pretty good show of concealing her real feelings.

Suddenly the woman twisted round and stared in their direction, as though she was listening for something. Karen fiddled with the zip on her jacket and Simon put the ‘map’ back in his pocket.

As they turned the corner they could hear the woman talking to the baby in that special voice people use with little kids. Talking and laughing, the baby responding delightedly. Karen looked back