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

as well, and that was when she remembered he’d broken a policewoman’s collarbone in his struggle to escape from the law. Adam was no respecter of anyone, regardless of gender, regardless of the relationship. She picked up her bag and headed for the door.

He came after her, clamping a hand on her shoulder. ‘Right. Now I’ll tell you something. Something you might not want to hear. Prison’s hell. Do you want to know what hell it is?’

‘No.’ Shaking him off, she made for the door, wrenched it open and stepped out into the fading sunshine. Thank God. ‘I’m not Jude’s biggest fan. You know that. But you’ve got to take responsibility for your own actions and you can leave me to take responsibility for mine.’

‘I’ve done that. I’ve done my time. You said. I’m rehabilitated. But don’t think I’m ever going to forgive him for what I went through.’

She’d thought he was he redeemed, but maybe not. Drugs ruined people’s lives, sometimes killed them, tortured and tormented their loved ones. ‘I don’t want to see you again. I can’t trust you.’ Worse than that: suddenly, he scared her.

He leaned on the door frame and laughed. ‘He won’t take you back, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s got someone a whole lot better than you, now. Better looking. Hot as hell, too. Someone who speaks his language the way us ordinary people never will.’

‘I don’t want him back.’ She turned her back and stalked up the street to her car, her heart beating faster than it ought to. God knew she wasn’t an idiot. She’d always suspected Adam’s interest was more to do with Jude than herself and that the relationship would fade into insignificance as it had just done, an unofficial ending after which the two would barely speak. Adam’s deliberate choice to rent a flat opposite Jude’s house now looked creepy and his determination to achieve some kind of satisfaction seemed downright sinister.

She got into the car and watched as Jude’s Mercedes drew up opposite. She should apologise for Adam’s actions, tell him she’d contact the Professional Services department and withdraw the allegation she hadn’t made.

The time for an apology had been at George’s funeral when he’d told her about the complaint, but he’d caught her by surprise and so she’d missed the opportunity. She looked across the road. Jude got out of the driver’s seat and Ashleigh out of the passenger side. Both of them were in their work suits, dark and sober, but his expression was one of lurking amusement and she was obviously giggling. So he’d managed to do what he so rarely did and leave the job to someone else for a few hours. Now he’d be looking forward to a cosy evening in with Ashleigh O’Halloran, no doubt. She watched as he unlocked the door, as she very obviously pinched his backside and he pulled her inside and snapped the door shut like a prim novelist ending a chapter to spare a reader’s blushes.

When she’d told him he should allow himself a little more self-care, that hadn’t been what she meant. She sighed and dialled Doddsy’s number instead. ‘Doddsy, it’s Becca. Can I have a word?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

There was a muffled sound. In the background, a male voice called out something and Doddsy called back. ‘Just a second. I need to deal with this. Sorry, Becca. What can I do for you?’

Even the long-celibate Doddsy had finally found love. Suddenly she felt very alone. ‘It’s just a quick call. Someone made an anonymous complaint about Jude on my behalf. I want it withdrawn. What do I do?’

In the silence, she imagined him crinkling his brows as if it were a trick question. ‘Just email. It’s pretty straightforward.’

‘Thanks. I’ll do that. See you sometime.’

Doddsy would think her a fool, but anything she said to him would get back to Jude sooner rather than later. It saved her the embarrassment of approaching her ex directly, and it was important to her he only thought badly of her for the things she’d done to hurt him. She sat for a while, until an unseen hand whisked the bedroom curtains closed in the house over the road. Feeling too much like a voyeur, she started the engine and drove off.

Twenty-Three

Aida turned up at Waterside Lodge at nine on Monday morning and she and Robert retreated into his study. The twins had been up at a reasonable hour and headed out for a brisk walk, more to get away from their father’s scowling fury than because of any sudden enthusiasm for the outdoors, or so Miranda thought. After that, silence enveloped the house.

Miranda had made chicken pie and had just covered it with foil when Aida popped her head round the door. ‘Mr Neilson has asked me to go down to the post office in Penrith, Mrs Neilson. Is there anything I can get you while I’m out?’

Miranda sighed. Aida was as bad as Luke had been, refusing to accept any kind of familiarity and instead treating her with a rigid formality which made her feel subtly marginalised in a place where she had every right to be. With Aida it was worse, because this was her own home. ‘No, thank you.’ She opened the fridge and slid the pie inside it.

‘I expect I’ll be about an hour.’

‘That’s fine.’ Her phone pinged. She looked down at it. A message from Ollie. Miranda, we need to talk to you. Don’t tell Dad.

Not again. Surely they hadn’t got themselves into yet more trouble? Conscious of Aida’s presence, she reached for her phone.

In the few seconds between Aida leaving and Robert emerging from the study, Miranda managed to flip a text back to Ollie. Will it do later?. ‘Robert. Would you like a coffee? I was just going for a walk, but it can wait.’

Soon! Ollie pleaded.

Jesus. Her heart raced. What was it now? Were they going to tell her that somehow, after all, it was they who’d killed Luke? Or Summer?