Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 Sue Nicholls (best short books to read TXT) 📖

towards the watchful church, another downhill, heading for the glare of the supermarket, Watco. A couple, young and coatless, trotted across the tarmac towards Mick, and he shrank, deeper into his hiding place. The pair dropped into a small sports car at the curb and slammed their doors simultaneously.

Millie was alone now in the dim glow, counting her takings and glancing every so often at her watch. Mick, who had worked in hospitality for most of his adult life, imagined that her feet would throb, and her breast would be elated after a successful evening.

The key in Mick’s hand was slick with sweat and for the umpteenth time he dropped it deep into the pocket of his jacket and wiped his palm on the thigh of his black jeans. He flexed his painful back. A movement opposite alerted him. A well-dressed man was peering through the door at Millie. Without waiting for an invitation, the person pushed it open and entered. Mick recognised the excited, nervous smile on Millie’s face at the sight of this stranger.

With a graceful movement, the man swung onto a bar stool, and Millie fluttered around behind the bar. She seemed nervous and excited when she picked up her bag and disappeared, perhaps to the ladies.

Watching the scene, such fury overwhelmed Mick that he had to restrain himself from leaping out and punching Millie’s date on what would probably be a straight and delicate nose. Shards of dislike flashed from the alley at the well-clad back, and as though sensing it, the man rose and strolled around the restaurant, even going into the kitchen. When Millie returned, she switched out lights, leaving a low light behind the bar and the pair came towards the door in semi-darkness. Outside, she rattled the door to check its security, and the guy turned up his collar, looking down at her so that Mick had no sense of his appearance. They headed down the hill, their voices echoing from surrounding buildings, and left Mick and his fury alone in the darkness.

When the only sound was his heart beating in his ears, Mick took a casual step from the passageway and strolled across the street, his fingers exploring his pocket for the key and a small torch. Once inside, he slipped between tables, breathing in the scents of garlic and spices that lingered there. In the kitchen, he flashed the torch once to get his bearings, and in the momentary light, made out the sink, dishwasher, and work tops on his left. Against a wall to his right stood a cooking range, and this he approached. He allowed himself a moment of approval at its pristine state before twisting all its knobs to full, then he stood, listening to the hiss of natural gas seeping across the kitchen. When the fumes became unbearable, he buried his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow and turned all the knobs off bar one. Back outside he took a deep breath of fresh, cold air and wondered how long it would be before the trickling gas blasted Millie’s dreams to extinction.

MAURICE 1995

Maurice’s breaking point came after a silly, beery conversation that he, Mick and Paul had on the subject of revenge. That he might murder Twitch had crossed his mind before then, but putting it into words took the idea from fantasy to possibility. The urge became stronger with each humiliation he endured: at the hands of his parents, his children and sometimes his two friends. Then he saw the trolley Paul had built…

~~~

With uncharacteristic care, Maurice planned his revenge with cold hatred and meticulous detail.

That morning, he hid the trolley under a rug in the rear of his estate car and threw in a cloth bag containing short bungees with hooked ends, and a pair of gloves. Now he was parked in a side street, waiting for Twitch to emerge from her house and mount the bike that she had already propped against the gatepost. His plan was to hit her with the car, put her in the boot and dispose of the body in a nearby lake. He had already made preparation at the lakeside. A small boat with an outboard motor bobbed beneath overhanging branches. In its bottom lay a sack full of boulders, tied up at the neck with blue nylon rope, its end snaking across the boards.

At movement in the porch, Maurice sat up in his seat and reached for the ignition key. His ex-wife swung onto her bike and set off confidently, and Maurice pulled out onto Crispin Road, trying to keep his distance. But following her was harder than he had expected. To keep sufficient distance from her slow-moving bike, he had to behave like a curb crawler. Intermittent traffic negated any opportunity to ‘accidentally’ smash into her. After dodging from suburban corner to suburban corner, the road opened out into countryside and Maurice’s suspicion grew, that Twitch was heading towards the very place he planned to dispose of her body. A long, steep hill rose ahead of them and when he reached its base, Maurice pulled on the handbrake and settled down to wait for Twitch to reach the summit. He grinned to himself, watching her efforts, enjoying her discomfort. The bike laboured from side to side with Twitch standing on its pedals for maximum downward impact.

A man peddled into sight on the brow of the hill and dismounted, and supporting his machine by its handlebars, waved at Twitch. Maurice ducked below the dashboard and watched over the front shelf with one eye as Twitch drew up beside the man and climbed from the saddle.

The pair embraced, then standing side by side with their backs to Maurice, appeared to be discussing their onward route.

Birds sang in the hedgerows and the late spring day would have lifted a man’s heart were he not planning terrible murder. Before long, the pair remounted