‘Oh, would they?’ returned Dilys sourly. ‘I’m not a freak show.’
‘Of course not! But you’re a very interesting person, Dilys!’ cajoled Tania. ‘And your story’s really fascinating.’
‘You reckon?’ asked Dilys curiously, eyeing Tania up and down.
‘Absolutely! It won’t just be in the local press. It will go national.’
‘Oh, leave her alone!’ ordered Josh. ‘Auntie Nina didn’t ask you to come just so you could keep on about your ruddy newspapers.’
Meredith had been observing this with some amusement. Josh might be against the idea, but she suspected that featuring in newsprint might already be appealing to Dilys. Tania is going to get her story! she thought.
But it was something else that was on Dilys’s mind right now. She put down her cup of tea and fixed a stern gaze on Markby. ‘You said you’d see about my bracelet. Well, where is it? I told you, I want it back.’
‘You really shouldn’t have taken it, Dilys, dear,’ said Nina reproachfully. ‘And off that poor dead girl.’
‘Well, she didn’t want it any more, did she?’ retaliated Dilys, with spirit. She turned to her brother. ‘And I was right, wasn’t I? She was dead. You said she was asleep!’
‘The thought of it gives me the shivers,’ said Mrs Pengelly.
‘Then don’t think about it!’ snapped Dilys. ‘Listen, it’s mine and I want it.’
Markby exchanged glances with his wife. ‘Well, now, Dilys,’ he said. ‘We discussed that with Mr Hellington, the girl’s father.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Dilys suspiciously. ‘What’s it got to do with him?’
‘It was the very last gift he made his daughter, and it means a great deal to him to have it back again. However!’ Markby held up his hand to forestall a furious outburst from Dilys. ‘He recognises that, because you took it, it wasn’t buried with Rebecca, and that led eventually to her body being recovered.’
‘There you go, then!’ said Dilys. ‘What’s he got to complain about?’
‘So, after some discussion, he asked us, Meredith and me, if you would like to accept this, in place of the bracelet.’
Markby took a small box from his pocket and handed it to Dilys with some ceremony.
Dilys took it as if it might explode in her hand. ‘What is it?’
‘Open it, love!’ urged Mrs Pengelly.
Dilys opened it and took out a silver chain with small attachments. She held it up, stretched out, and the attachments could be seen to spell ‘D-I-L-Y-S’ in silver letters.
‘We thought,’ said Meredith, ‘a necklace might be more useful than a bracelet.’
There was a silence while Dilys contemplated the jewellery. Then a rare smile spread across her pugnacious features. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘All right, then. I’ll keep this one instead of the bracelet. The old man can have that. I like this one better.’
* * *
‘Well,’ said Meredith as she and Alan drove home, ‘that’s that. I’m glad it all got sorted out…’ She hesitated. ‘I do rather hope this success doesn’t mean you will want to look up all your old unsolved cases!’
‘What makes you think I had that many unsolved?’ he protested. ‘But don’t worry. I’m very glad to have the mystery of Rebecca answered. But now I really am retired!’
* * *
For Jess it was the end of a long day and the end of a case. She didn’t feel tired, or not very tired. But she was experiencing that sort of mental and physical wind-down that comes when the job is done and everything tidied away. It was a pleasant feeling, and she was enjoying it, until she reached home and received a mild surprise.
There was an unknown car parked outside the big old house, now divided into flats, where she lived. She made a note of it, in the way that police officers automatically do. But anyone would have made a note of this vehicle. It was an old Morris Minor. Bit of a museum piece. No, such a description would insult the owner. A classic car, that was the expression! Whoever owned it, it had been beautifully maintained.
As she got out of her own car and shut the door, the door of the Morris opened and a tall gangling figure emerged awkwardly, like a hermit crab from its adopted home. The figure unfolded to its full height, revealing itself as a very thin man with hair bleached almost white by the sun, deeply tanned skin, and eyes so sunken in his wasted features that they appeared almost to belong to a death’s head.
The apparition spoke tentatively. ‘Is it Jess?’ Anxiously, he added, ‘You did get Simon’s note – about me?’
Jess found her voice. ‘Yes – yes, I did. You’re Mike.’
Monica’s voice echoed in her head. ‘Everything from measles to cholera.’ It had been something drastic to reduce the very fit young man of distant memory to this scary figure. Simon had been right to warn her. No, she couldn’t take this visitor to see her mother, or not until he’d made a much fuller recovery from whatever illness it had been. Her mother, always worrying about Simon’s health, would freak out completely.
‘It’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure… Simon insisted you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t intend to call on you unexpectedly,’ Mike was saying. His voice was strong. ‘I was just conducting a recce, seeing where you lived.’ He half turned and indicated the Morris. ‘This belongs to my uncle. He’s most unhappy at letting me drive it. It’s his pride and joy.’
‘I can see…’ Jess pulled herself together. ‘It’s a great old car. Have you been waiting long?’
‘Not long, just a few minutes.’
‘Right, well, then, you’d better come inside. The flat’s a bit untidy.’
‘I expect you’ve been busy all day,’ he apologised. ‘I really didn’t mean—’
‘It’s fine, honestly!’ Jess broke in. ‘We’ve just wound up a tricky case. It’s a good time for you to call, really it is.’
About the Author
Ann Granger has lived in cities all over the world, since for many years she worked in British embassies as far apart as Munich and Lusaka. She is now permanently based in Oxfordshire.
Ann Granger is the author of three other hugely popular crime series: the Mitchell and Markby novels; the Fran Varady series and the Victorian mysteries featuring Scotland Yard’s Inspector Ben Ross and his wife Lizzie.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Headline Publishing Group
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Ann Granger, 2018
The moral right of Ann Granger to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788631068
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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