it.”
Charles Reece
, I read, as I scrawl
Lara Lington
across the page, nice and big to make up for the lack of other entries. “Who’s Charles Reece?”
“Who knows?” She shrugs.
Charles Reece. I stare at the name, intrigued. Maybe he was Sadie’s dearest friend from childhood. Or her lover. Oh my God, yes. Maybe he’s a sweet old man with a cane who came to hold his dear Sadie’s hand just one more time. And now he doesn’t even know she’s dead and he wasn’t invited to the funeral….
We really are a crap family.
“Did he leave any contact details, this Charles Reece?” I look up. “Was he really old?”
“I don’t know. I can ask around, though.” She takes the book from me, and her face lights up as she reads my name. “Lington! Any relation to the coffee Lington?”
Oh God. I really cannot face it today.
“No.” I smile weakly. “Just a coincidence.”
“Well, it’s been a real pleasure to meet Sadie’s great-niece.” As we reach the front door, she gives me a friendly hug. “You know,Lara, I think you have a little of her in you. You both have the same spirit. And I can sense the same kindness.”
The nicer this nurse is to me, the crappier I feel. I’m not kind. I mean,
look
at me. I never even visited my great-aunt. I don’t do cycle rides for charity. OK, I do buy
The Big Issue
sometimes, but not if I’m holding a cappuccino and it’s too much hassle to reach for my purse….
“Ginny.” A red-haired nurse beckons her. “Can I have a quick word?” She draws her to one side and murmurs under her breath. I just catch the odd word
… strange … police
.
“… police?”
Ginny’s eyes have widened in surprise.
“… don’t know … number …”
Ginny takes the slip of paper, then turns to smile at me again. I manage a rictus grin, totally paralyzed with horror.
The police. I’d forgotten about the police.
I told them Sadie was murdered by the staff at the home. These lovely saintly nurses. Why did I say that? What was I
thinking?
This is all Sadie’s fault. No, it’s not. It’s my fault. I should have kept my big trap
shut
.
“Lara?” Ginny peers at me in alarm. “Are you all right?”
She’s going to be accused of homicide, and she has no idea. And it’s all my fault. I’m going to ruin everyone’s career and the home will be shut and boarded up and all the old people will have nowhere to go….
“Lara?”
“I’m fine,” I manage at last, in a grainy voice. “Fine. But I have to go.” I start backing out of the front door on wobbly legs. “Thanks so much. Bye.”
I wait until I’m down the path and safely back on the pavement, then whip out my phone and speed-dial DI James’s number, almost hyperventilating in panic. I should never have accusedanyone of murder. I am never, ever, ever doing that again. I’m going to confess everything, tear up my statement—
“DI James’s office.” A woman’s crisp voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh, hello.” I try to sound calm. “This is Lara Lington speaking. Could I speak to DI James or DC Davies?”
“I’m afraid they’re both out on calls. Can I take a message? If it’s urgent—”
“Yes, it’s very, very urgent. It’s to do with a murder case. Could you please tell DI James I’ve had a … a … a realization.”
“A realization,” she echoes, obviously writing it down.
“Yes. About my statement. Quite a crucial one.”
“I think perhaps you should talk to DI James personally—”
“No! This can’t wait! You have to tell him it wasn’t the nurses who murdered my great-aunt. They didn’t do a thing. They’re wonderful, and it was all a terrible mistake, and … well… the thing is…”
I’m psyching myself up to bite the bullet and admit I invented the whole thing—when suddenly I’m brought up short by a horrible thought. I
can’t
confess everything. I can’t admit I made the whole thing up. They’ll instantly resume the funeral. I have a flashback to
Charles Reece
, I read, as I scrawl
Lara Lington
across the page, nice and big to make up for the lack of other entries. “Who’s Charles Reece?”
“Who knows?” She shrugs.
Charles Reece. I stare at the name, intrigued. Maybe he was Sadie’s dearest friend from childhood. Or her lover. Oh my God, yes. Maybe he’s a sweet old man with a cane who came to hold his dear Sadie’s hand just one more time. And now he doesn’t even know she’s dead and he wasn’t invited to the funeral….
We really are a crap family.
“Did he leave any contact details, this Charles Reece?” I look up. “Was he really old?”
“I don’t know. I can ask around, though.” She takes the book from me, and her face lights up as she reads my name. “Lington! Any relation to the coffee Lington?”
Oh God. I really cannot face it today.
“No.” I smile weakly. “Just a coincidence.”
“Well, it’s been a real pleasure to meet Sadie’s great-niece.” As we reach the front door, she gives me a friendly hug. “You know,Lara, I think you have a little of her in you. You both have the same spirit. And I can sense the same kindness.”
The nicer this nurse is to me, the crappier I feel. I’m not kind. I mean,
look
at me. I never even visited my great-aunt. I don’t do cycle rides for charity. OK, I do buy
The Big Issue
sometimes, but not if I’m holding a cappuccino and it’s too much hassle to reach for my purse….
“Ginny.” A red-haired nurse beckons her. “Can I have a quick word?” She draws her to one side and murmurs under her breath. I just catch the odd word
… strange … police
.
“… police?”
Ginny’s eyes have widened in surprise.
“… don’t know … number …”
Ginny takes the slip of paper, then turns to smile at me again. I manage a rictus grin, totally paralyzed with horror.
The police. I’d forgotten about the police.
I told them Sadie was murdered by the staff at the home. These lovely saintly nurses. Why did I say that? What was I
thinking?
This is all Sadie’s fault. No, it’s not. It’s my fault. I should have kept my big trap
shut
.
“Lara?” Ginny peers at me in alarm. “Are you all right?”
She’s going to be accused of homicide, and she has no idea. And it’s all my fault. I’m going to ruin everyone’s career and the home will be shut and boarded up and all the old people will have nowhere to go….
“Lara?”
“I’m fine,” I manage at last, in a grainy voice. “Fine. But I have to go.” I start backing out of the front door on wobbly legs. “Thanks so much. Bye.”
I wait until I’m down the path and safely back on the pavement, then whip out my phone and speed-dial DI James’s number, almost hyperventilating in panic. I should never have accusedanyone of murder. I am never, ever, ever doing that again. I’m going to confess everything, tear up my statement—
“DI James’s office.” A woman’s crisp voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh, hello.” I try to sound calm. “This is Lara Lington speaking. Could I speak to DI James or DC Davies?”
“I’m afraid they’re both out on calls. Can I take a message? If it’s urgent—”
“Yes, it’s very, very urgent. It’s to do with a murder case. Could you please tell DI James I’ve had a … a … a realization.”
“A realization,” she echoes, obviously writing it down.
“Yes. About my statement. Quite a crucial one.”
“I think perhaps you should talk to DI James personally—”
“No! This can’t wait! You have to tell him it wasn’t the nurses who murdered my great-aunt. They didn’t do a thing. They’re wonderful, and it was all a terrible mistake, and … well… the thing is…”
I’m psyching myself up to bite the bullet and admit I invented the whole thing—when suddenly I’m brought up short by a horrible thought. I
can’t
confess everything. I can’t admit I made the whole thing up. They’ll instantly resume the funeral. I have a flashback to
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