Winding Up the Serpent by Priscilla Masters

She knew it annoyed me,’ she said simply. ‘That’s why she did it.’
    The police had names for people like this. Natural victims ... blame themselves for all that goes wrong, expect people to pick on them, wait for trouble. And hey presto, Joanna thought, trouble hunts them out as though it could smell them.
    â€˜Then what?’ she asked.
    â€˜She sat in the car with the radio on very loud. She liked to do that. It made Ben mad. It upset him. She loved to tease him, you see. She loved to see him upset. He’d foam at the mouth – bark – try to jump over the fence.’ Evelyn glanced at Joanna. ‘He couldn’t, of course. The fence was too high. Then she’d laugh and mock him, sometimes dangle a bone over the fence and laugh while he tried to catch it in his teeth.’ She blinked. ‘There was a very mean side to Marilyn, Inspector,’ she said. ‘She could be cruel ...’
    â€˜You live alone, Mrs Shiers?’ She changed tack.
    An expression of extreme distaste crossed the woman’s face. ‘I do,’ she said.
    â€˜A widow?’
    â€˜My husband and I are ...’ there was a quick, hesitant pause, ‘separated.’
    Joanna drew out her notebook and pencil. ‘For how long?’ She looked up, waited for the woman’s reply.
    â€˜Four years.’
    â€˜And where is he now?’
    Evelyn looked furious. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t care. He isn’t here.’
    â€˜So where is he?’
    Now the look of the frightened fox was back. She was cornered. ‘I can’t tell you ... I don’t know where he is.’
    Joanna watched the bristles on her chin. Her head jerked to and fro. Evelyn Shiers was rattled.
    She sighed. More questions ... more investigations. And she had the feeling it would all be very hard work. But not now. She stood to leave and watched the other woman’s shoulders drop in relief.
    â€˜By the way,’ she said at the doorway. ‘We don’t know how Marilyn died. Lock your doors, Mrs Shiers. If you see anything—’
    â€˜What sort of thing?’ the woman demanded.
    â€˜Anything. And ring us immediately, if you do.’ Joanna gave her the number of the police station and her own extension number. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Piercy. And I’ll be interested if you remember anything that could have a bearing on this case.’ She opened the front door. ‘I’ll probably call round again.’
    â€˜Is that the truth, then, Mike?’
    They were sitting in her office, drinking coffee.
    â€˜Was she just a plump, lonely woman who spun stories, lived in make-believe land, dressed to kill and died?’
    He was frowning. ‘It could be,’ he said cautiously. ‘There was nothing in the house to suggest anything else.’
    â€˜Where did all the money come from? The antiques ... plastic surgery ... the house? Her mother isn’t dead, is she? So she wasn’t left anything.’
    Her hand rested on the pile of letters. ‘Maybe we’d better read these.’ She picked one up and handed him another. Her eyes wandered down the page. ‘A little more money ... I saw the vicar calling in next door last Wednesday. I don’t think it’s quite nice for him to call, so late at night, a man of the cloth ... and she was looking very tidy ... Mrs Tolley, three doors away goes out every single Friday night, you know, Marilyn. She thinks I don’t see but a car drops her off. I went for a walk myself last Friday just to the end of the road. To get a bit of air. And there he was – the one man in the car. Nobody I recognized. But if Mr Tolley should find out ...’
    Joanna slammed the letter down in disgust. She could sense the relish. She picked up another and read more. There were pages and pages of gossip, prying, intimate and insinuating. She dropped the letters and looked at