Lost Souls by Jenny O'Brien (android e book reader txt) 📕

as flummoxed as me. She even knew the man cremated, a Duncan Broome, which was slightly worrying until she informed me about the PAYG funeral he’d bought into.’

‘The PAY what?’ Malachy interrupted.

‘Pay As You Go, Mal. It’s a way of spreading the cost of funeral expenses to minimise the financial burden on your next of kin. Nothing for you to worry about quite yet,’ Owen added, managing to squeeze out a laugh.

‘Oh, right!’

‘Owen, you do realise that we don’t have the time to investigate this until we’ve found the girl, but we’ll get to it as soon as we can.’ Gaby tapped the pile of photos of Ellie that were ready for distribution. ‘It’s not as if it could be Ellie and she’s my main concern for now. If there’s a free window this afternoon, we might be able to arrange a visit to the Memorial Gardens but I’m not promising anything.’

Chapter 12

Barbara

Monday 3 August, 12.45 p.m. Wisteria Cottage

Barbara Matthews was running late due to an unfortunate set of circumstances that included a build-up of traffic along the A55 and a longer than usual queue at the butcher’s. It had been a busy day for the soon-to-be eighty-one-year-old but hell would have to freeze over before she missed her weekly appointment for a wash and set at her usual hairdresser in Craig-y-Don.

Unloading the boot of her Toyota hatchback took seconds and, with one hand full of shopping, she made her way up to the front door. She paused to pass a couple of words with her next-door neighbour, a woman she couldn’t stand, before sliding her key into the lock.

The feel of the cool air rushing out to greet her had her heave a sigh of relief. While she’d enjoyed her morning, returning to the sanctuary of her own home was the best feeling of all. She pursed her lips, remembering the recent conversation she’d had with her GP about starting to wind it down a little. It was all very well for him to say, with his smart suit and even smarter wife. Golf was her life, closely followed by her weekly bridge party. So what if she consumed more than her recommended units a week or had a fondness for cream buns from that nice little bakery beside St John’s Methodist Church along Mostyn Street. She didn’t owe anybody anything and was prepared to meet her maker as and when he invited her.

The downstairs of the bright and airy dormer bungalow was open plan and painted in rich creams to maximise the light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows with views out over Conwy Castle. When she’d originally chosen to renovate the property, following the death of her father, she’d decided there and then that it was the ideal opportunity to turn their former family home into the house of her dreams. With no siblings or children to look out for, she could spend her money how she liked and if it did mean that there was less to leave to the RSPCA then so be it. The kitchen, only ten years old, retained the feel of an old country farmhouse with its hand-worked oak units and wrought-iron handles, while the tall American fridge was a little piece of extravagance she was yet to regret.

With the kettle on, she unloaded her shopping and, with two lamb chops on a covered plate in the fridge for her supper later, set about making herself a quick coffee.

The doorbell rang to interrupt her peace.

One hand massaging the ache in her lower back, she walked to the door making sure to secure the dainty gold-plated security chain. Deganwy Quay was one of the quieter parts of North Wales but one couldn’t be too careful these days. She only had to open the paper to appreciate that things weren’t what they used to be, far from it.

There were few people that Barbara Matthews could say she genuinely liked. The new vicar was one, even if she was convinced his wife cheated at golf. But, as her mother used to say, there was a woman who was no better than she ought to be. Barbara had never been quite sure what her mother had meant until she’d met Reverend Honeybun’s wife, with her blood-red nails and carefully teased blonde curls. But the person on the doorstep wasn’t anything like Della Honeybun. The person on the doorstep was her kind of person, right down to their discreet choice of grey pinstripe suit, polished shoes and black leather briefcase. Turning her back, she was already planning on stretching out their visit with a glass or two of wine. It would be the perfect way to shorten the time between her solitary meal and her bridge party.

Barbara Matthews wasn’t what you could call a nice woman. She had an ingrained dislike of anything that didn’t match her own personal ideals. She was also a very stupid woman. Once you understood that she valued breeding and social standing almost higher than oxygen it was easy to fool her into believing that you were exactly what you appeared. Turning her back on her impromptu visitor was the last mistake she’d ever make.

Chapter 13

Gaby

Monday 3 August, 2.40 p.m. St Asaph

‘Detective Darin, I’d like a quick word.’

Gaby stopped at one end of the counter while she waited for Clancy to finish tying a green luggage label on the bunch of keys that had been dropped off by a middle-aged man, who was examining his every move from under the security of a fine pair of bushy brows. The truth was most of their front-of-desk work was mundane and their back room was littered with boxes full of sundry items that, like missing socks, were destined to never be matched up with their erstwhile owners.

‘Thank you again, sir. Good day to you,’ Clancy said, his tight muscles bunching under his uniform in frustration as he propelled the man outside with the force of his intransient stance and professional glare.

‘Having