A Watery Grave (Karen Cady Book 1) by Penny Kline (rm book recommendations TXT) 📕

She waited, hoping he would suggest they meet later on – or the following day – but he just started walking away from her. When he reached the bend in the road he raised a hand and called over his shoulder.

‘Keep up the good work. See you.’

*

She didn’t want to go home. Her mother and Alex would be whispering together – stuff about solicitors and how on earth they were going to get enough money to buy out her father’s share of the house. That was the thing about divorce. It started off with everyone talking about love, and ended up mainly about hard cash.

The jeans shop on the corner of the High Street and Kersfield Road was selling two pairs for the price of one. Karen looked in the window, wondering if it was a genuine bargain, but without any great interest.

It was getting cold. She decided she might as well go home but she would spend the evening in her room, working on her English assignment. When Alex invited her to come and watch some boring TV programme she would say she was too busy. Her mother would be pleased she was concentrating on her work, and Alex would take the opportunity to have a good smooch, sitting with his arm round her mother’s neck as though they were kids out on their first date.

The thought of it made Karen feel unwell. Or it could be the fact that she had skipped lunch. She decided to visit Tessie before going home. Perhaps Mrs Livingstone would offer her something to eat. Tessie’s other brother, Nick, lived off sausages and baked beans. It would make a pleasant change from the experiments Karen’s mother kept forcing on her and Alex.

A woman, sitting in the burger bar, caught her eye. A skinny creature, dressed in a brown sweater with a matching cardigan and a string of colourless glass beads. It was Ann Stevens, the last person Karen would have expected to see in such a place. But even more surprising, the woman with her was Olive Pearce.

The two of them were deep in conversation. There was a pot of tea on the table and two plates, one empty, the other with the remains of a half-eaten pastry. Karen pulled up the hood of her jacket and watched them, while keeping most of her face turned in the other direction.

From her vantage point, close to the adjoining shop, she could see the baby, strapped into his buggy, eating what looked like a bag of crisps.

Olive Pearce had her elbows on the table and her fingers rubbed the back of her short, straggly hair, as though she was trying to relax the tension in her neck.

Did they meet up quite often – the two grandmothers? Karen had assumed Liam Pearce and Walter Stevens were not on speaking terms but – in her limited experience – it seemed women were more ready to compromise, especially if there was a baby involved. Could grandparents go to court to ask for the right to see their grandchild? It was something that had never crossed her mind before.

She would have given anything to listen to the conversation, but there was no hope of that. If she entered the burger bar one or other of them would be bound to notice her. The place was emptier than usual, with only two short queues waiting to be served, and half a dozen tables already occupied.

Ann Stevens turned her head a little and Karen noticed that she had a purple bruise on her cheek. If anyone asked her about it she would say she had bumped into a door. People like Mrs Stevens always covered up. They were too afraid to tell the truth.

As she watched, Ann Stevens got to her feet, brushing the crumbs off her pleated skirt and reached for an anorak on the back of her chair. Karen dodged into a doorway and a few minutes later she saw her leave the burger bar, then stand quite still, craning her neck to look between the shoppers and over their shoulders.

Was it some sixth sense that made her realise the person she was looking for was less than ten feet away?

‘Oh, there you are.’ She snatched hold of Karen’s sleeve, making her freeze, as though she had been caught shop-lifting. ‘Thank goodness. I saw you out in the street but I thought you’d have gone by now.’

‘Oh, hello, Mrs Stevens.’ Karen tried to sound mildly surprised, but nothing more. She was wondering if Olive Pearce had also seen her. If so the two women would have exchanged notes and realised she had found a way of getting acquainted with each of them. Hopefully there hadn’t been time.

Ann Stevens’ face was very close. ‘That time you came to the house . . .’ She ran out of breath and had to wait a moment, steadying herself on the wall. ‘I’ve been so worried, especially when Joanne told me who you were. Your father – he used to be a policeman.’

‘Yes, but he’s not now.’

‘No, a detective, a private detective. I had to speak to you but I didn’t know where to find you. About Walter, what I told you – Joanne’s father – he’d never have harmed her, he worshipped her, only wanted the best for both the girls. What I meant – I was upset – it’s just that he thought they should be brought up to do as they were told, learn respect.’

Karen could feel Mrs Stevens’ breath on her face. She took a step back. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘If you’re strict with children, especially teenagers . . . Natalie didn’t like it.’ She put her hand up to her face, touching the purple bruise. ‘I just thought if I explained.’

‘Yes, I thought that’s what you meant, Mrs Stevens.’

‘Did you? Oh, thank you.’