Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

‘It seems so unlikely that she wouldn’t notice a gas leak. It’d have to be quite a big one to fill the whole restaurant like that.’

Turning away, Mick muttered, ‘I can’t talk about this anymore, Luc. We may have split, but I still loved your mother. Why would anyone want to kill her?’

But Lucas pressed on, ‘Do you think Max Rutherford had anything to do with it?’

Mick frowned. ‘Why would he kill her? I don’t think he even knew her.’

Dad was right. Who would want to kill Mum? Sam had a misty memory of his mum: a Latin-featured, loving person, full of life and attitude. Not someone to attract hatred.

28 SAM

With the hum of distant traffic in the background, Sam and his dad, wrapped in coats and scarves, strolled along a familiar woodland path at the top of Chelterton Park. The walk was one that as children, Sam and Josh had enjoyed many times with their fathers and siblishes. They would play hide and seek between the trees, and Kitty would bring her dog, Topsy, who would follow the child, infuriating her by giving away her hiding place.

Now, they were all older, but Maurice was deteriorating faster than Paul and Mick. Recently, Sam read on a medical website that deterioration of the senior brain can be slowed with stimulation and exercise. Worried about Maurice’s future independence, Sam now insisted upon a regular walk and, because they were planning the upkeep of Maurice’s unruly back garden, Sam hoped he was also achieving some mental stimulation.

‘You don’t have to do it, boy,’ Maurice grumbled. He tugged the fingers of his right hand through the grip of his left, again and again. Over the years, this nervous habit had polished his forefingers to a shiny brown.

‘I know,’ Sam nodded, his wandering eyes seeing photo shots in the dark twiggy horizon, silhouetted against the cloud blown sky, ‘But I’d like to. It won’t take long to sort it out.’

This was not in the least true, and Sam’s photographic fantasies were replaced by the memory of tussocks of grass and dandelions in Maurice’s so called ‘lawn’, and his borders of tangled bramble and nettle.

It would be impossible to cut the grass yet because the weather had been so poor. For the past three days, rain had pounded without remorse on the ground turning it into a quagmire. On the upside, the moist soil would make pulling up the weeds an easier matter.

His thoughts moved to the front garden. It was as bad as the back and contrasted with the beautiful displays of the retired neighbours on either side. Both Maurice’s gates were in a sad state of repair. The little one at the pavement, sagged from its hinges, and at the side of the house, separating the front garden from the back, the tall grey slats of the gate looked as though a wild animal had chewed chunks from their edges. This was not a task for Sam. He was no carpenter and said as much, now.

Maurice said, ‘Paul might help - he’s handy,’

‘Paul has enough to do. He’s about to get married. He doesn’t want to be running around after you.’ Sam fired a breath down his nose. ‘Could you afford to get someone in?’

‘I suppose so.’

Knowing that his father would do nothing about the gate, Sam stared into the woodland beside the path, wondering if Josh would help.

Something between the trees attracted his attention. Something just visible between the scrubby hazels and skinny Silver Birch trees. He stopped. ‘What’s that?’

‘What?’ Maurice bobbed his head round Sam to see what he was looking at.

Sam took a step towards the edge of the path and squinted into the gloom. ‘It’s a wheel, I think. I seem to…’ He left the path and climbed into the woods, keeping his eyes on the object. Beneath his feet, treacherous mud and leaf mould squelched under his shoes making them skid sideways, and he grasped branches to keep his balance.

Behind him, his father quavered, ‘What is it? What have you found? Probably rubbish. Kids come out here making a racket, cutting trees and making dens. Probably a den, is it? A sofa?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Sam called back as he reached the spot where a wire wheel, part of some larger contraption, rose like mechanical lava from the clumping, blackish leaves.

Maurice shouted from the path, ‘I need to get back, boy. Can we talk about the garage?’

Ignoring the urgency in his father’s voice, Sam ducked under the branches to scrape away leaf-mould with his foot. Whatever was attached to the wheel had been wrapped in a black, plastic sheet. He wondered if he could he get the whole structure out. It was worth a try.

Maurice hollered again, ‘Come away, Sam. I’m getting cold.’

‘Won’t be a minute, Dad,’ Sam called back and gripped the wheel. Ignoring the discomfort of its rusted spokes digging into his fingers, he braced his feet against a root and with a grunt, applied all his strength. The surrounding ground moved a centimetre, but the contraption remained stuck. Whatever this was, it was big, and it would take more than a tug to remove it. But Sam thought he recognised it, and something told him it was important. He stumbled back to Maurice, brushing muck from his fingers.

‘Rubbish, was it?’ Maurice’s face stretched into an anxious smile that exposed long teeth in receding gums.

Sam nodded. ‘I expect so. Shall we go?’

~~~

The up and over door of Maurice’s garage groaned, and snagged on the empty cartons and crusty dust sheets piled inside. Years of indiscriminate dumping had rendered the space inaccessible, but the mess was nothing an afternoon’s work would not cure, and Sam relaxed and threw his dad a wide grin. ‘This isn’t a problem. I’ll put it in your