For Rye by Gavin Gardiner (best books to read for teens txt) 📕

streamed over his raincoat. He burrowed his head into hunched shoulders in a preventative measure of such futility, Renata considered the possibility of its purpose being no more than a ploy for her sympathies. This theory solidified once she saw him register her dark glasses and cane, which prompted him to lower the umbrella and raise his bald head indifferently to the rain.

Through the cataract glasses she watched him work those yellowed detective eyes as he chewed his faithful toothpick. Like his sodden clothes – that same tieless navy shirt and waistcoat he hadn’t changed since her arrival in Millbury Peak – his powers of observation soaked up every possible truth, but there were as many holes in these powers as there were in the tattered umbrella. She forced an expression of benign calmness as she writhed inside at the thought of everything that had slipped through the gaps in his abilities. She looked into his eyes and saw where the blindness really lay.

He’s no more responsible for the truck or your mother’s murder than I am for his god-awful books.

‘Your eyes, Miss Wakefield,’ spluttered Hector through a face-full of rain. ‘What happened to you?’

Quentin’s a good man.

Her grip tightened around the cane.

‘Cataracts,’ she said, ‘like my father’s. It came on so fast. This is just damage limitation until surgery. I still have some sight, but I’m effectively housebound.’

She stared into his unseeing eyes.

Old fool.

‘But…groceries? The care of your father? Can’t I help with—’

‘I’m sorry, but what’s the purpose of your visit, Detective?’

‘I was hoping to fill you in on the case.’ Hector cleared his throat, moving the pocket watch around in his newly-steadied hands. ‘There’s been some developments, Miss Wakefield. But if you’re busy…’

‘Not at all,’ said Renata, curling her toes. ‘So long as my father isn’t disturbed.’

Hector stepped inside and gazed at the gleaming hallway. ‘The house,’ he said as he removed his coat, ‘it’s like stepping back in time. This is just how your mother kept the place when you were a girl.’ He turned his eyes to Renata’s glasses. ‘You can see well enough for housework?’

‘Just,’ she replied. ‘Thankfully, I can still administer my father’s medication and, yes, get the house back in order. But for the most part my vision’s a blur. I’m a bit of a sorry state, I’m afraid.’ She forced a smile, fiddling with her striped apron. ‘Not sure I’d be able to take anyone in a fight.’

Especially the teenage girl reported missing, last seen four days ago with me. Get to it, Detective.

Hector walked into the spotless lounge, overwhelmed by the transformation. It was like a showroom, immaculate in every regard. Despite the room’s return to its former glory, the burnished ornamental silver, polished wooden surfaces, and scrubbed walls all remained dim as a result of the wooden shutters covering every window. Renata glanced at the bookcase.

‘Jesus,’ Hector grumbled, the smell of bleach and bottled ammonia catching in his throat, ‘smells like a chemical plant in here.’ He barked a deep cough. ‘Haven’t smelt anything that strong since I quit the drink.’

‘I apologise. We’re having a problem with the drains, and, as you can see, we’re having a late spring clean, too. Or early, depending on how you look at it.’ She smiled nervously. ‘Please, come into the kitchen. The smell’s not as bad in there.’

A moth fluttered past Hector as he approached the couch. ‘Here will be fine, thank you.’

Sandie had been unconscious all evening, ground sleeping pills having featured in the bread stuffed between the girl’s vomit-stained lips. She’d been out like a light, hunched over silently as Renata wrote at the desk behind her. Had the detective banged on the door during feeding time, her screams may very well have reached him. She glanced at the bookcase again, a mental image forming of Sandie stirring and hearing the muffled tones of conversation. As for the stench of cleaning fluids, she knew she couldn’t trust its masking properties completely.

‘I insist,’ she said. ‘Father’s up to his eyes in sleeping pills, but I’d still like to avoid disturbing him.’

He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table. Renata closed the door and felt her way to the kettle.

‘Don’t bother,’ said Hector, swiping at his face. Another moth. ‘I won’t be here long.’

‘It’s no trouble, Detective,’ she said, slipping a serrated salad knife into her apron pocket.

‘I don’t want to take up more of your time than is necessary, Miss Wakefield.’ He ran a hand over his now-sweatless head. Renata sat opposite. ‘You’ve heard the news I assume?’

‘News?’

Hector’s eyebrow twitched. ‘Sandie Rye, the girl whose charity auction you attended. She’s not been seen since leaving the event.’ He reached for his shirt pocket, then changed his mind. ‘You’ve heard nothing of this?’

Her jaw dropped. ‘Sandie? What on earth… Detective, is she all right?’

‘Well—’

‘I feel like this town has gone mad,’ she cut in, raising a rubber-gloved hand to her forehead. ‘Things have been unravelling since my mother’s—’

‘I know, Miss Wakefield.’ Hector sat back. He rubbed his eyes. ‘I feel the same. As you’re aware, I believe there’s a connection between everything that’s been happening. This can’t be coincidence. It has to be related.’ He looked into the tinted lenses. ‘Have you any idea what may have happened to Miss Rye? You understand, you’re a crucial component in locating her.’

Renata had been awaiting a visit from the police. Sandie’s mouth had been taped shut near enough permanently, and in the case of an unexpected visitor, she’d planned to wrap even more tape around the bottom half of the girl’s face before answering, completely obscuring any muffling or moaning. She’d mastered the technique of replacing the bookcase to its usual spot having entered the cellar, allowing her to render the house empty whilst downstairs, but she thought again of