Free Why Don’t You Come for Me by Diane Janes Page A

obstruction which stood between herself and the contents of the cupboard. She slid the point of the screwdriver into the gap at a point just below the lock and began to lever her improvised jemmy against the frame. The first two or three attempts resulted in no more than a series of ugly marks on the paintwork. At the fourth attempt, the screwdriver jerked out of the crack and she narrowly missed gouging a lump out of her cheek. She tried a slower, steadier pressure, until with an elongated creak of protest, the door finally gave way, a jagged split appearing in the wood from the edge nearest the lock to a point just above the lower hinge. Although the tough little lock held firm, enough of the door could be moved aside to see that the cupboard’s contents were unchanged since Sean had reluctantly displayed them a week before.
    Jo sat back on her heels, completely at a loss. Maybe he took the knife with him to school. For a moment she thought of ringing to suggest they search his belongings, but then she thought of what Marcus would say if she ended up getting Sean expelled – which could well be the penalty for bringing an offensive weapon on to the premises. Then again, what if she rang the school and her hunch turned out to be wrong? He might have sold it on to someone else by now. Marcus would be just as furious, the whole episode put down to her overactive imagination again.
    There had been a couple of occasions in the past when she had got things very wrong, and she could see now that it had probably been a mistake to confide these episodes in Marcus because they naturally reduced the likelihood of him accepting everything she told him at face value. The worst of these had occurred four years ago, when she followed a woman in a car – the impulse of an instant – because there was a little girl in the back, a little girl who had looked just the right age …
    She stared afresh at the mess she had made of the cupboard door. The irony of her earlier cautious search was not lost on her; she might as well have turned the place upside down, because there was no way she could pretend the cupboard had met with some accidental injury while she was cleaning the room. Cold fingers of doubt encircled her neck and crept over her scalp. Without the justification of a newly discovered knife, the cupboard simply appeared to have suffered a violent attack from a random maniac. She saw the screwdriver in her hand with fresh eyes. Suddenly she wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the cupboard and screwdriver.
    She retreated downstairs, noting that the post had been delivered, probably at the very moment she had been breaking into the cupboard, since she had not heard the letterbox. She collected the cluster of envelopes as she passed, flipping through them to see if there was anything interesting. Halfway down the pile she encountered a couple of envelopes addressed to Shelley and Brian, which had somehow found their way among The Hideaway’s post.
    The misdirected mail provided her with a welcome excuse to depart the scene of the crime. She would walk into Grizedale and find something to draw, dropping off the stray letters on her way. In less than five minutes she was striding along the lane, resolutely ignoring the threat of rain in the sky ahead. She had intended to drop into the gallery and hand the letters over in person, but when she got there she found the lights were out and the ‘closed’ sign still displayed, so she backtracked to Ingledene where she opened the wrought-iron gate, advanced up the path and climbed the trio of steps to the front door.
    As she gained the top step she was met with the sound of loud, angry voices. With no passing traffic, sound penetrated the wood as easily as if she had been in the next room. It was awkward, but it was too late to go back now. If someone happened to see her, she would still have the letters in her hand, so it would be obvious that she had overheard