Free Murder in Midwinter by Lesley Cookman

up here.’
    ‘What sort of thing?’ said Bella eagerly.
    ‘Oh, just – normal, really,’ said Fran, assuming her uncomfortable expression, which Libby now knew to mean Fran couldn’t, or didn’t want to, put something into words.
    ‘How about the loft, then?’ said Libby.
    ‘I don’t know whether we can get into it,’ said Bella, ‘and it’s difficult to get at.’
    ‘Which means,’ said Libby, gazing up at the small hatch over the equally small landing, ‘that if we can’t get into it, the odds are that neither could Auntie Maria.’
    ‘Ladder,’ said Fran. ‘There must be a ladder somewhere.’
    ‘I’ll go and look outside,’ said Bella. ‘I haven’t looked in the garden yet.’
    Libby and Fran watched her clatter down the stairs.
    ‘She’s a lot more cheerful now than she was when she first arrived,’ said Libby.
    ‘She’s at home here,’ said Fran. ‘She’s not happy in London.’
    ‘But it sounds as though she’s always lived there,’ said Libby.
    ‘Doesn’t mean to say she’s always been happy, does it?’
    ‘Is it her husband?’
    ‘I think so,’ said Fran, ‘and my guess is she won’t leave him because of the children.’
    ‘Do you think –’ began Libby, then stopped as a crashing sound heralded Bella’s reappearance, looking flushed and triumphant.
    ‘Ladder,’ she panted. ‘There’s a brick-built shed thing in the garden that one of the keys unlocked. It’s quite a new ladder.’
    It was, quite a shiny aluminium ladder, which only just fitted on to the tiny landing. Bella went up, with Libby and Fran holding on tightly, and pushed hard at the loft hatch, which finally gave way, releasing a cloud of dust.
    ‘Can’t see anything,’ said Bella, coughing. ‘There’s no light except for a few cracks in the tiles. The loft floor’s insulated, but I can’t see any boarding.’
    ‘There won’t be anything up there, then,’ said Fran. ‘You can’t put things in an un-boarded loft.’
    Bella climbed back down the ladder, which they carried back downstairs and out to the shed.
    ‘What a great building,’ said Libby.
    It was part of the original building and had obviously housed the coal shed at one time, while the outside privy, to which the doorway opening could still be traced, had now been turned into the bathroom, with access from the inside. Libby guessed that the current kitchen, which was quite large, had once been the dining room, while the lobby had been the scullery.
    ‘Well, this is where the stuff will be,’ said Fran, pulling wide the door. ‘See?’
    ‘Of course,’ breathed Bella, stepping inside.
    ‘Light switch,’ said Libby, finding one.
    They all gasped.
    Along the opposite wall to the door were a series of what looked like cabin trunks, each labelled, on the end wall a workmanlike set of metal shelving containing box files and a filing cabinet, and along the wall beside the door, a white worktop with a computer and printer.
    ‘Good God!’ said Libby. ‘Didn’t you see this when you found the ladder?’
    ‘I didn’t switch on the light, and the ladder was just inside the door. I can’t believe it,’ said Bella. ‘Robert Grimshaw didn’t say anything about this.’
    ‘I don’t suppose he knew,’ said Fran. ‘Come on, let’s see what she used her computer for.’
    ‘It might be password protected,’ said Libby, airing her fairly newly-found knowledge.
    ‘Unlikely,’ said Fran. ‘No one else came in here.’
    ‘How do we know? She might have had loads of friends,’ said Libby.
    ‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Only her.’
    Bella looked at the computer as if it might bite. ‘You do it,’ she said to Fran. ‘I’m not very good with computers.’
    Fran sat in front of the monitor and found the switch. It hummed softly into life and within seconds presented them with a screen full of folders.
    ‘There,’ said Fran.
    Bella sat down on a trunk with a bump. ‘I can’t take all this in,’ she said. ‘What does it all