Free Nearly Almost Somebody by Caroline Batten Page A

still treating this place like he lives here.’
    Libby followed her through to the back of the house, picking her way over the trainers and cricket bats strewn along the hallway. In the kitchen, Sheila handed her a corkscrew and muted the TV, cutting off the barmaid ranting in the Rovers.
    ‘How are you settling in?’
    ‘Okay.’ Libby paused before pulling the cork out. A little company would be lovely. ‘Fancy a glass?’
    ‘Oh, go on then. Just a small one.’ Sheila winked and took two wine glasses from the cupboard. ‘Just okay ? I’d have thought a pretty young thing like you would be having a whale of a time.’
    Blushing, Libby joined Sheila at the kitchen table and poured the wine. I hate my job, I have no friends and I’m living in a death-trap.
    ‘It’s just different.’ She forced a smile. ‘Were you and Maggie close?’
    ‘When my husband had an affair with a woman from the butchers – they live in Haverton now – Maggie got me through it. A true friend.’ She stared at her glass for a moment, as she tucked a wayward strand of dark grey hair behind her ear.
    ‘You must miss her.’
    Sheila nodded. ‘I saw Hyssop came back. I thought he would.’
    ‘He’s made himself right at home.’ Libby sipped her wine. ‘What was she like?’
    ‘Hasn’t Zoë told you anything?’
    ‘I don’t think they got along too well.’
    ‘It’s funny because Zoë’s like Maggie. Doesn’t fit in around here, too glamorous by half.’
    ‘Maggie was glamorous too?’ Libby’s mental image of the little old lady disintegrated.
    ‘Oh aye. I mean she was in her sixties when she died, and a bit stooped, but when she moved here, oh, she’d have been about thirty-five. A real looker. Mind you, even in her sixties she still turned heads. Long beautiful wavy hair, steel grey it was.’
    ‘Stan from the pub said she was a siren.’
    Sheila laughed. ‘Well I don’t know about that, but she had one or two men chasing her.’
    ‘Stan?’
    ‘He was just a passing fancy when she had a leaky tap. He’s a plumber. Her heart belonged elsewhere.’
    Libby leant forwards, smiling, eager for details. ‘Really? Who?’
    Sheila gently laughed. ‘She never talked about him. Just said she’d loved him since the day she met him and she’d love him ’til the day she died. I expect she did.’
    ‘What happened to him? Did he die?’
    ‘No. He’s married. Lives in Windermere. Some rich bloke. He’s the one that gave her the pendant.’
    ‘What pendant?’
    ‘The emerald pendant. Worth a bob or two. Twenty grand, Maggie reckoned.’
    ‘Crikey, I hope Zoë didn’t throw it away with the rest of her stuff.’
    ‘Yes, I saw the skip.’ Sheila’s accusatory tone had Libby’s cheeks flushing.
    ‘So, I heard Maggie was a witch. Grace said you and Maggie put a spell on the cottage.’
    ‘What nonsense.’ Sheila laughed, but as she glanced up to her right and scratched her wrist, Libby’s mouth gaped. Sheila was lying.
    ‘Oh my god. It’s true?’
    Sheila paused, looking Libby in the eye before chuckling. ‘Now I don’t really go for all that mumbo jumbo and it might be real or it might be one of them placebo effects, but I saw some odd things with my own eyes.’
    ‘Did you hear anything the night she died?’
    ‘That night?’ Sheila shook her head. ‘Not a peep. She wasn’t home when I went to bed. That was at eleven.’
    ‘Why was she out so late?’
    ‘Well, it was Ostara.’
    Libby raised her eyebrows.
    ‘It’s where they celebrate the Goddess of Spring. Poor Maggie. There she was, celebrating new life when hers was about to end.’
    Libby sipped her wine. Dare she ask? ‘I heard a rumour she was murdered.’
    ‘That’ll be Becky.’ Sheila waved a dismissive hand. ‘I have Maggie’s things. Her Wicca things. The day after she died, after Patrick found her–’
    ‘Patrick?’
    ‘The vet. He lives in the corner house next to yours. I went in, after they’d you know, taken her away. The