Free Wading Into Murder by Joan Dahr Lambert

off and went up anyway.
    Claudine stared after him angrily; then she stomped into a nearby store. When she came out again about half an hour later clutching a big shopping bag, her face was so downcast that Laura felt sorry for her. The least she could do was to ask Claudine to join them for some tea or coffee.
    Laura rose and hovered at the edge of the narrow street, waiting for a car to pass so she could cross. At just that moment, she felt a strong push on her shoulder, and she was propelled into the path of the approaching car.
    She stumbled, fighting for balance, lost the fight and fell heavily just as the car reached her. She saw the driver’s terrified eyes staring at her through the windscreen, but it was too late for him to stop, too late for her to crawl away.
    Lurching into a tight, defensive ball, Laura tucked her head under her arms and tried to remember how to pray.

CHAPTER SIX

    The car slammed on its brakes, slid sideways with a screech of tires, and missed her by inches. The driver’s face was a mask of horror. Then, as he watched Laura get shakily to her feet, apparently unharmed, his fear turned to anger.
    “Look where you’re going! You’ll get yourself killed!” he yelled at her, and drove slowly away, shaking his head.
    Laura looked down at her arms and legs, astonished that they were still there and that she could move them without pain. Maybe even an attempt to pray helped.
    Alan Mansfield was suddenly beside her. He looked appalled, which wasn’t surprising. Having his customers run over wasn’t good for business. And then a large group of people was standing around her, gaping. Where had they all come from? Laura struggled to think coherently. Who had been nearby when she was pushed – or had she been pushed? Maybe someone had stumbled into her and sent her sprawling. The streets were thronged with people.
    “Are you all right?” Alan asked.
     “I’m fine,” Laura assured Alan. “Just a bit shaken.”
    Mrs. Tamara’s wails distracted her. “It is my fault,” she moaned in her accented English. “My fault… I did not mean to bump into her only I was pushed and I could not stop…”  She staggered to her husband and leaned miserably against him, but he shoved her away in disgust. 
    “Foolish woman,” he expostulated. “Foolish woman, to say such things!” He looked as if he was about to shake her or even slap her, and Alan Mansfield intervened.
    “No harm done,” he assured Mrs. Takara, insinuating his tall body deftly between her and her husband. “I expect someone must have jostled you. Not your fault at all, I am sure. The streets are very crowded.”
    Lady Longtree, who had been watching the scene with interest once her initial alarm faded, came over to Laura. “Are you all right, my dear? If you are, I shall take Mrs. Takara back to the bus and sit with her until the rest of you come. I might get her to talk, you know. Besides, my legs need a rest.”
    Laura nodded, and the indomitable old lady gathered up the still moaning Mrs. Takara, to Alan’s obvious relief, and escorted her to the bus. Mr. Takara stared after them stoically, and then disappeared down a side street. Everyone watched him go, and in most faces Laura read disgust. Margaret’s face, however, twisted with intense loathing, and her eyes were almost murderous. Laura was astonished. She wouldn’t have thought Margaret capable of such hatred.
    Violet touched her elbow. “How about another dose of the restorative cup before we head out?” she asked, her voice gruff with anxiety. “Or maybe I need one this time. You do have a way of attracting trouble.”
    Laura agreed with relief. She badly wanted to sit down. “I can’t figure it out,” she grumbled to Violet. “Mrs. Takara isn’t tall enough to bump into my shoulder, so why did she say it was her fault? And anyway, it felt more like a shove.”
    Violet paled. “Are you saying that it wasn’t an accident, that someone pushed you into the