Free Death of an Avid Reader by Frances Brody Page A

blackmailing him or threatening him in some way.’
    â€˜She mentioned nothing like that.’
    â€˜She wouldn’t would she? Not unless you provided the opening. When she’s summat of importance to say, she never does anything less than go all round the houses before she gets to it.’
    â€˜I’ll speak to her tomorrow, if I can find a way of doing so without being intrusive. She’ll be interested to know how I get on tonight at the library.’
    Mrs Sugden’s face expressed utter dismay. ‘You’re going out again in this fog?’ She stared through a gap in the curtains. ‘If ever there was a night for keeping out of harm’s way, this is that night.’

Eight
    Mrs Sugden made no further comment about my venturing out on such a night, but I could see that it was hard for her to keep quiet. She put the kitchen fireguard in place, a concession to the monkey who, after a drink of milk, had curled up on the rug next to my bemused cat, Sookie. Sookie had hissed, resenting the intrusion into her realm, but the monkey skilfully ingratiated himself. Now they both slept. Mrs Sugden, who would normally retire to her own quarters at this time, brought in her knitting, to sit by the fire and keep an eye on the little primate.
    â€˜No good will come of it,’ she called into the hall as I wrapped a scarf around my nose and throat and set off to see Jim Sykes before catching the tram.
    Sykes lives a short distance away. I cut through the wood and the back streets to his house. Sophia and her mother Jennifer had lived on Compton Road, with the ill-fated second husband, Mr Bradshaw. Reaching Beulah Street, I thought how wonderful it would be if Sykes opened the door and said, ‘I’ve found them!’
    It would have been wonderful, but only the opening of the door part came true.
    â€˜Come in! I was going to call round soon as we’d finished tea.’
    The family was gathered at the table, each with something to say, and offering me a chair.
    â€˜I’m not staying more than a couple of minutes.’
    â€˜She’s come to talk to me, not you lot.’
    â€˜Any news?’ I asked.
    He shook his head. ‘Nothing, or I would have been round to see you like a shot. I enquired with neighbours, the post office, and all the shops. The newsagent remembers Mrs Bradshaw coming regularly for a paper, but no one knows where they went when they left the area.’
    â€˜That’s a pity.’
    â€˜But it’s good that she buys the local paper.’
    â€˜Yes. I paid for the insertions today. They will be in tomorrow’s editions.’
    Sykes put on his cheerful voice. ‘With a bit of luck, mother or daughter will read the announcement on Saturday and write to us on Sunday. Who knows, perhaps by Monday there will be something to collect from the box numbers.’
    â€˜That would be excellent.’ I pulled my scarf tight. ‘Best be going. I’m off to catch the tram to town. I’m expected for a meeting at the library.’
    Sykes’s wife, Rosie, looked up from dishing out potatoes. ‘Jim, won’t you drive Mrs Shackleton?’
    â€˜I don’t need to be driven. Safer on the tram in this weather.’
    Sykes took his coat from the hook. ‘Then I’ll walk you to the stop.’
    Rosie picked up a plate. ‘I’ll put your tea in the oven, Jim.’
    I did not object to being walked to the tram. Mentioning the monkey in front of the Sykes’s three children would have caused far too much interest. He listened as I gave an account of finding the creature, and asked him to keep his ear to the ground for news of the organ grinder.
    â€˜A monkey like that’s a valuable commodity. I wonder what’s happened to the man. I’ll have a word with the local beat bobby. He might know something.’
    Our conversation was cut short as the tram arrived.
    I settled into my seat. Street lamps shone