Free The Oxmarket Aspal Murder Mystery by Andrew Hixson Page B

said with distaste.  “Sometimes to the detriment of her work.  But, I never really listened and I bet she never would have guessed that she was about to be robbed and murdered.”
                  “No, probably not,” I agreed.  “Do you read the local Sunday paper, Lady Osborne?”
                  Her blue eyes opened wide.
                  “We have the Sunday Times ?”
                  “Not the Oxmarket Sunday Echo ?”             
                  I paused but nobody said anything.
                  Lady Osborne sighed and half closed her eyes.  “It was all very upsetting,” she said.  “That horrible lodger of hers.  He wasn’t the complete ticket, you know.  Apparently he was fairly well educated, too.  Which makes it even worse, doesn’t it?”
                  “Does it?”
                  “Of course.  It was such a brutal crime.”
                  “The police never found the weapon,” I said firmly.
                  “I expect he threw it into the pond or something.”
                  “The police dragged the pond,” I said, “I read it in the report.”
                  Lady Osborne held her head in her hands in a dramatic fashion.  “Please, my head.  I hate to think of such horrible things.”
                  Her daughter turned on me fiercely.  “Please, Mr Handful.  You must leave.  My mother is finding this all extreme distressing.”
                  “I’m sorry,” I said, rising to my feet.  “But all I am trying to do is to make sure an innocent man doesn’t spend the rest of his time in gaol.”
                  Lady Osborne raised herself up on one elbow.  “But of course he did it!”
                  “I’m not so sure,” I responded, shaking my head.
                  I left the room quickly but as I went down the stairs Chloe came after me.  She caught up with me in the hall.
                  “What do you mean?”  She asked.
                  “I’m not sure Marcus Dye is guilty.”
                  “Yes, but -” She stopped.
                  I said nothing.
                  Then, Chloe Bird spoke slowly:  “You’ve upset my mother.  She hates things like that.  Robberies murders and violence.”
                  “Don’t we all,” I said.  “However, it must have been a great shock for her when a woman who worked for her ended up being murdered.”
                  “Oh yes – oh yes, it was.”  She replied.  “We try and spare her these things.  The world is changing so fast and she is being left behind.”
                  “I saw she had an I-pad.”
                  “I programme that for her,” Chloe replied.  “It’s nearly all classical music.  Not my cup of tea.”
                  “I like some,” I told her.  “I like listening to film music.  John Barry, Ennio Morricone and Hans Zimmer.  It’s the modern classical music they say.”
                  The front door opened and a tall, spare elderly man came into the hall.  He stopped dead when he saw me.  He glanced at Chloe and his eyebrows rose in interrogation.”
                  “This is my stepfather,” Chloe said.  “This is Mr John Handful.”
                  Lord Osborne seemed unimpressed.  He just said, “Ah,” and turned to hang up his coat.
                  “He came to ask about Faith Roberts,” Chloe said.
                  Lord Osborne remained still for a few moments, before finishing adjusting his coat on the peg. 
    “That’s a bit odd,” he said.  “Considering the woman died months ago and a man has been arrested and sentenced for her murder.  And as