Free Murder on the Hill by Kennedy Chase Page A

of me. What is it?”
    He leaned in. His eyes were rheumy and red spots covered his face. “Notice anything wrong with ol’ Leadbetter?”
    “Not really, why?” I asked.
    “They do weird things in the chapel at night sometimes. I’ve heard them.”
    “What kind of weird things?”
    “I don’t know, the doors are locked. But since Leadbetter joined the home, the mortality rate has shot up. Rather odd, wouldn’t you say? I’ve got the figures to prove it.” He fished out a piece of crumpled paper and handed it to Cordi. Dates and numbers were scrawled in pencil.
    “See,” he said, pointing to a red line. “That’s before she came, and that’s after. We call her the ‘Angel of Death’.”
    “What are you suggesting, Winkle?” I asked.
    “It was her that done ol’ Bellman in. I can prove it too. Come to the chapel tomorrow night around midnight. You’ll hear what I heard.”
    Leadbetter appeared in the doorway. Winkle eased out of the window and said, “Crap, she’s rumbled me. I best go. But please, trust me. Ol’ Winkle hasn’t lost his marbles just yet. She’s up to something.”
    He shuffled off, heading back to the home’s entrance.
    “We better go,” I said. “Before anything else crazy happens.”
    Leadbetter approached Winkle to help him inside.
    Cordi checked all her mirrors, fired the engine, and headed back to Notting Hill. I took Winkle’s piece of paper from her and inspected the numbers. If he was being truthful, the death rate was indeed higher after Leadbetter had arrived, going up by at least thirty percent. That was quite significant.
    “So what do you think?” Cordi asked.
    “Well, usually on a Friday evening, I head to Soho for drinks and a gig, but how can that compare to snooping on a care home chapel?”
    “You think Winkle’s telling the truth?”
    “Only one way to find out. Unless you have other plans?”
    “Just teacakes and TV with the cat,” Cordi said. “So scoping out a care home it is, then.”
    I was way more excited about that prospect than I ever thought I would be.

CHAPTER 9
    Before we left the M25 motorway and headed back into central London after our care home visit, Cordi got a call from her aunt. I couldn’t make out what the hurried conversation was about. When she hung up, her face was tense, lips pressed together and eyes narrow.
    And she was doing her racing car driver impression.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “Aunt Maggie.”
    “Oh, is she okay?”
    “She’s fine. But the house isn’t. We’ve been broken into. She’s over there now, dealing with the police. And one guess who else is there.”
    From her driving it seemed pretty obvious. “Alex?” I hid the hope in my voice as best as I could, but my stomach filled with butterflies when Cordi grunted in affirmation. She mumbled under her breath a stream of obscenities, presumably aimed at her ex.
    All I could think of was how he looked at me in the library. As though I were a chocolate muffin and he were a starving man. I tried not to let the image of him eating me show on my face, but I still blushed. Cordi was too distracted with anger to notice, thankfully.
    “Did your aunt say if anything was taken?”
    “The old bat didn’t say anything about that. Just complained about my lack of security. When we arrive, don’t let her get to you. She’s a mean-spirited witch at times.”
    If Alex was there, I doubted I’d even notice. I gripped the hand rest on the passenger door and prayed we’d get there in one piece as Cordi took a bend at high speed.
    ***
    I breathed a sigh of relief when Cordi parked outside of her place.
    We hadn’t crashed and died in a ball of flame. Which was always nice. My legs were shaky when I got out. A number of nosey bystanders were hanging around outside their town houses, watching what was going on at Cordi’s.
    The sun was shining, and the heat made sweat drip down my back.
    An unmarked black BMW was parked in front of Cordi’s space. Alex’s,