Free The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) by Martin Edwards Page A

positive about.
    Infused with an energy she hadn’t felt for ages, she showered and dressed. Almost noon, naughty, naughty, but she’d fallen into bad habits. Sometimes she spent the whole day in her pyjamas. With time on your hands, things preyed on your mind.
    The deli and the shops were more than a mile from her bungalow. This would be further than she’d walked for weeks. She usually caught a bus to the doctors’ surgery, but she needed the exercise. Doctor Chanderpaul had warned against getting old before her time. The skies were cloudy, and she took an umbrella, to be on the safe side. No sense in getting completely carried away.
    She locked the front door behind her, still cheered by the unexpected sighting of Nigel. At least she had happy memories, souvenirs that money couldn’t buy. One thing she’d never envied Nigel for was his wealth. She guessed it had brought little happiness, just like it never brought happiness to that hateful uncle of his. Nigel had spoken so movingly about his missing daughter. If only she could offer him comfort at a difficult time.
    ‘Nice to see you out and about, Joanna.’ Edna Butler, who lived three doors away, paused in the act of wheeling a bulging shopping trolley through her front gate. ‘You’re on the mend, I hope?’
    ‘Tons better, thanks.’
    ‘Grand news, though you do look a bit pale, if you don’tmind me saying so. And thin as a rake. Good to get a blow of air, bring some colour to those cheeks.’
    Joanna’s tight smile was more like a grimace. She’d always hated people going on about her appearance.
    ‘You must pop round for a cup of tea. I’ll bake a Madeira cake in your honour, how about that? Are you doing anything tomorrow afternoon?’
    Edna, a widow in her late sixties, talked incessantly, mostly about relatives Joanna had never met, and hoped never to meet. The price of a cup of tea at Dunromin was two hours of genteel boredom. Three or four hours, if you were really unlucky, and she insisted on your staying for an early supper and a game of Scrabble.
    ‘Thanks, I’d love to.’ Joanna hesitated. Lies didn’t spring readily to her lips; it was the price of being well brought up. ‘Unfortunately, I won’t be here.’
    ‘What a pity. Not to worry, shall we say Wednesday, instead?’ A tinkly laugh. ‘Or Thursday, come to that? My social calendar isn’t exactly chock-a-block. It would be lovely to have a natter. You did say you’ve taken early retirement, didn’t you?’
    Yes, she’d agreed the phrase with the insurance brokers who employed her. It sounded better than sacked or redundant , yet it carried a whiff of premature old age and mothballs. Joanna had been signed off work with stress, and her manager, wanting to reduce staff levels, but fearing a claim of unfair dismissal or disability discrimination, had offered a generous exit package if she volunteered to go quietly. Joanna didn’t really need the money, but it was an easy way out, and her habit in life was to take the easy way out.
    ‘I … I’m not …’
    ‘Say yes! It will be a tonic for you.’ Edna’s beam out-dazzled the yellow tulips lining the path to her front door. ‘We can have a right old chinwag, just the two of us. You might like to come along to the W.I.’s next meeting. We have a guest speaker talking about the history of cockle fishing in Lytham.’
    ‘As a matter of fact,’ Joanna said, ‘I’m going away. Get some sea breezes in my lungs.’
    ‘How lovely. Whereabouts are you going? Not Morecambe, by any chance? My cousin’s youngest lives there.’
    ‘Back to the Lakes,’ Joanna said quickly. ‘We used to live in Cumbria, on the edge of Holmrook. I called the bungalow after the village.’
    ‘Ah, the Lake District! Walter and I used to love Bowness.’ Edna had evidently never ventured as far west as Holmrook. ‘Where are you staying?’
    ‘Ravenglass.’ Joanna spoke without thinking, but of course it was the perfect destination. Ravenglass,