Free The Bones in the Attic by Robert Barnard Page B

likely be doing civil defense or ARP work, not be away fighting Rommel in the desert.”
    â€œThat’s true.”
    â€œThere were several brothers and sisters named before her in the funeral notice. Probably she was an afterthought, conceived in a comforting cuddle while Jerry was overhead trying to pulverize Armley.”
    â€œDid the report say anything about where this Rosamund lived?”
    â€œOh, yes—Tasmania. That’s the island at the bottom, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes . . . And Lily Fitch said her husband was a waiter. I just wonder whether they mightn’t have gone there, set up a restaurant, and stayed there. I suppose Hobart would be the first place to try.”
    â€œSounds like sense. Wherever they are, with a name like Scimone you’re in with a chance,” Charlie pointed out. He looked at his watch, raised his hand, and was gone.
    When Matt rang 153, though the operator said there were no Scimone R’s in Tasmania, she said there were two Scimone L’s in Hobart.
    â€œThat’ll be the husband,” said Matt, “and probably a child. Could I have both?”
    He waited until the children were well in bed and asleep before he made the call. It seemed odd to be ringing somewhere where it was already the next morning.
    â€œHobart 746981,” said a woman’s voice, strongly Australian.
    â€œIs that Mrs. Scimone?” Matt asked tentatively.
    There was a moment’s silence.
    â€œWell, not exactly. I am married, but I kept my maiden name, so I prefer Ms. Scimone. I mean, who’d want to be called Stopes, especially a Catholic? Who’s calling, please?”
    â€œMy name’s Matt Harper. I’m wanting to talk to the Rosamund Scimone who grew up in Houghton Avenue, Bramley, in Leeds.”
    â€œOh, it’s Mother you want.” Matt thought he should have known that from the moment he heard the voice. Charlie would have realized the voice wasn’t old enough for the mother, but Matt was new to the detection game. “Is it anything to do with Dad’s death?”
    â€œNo, it’s not. I’m sorry to hear he’s died.”
    â€œJust a coupla months ago. Mum’s still devastated. Keeps the restaurant going all right, but it’s like she’s on autopilot. They’d been married thirty-five years.”
    â€œI wondered if they’d opened a restaurant.”
    â€œFirst Italian restaurant in the whole of Tazzie. Before they came ‘spaghetti’ meant a tin of spaghetti in tomato sauce on toast. Mother learned all the tricks of the trade at Uncle Aldo’s restaurant in Melbourne, then they came here and opened La Terrazza. Beaut little place. Dave and I are wondering whether to go in with her. It’s a good earner, no mistake, and it would mean it would carry on after Mum decides to chuck in the sponge.”
    â€œAre you an only child?”
    â€œOh, no. I’ve got a brother, Carlo—Charley, he calls himself. He lives in Sydney and is into computers. He’d eat his meals off the screen if he could. If we don’t take it over it’ll be sold. What did you want to talk to Mum about?”
    â€œWell, it’s sort of about her childhood, and—”
    â€œThat’s all right, then. It’ll take her mind off Dad. She needs that at the moment. Any little thing just sets her off. So keep to the early days and you’ll be all right. Got her number?”
    Matt checked that he’d got the right number, and then rang.
    â€œHobart 767323.”
    The voice was quite English, with a dash of Yorkshire still. It was not so much old as tired.
    â€œMrs. Scimone? I’ve just been talking to your daughter.”
    â€œTo Leona? Yes, there’s a lot of confusion.”
    â€œIt was you I wanted to talk to. You see, I’ve just bought Elderholm, in Bramley—”
    â€œOh, really! The old home! Does that mean Mr. Farson is