Free The Measby Murder Enquiry by Ann Purser

well,” Alwen shrugged. “I think I’ll watch some television. Are you coming, you two?”
    “Um, what? What did you say?” Roy seemed to have difficulty concentrating. Was it something to do with her? Then a cold shiver struck her. Surely they couldn’t have been enquiring within too deeply?
    “Oh, by the way,” she said, on a sudden impulse. “Um, there’s no need for you to worry anymore on my behalf about the money. All a mistake, and it’s back safely once more in my bank. But thanks for listening, anyway,” she added with a grateful smile.
    Ivy stared at her. “Well, that’s all right then,” she said. “Let us know if you need any help in the future. Oh, and by the way,” she added, with not very convincing nonchalance. “Did your daughters ever go bungee jumping? I’ve just been reading that it’s all the rage for students on their gap year, whatever that is. If you ask me,” she added, “they’d be far better off finding a proper job and earning their living.”
    Alwen’s face drained of all colour. “I think I’ll catch that wildlife programme on the box,” she said, and got up quickly from the table. Ivy and Roy watched her limp rather more unsteadily than usual out of the dining room.
    “That hit home,” said Roy. “More coffee, Ivy?”

Twelve

    “SO WE NO longer have a paying client?” Gus said. How had Ivy managed to scare off Alwen Jones so early in their investigation? Well, he told himself, that’ll teach you to work with old ladies who should be doing nothing more arduous than knitting for charity.
    He had been surprised by Deirdre appearing at his door soon after he had showered and dressed, and now they sat with cups of instant coffee in Gus’s cheerless sitting room discussing the latest development. Ivy had telephoned Deirdre first thing and told her about Alwen’s sudden freeze up. “It wasn’t anything me or Roy said,” Ivy had assured her. “Maybe we were a bit quiet, still thinking about what you and Gus found out, but we didn’t say anything about that to Alwen.”
    Now Deirdre looked at Gus and asked whether he thought they should give up, or continue without any hope of financial gain.
    “Sod it all,” Gus said. “That’s what happened last time! I don’t mind telling you, Deirdre, I need the money.” This was strictly true, but when he had paid off the gambling debt in installments, and so long as he kept away from racetracks and bookmakers, he hoped to be able to manage his present lifestyle. This last was the real sticking point. What lifestyle? he asked himself. Living in a scruffy cottage, out of touch with all his old rakish friends, who were fun, always fun. And then there was his demanding ex-wife . . . and fending off Miriam next door.
    “I do understand about that, Gus,” Deirdre said sympathetically. “If there’s one thing I do understand, it’s money. Bert taught me that, and it was a good lesson. So I’m not offering you loans or anything, but if you’d like to take expenses out of an Enquire Within account I can set up, then we’ll treat it as a kitty for all of us.”
    “And who’s going to fund it?”
    “Me, at the moment, until we get going properly.” This was not philanthropy on Deirdre’s part. She had felt more alive since working with the other three than she had since Bert died. And, she had to admit, she was quite fond of old Gus. He was really quite attractive in his own way.
    “So are you saying we should carry on?” Gus looked at her, and began to suspect that the companionship of this pleasant, affluent blonde was the most compelling reason at the moment for staying with what he hesitated to call a lifestyle—more a way of life.
    “Yep,” she said cheerfully. “There’s still your friend who wanted us to help on the Measby death. If we come up with the goods on that one, he’ll pay us, you said. It’s possible that Alwen Jones’s problem was nothing to do with that, but on the other hand it seems a