Free The Measby Murder Enquiry by Ann Purser Page A

strange coincidence. Two cases of extortion in a small area? Let’s get together this afternoon with the other two and plan what we do next. And do you mind if I tip this disgusting stuff down the sink? We can go to Tawny Wings and get a decent cup of coffee for a start.”
     
     
    “GOOD MORNING, MRS. Jones!” Katya had almost collided with Alwen as she came out of her room, and she put a gentle hand on her arm. “I do hope you are feeling fit and well this morning?”
    “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Alwen said. “I’m just off to find Mrs. Spurling. I wish to have a word with her about dining arrangements.”
    Katya frowned. “Nothing wrong with the cooking, I hope?” Her friend Anya was now in charge of the kitchen, and in general produced what residents agreed were delicious and interesting meals.
    “No, no. I feel I should perhaps have a table of my own, or join up with other residents. Ivy and Roy seem very good friends, and I’d hate to be playing gooseberry! And anyway, I should get to know other people a bit more. I was rather thrust into the company of Ivy and Roy straightaway.”
    “I am sure they love to have you with them!” said Katya. “After all, they have all the time in the world to be together privately if they want it. Don’t you think they might be offended?”
    “That’s neither here nor there,” Alwen said more sharply. She had no qualms about offending those two. Unless she was very much mistaken, they had taken altogether too much upon themselves, nosing into her affairs. She wished she had never been persuaded to mention the missing money, and she was having second thoughts about how far their so-called investigations might go. Bronwen had called her to report hearing her father’s name mentioned at the newspaper reception desk. Her description of the couple was vague, but the woman could have been Ivy’s cousin.
    “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Jones!” It was Mrs. Spurling, half running along the corridor. “Isn’t your telephone working? There is a call for you in my office. Your own line is not answering, apparently. Let Katya help you down the stairs, and then you can use mine. I’ll go back and make sure the caller waits for you.”
    By the time Katya and Alwen had reached the office, Mrs. Spurling had assured the caller several times that Mrs. Jones was on her way. The voice, a man’s voice, had assured her he would wait. “Tell her it’s Max,” he said. He had some good news for Alwen, and was looking forward to talking to her.
    At last Alwen, walking much more slowly than usual, arrived in the office, and Mrs. Spurling settled her in her own chair. “Come along, Miss Pinkney,” she said, “let’s leave Mrs. Jones to have her call in private. We shall be next door in the store cupboard if you need any help, dear,” she added.
    After they had gone, and the door was firmly shut, Alwen picked up the phone gingerly, as if it would explode when she touched it. She put it to her ear and listened, saying nothing, but clearing her throat to indicate she was there. A few seconds passed, and she still said nothing. Then, quite suddenly, she banged the receiver down, cutting off the call. She stood up, and realised she was shaking, so sat down again.
    “Mrs. Spurling!” she called in a croaky voice. “Help! Please come back!”
    In seconds, both the manager and her assistant rushed back into the office. They took one look at Alwen’s face and went to comfort her.
    “He said it was good news for you, my dear,” Mrs. Spurling said. “I am so sorry. Did I get it wrong? Was it something bad that has upset you?”
    Alwen made a big effort and pulled herself together, brushing off their helping hands. “It was nothing,” she said. “Just a wrong number.”
    Mrs. Spurling said nothing more, but she was sure the man had used Alwen’s name. It could hardly have been a wrong number, could it? Anyway, it was none of her business, so long as the poor woman had recovered herself and