Free The Sting of Death by Rebecca Tope Page B

Just at the moment, she could definitely have done without the whole business. The post had brought no fewer than three letters from assorted relatives, and they all seemed to want something from her. She had hoped, when she firmly decided that one child was quite enough, that the responsibilities of blood ties would weigh lightly on her shoulders. She had no image of herself as a caring dependable person, and if she forgot people’s birthdays they never seemed surprised or offended.
    The letters were from her husband’s sister, Miriam; her daughter, and Angus, her father’s much younger brother. Angus was the only one who wrote regularly from his isolated Devon village. He’d bolted there, after his breakdown, like a frightened rabbit, and although nobody ever laid eyes on him, they all received frequent communications in which he complained about how poor and cold and hungry and ill he was. Helen sent him cheques when she remembered, but he didn’t always pay them in. She supposed he seldom visited a bank, and would prefer cash, but Helen didn’t have spare cash very often.
    Miriam wrote old-fashioned chatty notes, which sounded just like her speaking voice. She ran a small holiday hotel in North Wales,and like Angus, was rarely seen in person. She was now asking Helen, with some urgency, for advice on making her new man a partner in her business. Helen was both irritated and flattered.
    Penn, her daughter, wrote her usual cool page, printed out on the computer, and containing little more than a list of social events, films seen, outings, plans for the coming few weeks. Most people would have kept in touch by telephone, but Helen was out a lot, and would probably never remember to return missed calls. More than that, mother and daughter both acknowledged that they had so little to say to each other that such calls would be full of awkward silences. Much safer, they’d concluded, to maintain the illusion of a relationship with these routine sheets of paper. But this one was different. ‘I’m going to see Aunt Roma on Sunday,’ Penn wrote . ‘And then I’ll call in on my cousin Karen, who lives quite close by. You always said I should.’ Then it went on:
    ‘By the way, I haven’t seen Justine for a bit. In fact, she missed a lunch with me that we’d planned, and now she’s nowhere to be found. I’ve been getting really worried. I feel a bit of a fool to get worked up about her, but Justine has always seemed so vulnerable, and I’ve got this overwhelming feeling that she’s in trouble. She’s never done anything like this before. She always tells me if she’s going anywhere.
    ‘But it’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about it. It’s only that if you have heard anything, you might let me know? Thanks.’
    Helen sighed. Justine definitely was not her responsibility, and she didn’t have the least intention of worrying about her.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Tuesday morning’s post brought the note from Penn, which Drew read over his coffee and toast.
    ‘Why bother with a letter when she knows I’ll be speaking to her today, anyway?’
    ‘Manners, I suppose,’ suggested Karen. ‘And I think she’s got too much time on her hands, all these weeks of holiday from college.’
    ‘I don’t remember that being a problem for you when you were teaching.’  
    ‘No, well I had you, didn’t I?’ she gushed playfully. ‘Penn doesn’t seem to have anyone to distract her.’  
    ‘I could phone her from the office, tell her everything we found yesterday. That could give her something to think about.’
    ‘You won’t have time,’ Karen reminded him. ‘You’ve got all the preparations for Mr French’s funeral. They’ll want it this week, won’t they?’
    ‘Thursday,’ he said distractedly. ‘I should think.’
    ‘And it might be better to wait for her to phone you. Then she’ll be paying for the call.’
    ‘Good thinking,’ he said, wishing they didn’t have to watch the pennies quite so