Free Death Comes First by Hilary Bonner Page A

sweetheart.’ Her mother’s voice softened. ‘Has it been a bad day? Come and sit down.’
    Hoping her hot cheeks had not turned too red, Joyce took the mug of tea to the table, and sat.
    ‘I’m sorry if I wasn’t as welcoming as I should have been,’ said her mother. ‘You know you can come around here and talk, or just be here, any time you like, don’t you?’
    Joyce sipped her tea and said nothing.
    ‘I do understand how you’re feeling,’ Felicity continued. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing your brother. Not completely. It’s the little things, isn’t it? You find yourself making sure you’ve got the breakfast cereal he likes, remembering how he likes his eggs, planning his favourite dinner. I do know, Joyce.’
    Joyce could only stare at her. It was typical of Felicity to empathize, or try to. But losing Charlie was nothing likelosing William. Felicity had no idea what a moody bastard Charlie had been at home. Or at least, Joyce assumed she hadn’t.
    She wondered again for a moment if she should summon up all her waning courage, plunge in and tell her mother about the letter and take it from there. Did it matter if Felicity told Henry? Presumably he would have to know sooner or later, if Joyce were ever to solve this mystery.
    With one hand she felt the pocket of her cardigan. She had removed the letter from its hiding place beneath the bread bin and slipped it there before leaving The Firs.
    Then Felicity spoke again:
    ‘It’s hard for your father too. After all, he worked with Charlie every day. He doesn’t say much – you know what he’s like. Nobody could ever replace William for your father. That’s why he’s shut the loss out. But I do think he’d come to regard your Charlie as a second son. And there’s no doubt he misses him terribly.’
    Joyce grasped the opportunity to steer the conversation toward the concerns raised by the letter, hoping she could find answers without mentioning the letter itself.
    ‘Yes, they were close, weren’t they,’ she said. ‘Not that Charlie ever talked about it much – or work, come to that. Is Dad still as tight-lipped as ever?’
    ‘Well, you could put it like that,’ said Felicity. ‘It’s the way your father is, that’s all. He’s the old-fashioned hunter-gatherer, bless him. He doesn’t believe in bringing his work home. The way he sees it, a wife shouldn’t have to worry about finances, work problems, or anything like that.’
    ‘Wouldn’t want you worrying your pretty little head, eh?’ said Joyce mischievously, managing a grin in spite of the way she was feeling.
    ‘Now, Joyce, you are terribly naughty,’ scolded her mother, speaking to her the way she had when Joyce was a child. ‘You know perfectly well that your father has never said such a thing to me in the fifty years we’ve been together.’
    ‘So you say,’ muttered Joyce.
    ‘And I’m absolutely sure Charlie never said anything like that to you,’ her mother continued, as if Joyce hadn’t spoken. ‘He wouldn’t have dared.’
    ‘Maybe not,’ said Joyce. ‘I sometimes thought he was on the verge of saying it, though. He would never tell me anything about anything. If I so much as asked him what sort of day he’d had, he’d go all secretive and change the subject.’
    She paused, trying to get the right note of playfulness into her voice.
    ‘Tell you what though, Mum, I bet you know everything about Tanner-Max. In fact, I bet you’re the one who runs the place, only it’s a deep dark secret. It’s all a front, isn’t it? Dad just won’t let on how much he depends on you.’
    Her mother leaned over the table and appeared to focus her attention on her pie-making as she answered: ‘I can assure you, I know next to nothing about the business. Why would I want to?’ she asked. ‘That’s your father’s territory.’
    Joyce sighed inwardly and changed tack.
    ‘And he was always a good father, wasn’t he?’ she asked.
    Her mother looked up