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Guilt at the Garage

Simon Brett
Chapters (31)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Simon Brett
  3. GUILT AT THE GARAGE
  4. Dedication
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN

Cover

Cover

Also by Simon Brett

The decluttering mysteries

THE CLUTTER CORPSE *

The Fethering mysteries

BONES UNDER THE BEACH HUT

GUNS IN THE GALLERY *

THE CORPSE ON THE COURT *

THE STRANGLING ON THE STAGE *

THE TOMB IN TURKEY *

THE KILLING IN THE CAFÉ *

THE LIAR IN THE LIBRARY *

THE KILLER IN THE CHOIR *

The Charles Paris theatrical series

A RECONSTRUCTED CORPSE

SICKEN AND SO DIE

DEAD ROOM FARCE

A DECENT INTERVAL *

THE CINDERELLA KILLER *

A DEADLY HABIT *

The Mrs Pargeter mysteries

MRS PARGETER’S PACKAGE

MRS PARGETER’S POUND OF FLESH

MRS PARGETER’S PLOT

MRS PARGETER’S POINT OF HONOUR

MRS PARGETER’S PRINCIPLE *

MRS PARGETER’S PUBLIC RELATIONS *

* available from Severn House

GUILT AT THE GARAGE

Simon Brett

logo missing

Dedication

To

Ian, Patrick and Alan,

with thanks for their help

in explaining how cars work

ONE

It felt like a personal invasion. Carole Seddon’s white Renault was one of her most treasured possessions. Indeed, had she ever been asked to choose between it and her Labrador Gulliver, she might well have come down on the side of the car. And now the Renault had been vandalized. Someone had smashed in the back window. Granulated glass was scattered over the boot space and upholstery.

Carole was appalled. That something like this should have happened in Fethering, of all places! A village of unimpeachable middle-class propriety, minding its own business in West Sussex on the South Coast of England. She wouldn’t have been surprised had it happened while she still lived in London, but in Fethering … The barbarians really were at the gate.

Under normal circumstances the Renault would have spent the night locked safely in the garage of her house, High Tor. But the evening before, Carole had spent having dinner with her neighbour, Jude, at Fethering’s only pub, the Crown and Anchor. She had not exceeded her customary intake of two large New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs but, though High Tor was on the High Street, less than a quarter of a mile away, the law-abiding conformist in Carole had done the responsible thing by leaving her car on the shopping parade and walking home. Jude, being more laid-back about everything, would have assessed the chances of being stopped by police on such a short trip and driven. But Jude didn’t have a car, anyway, and, of course, Carole was Carole – a woman in her fifties, thin, spiky, with a helmet of sharply cut grey hair and pale blue eyes that blinked from behind rimless glasses.