BooksBarbecue
Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. 80
  86. 81
  87. 82
  88. 83
  89. 84
  90. 85
  91. 86
  92. 87
  93. 88
  94. 89
  95. 90
  96. 91
  97. 92
  98. 93
  99. 94
  100. 95
  101. 96
  102. 97
  103. 98
  104. 99
  105. 100
  106. 101
  107. 102
  108. 103
  109. 104
  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mrs. Clifton had seemed a little agitated this morning. He’d waved to her as she’d collected milk bottles from her doorstep. She always waved back. Always. But not today. Instead she had turned away and shut the door, more distracted than usual.

This concerned the postman a great deal.

He got out and opened the double doors at the back. One small sack of mail. A trolley. His makeshift bed. At the delivery office, he’d bumped into Arthur, who sometimes shared this van. Arthur had given him a strange look when he’d clocked the size of the mailbag and his pillow, but the postman had glossed over it. “Light load today, mate,” he’d said, but Arthur had seemed unconvinced. He would leave it, he decided. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

But he was fed up with waiting. He had to do something.

The postman rummaged through the letters and parcels until he found the bundle he was looking for, sending up a prayer. He breathed out his relief. Mr. and Mrs. Clifton. Two letters. That was a stroke of luck.

He’d persuade Mrs. Clifton to let him in for a cuppa. That should do it.

He shouldered the mail pouch and walked up the garden path.

98

98

Wednesday 1st August 2018, 6:20 A.M.

Rayleigh police station

Trefor Lovell’s only regret was that he had not shared his suspicions with the police months ago.

The Cliftons had been his friends once, but that Cooper was a cold fish. Slippery, too. It had taken Trefor weeks and weeks to notice the dolls’ eyes had gone missing because he preferred to paint them on his creations. But a few days ago, when one of his regular clients had requested a bespoke doll with glass eyes and hair, he had checked his accessories box and been puzzled to discover his supplies were so low. As for the paint, for a long time he assumed he’d been careless, blaming himself for misplacing the specialist pots of Peach Lip, Rosy Blush and Soft Lash. But now he knew.

That bastard Cooper Clifton had set him up.

Lovell shifted on the hard bench of the cell in the custody suite. Their ridiculous game of cat and mouse had finally come to an end.

The old man had found himself in an impossible situation. Eight months ago. That’s when he should have gone to the police. The night he’d asked his new neighbor Fletcher Parnell to take some photographs of his dolls for his website.

Fletch had come one evening after work, armed with two cameras and their fancy bits and pieces.

“Look,” he’d said proudly, showing it to Trefor. “It can do all sorts of things.”

Trefor hadn’t been listening. A basic website was the height of his technological know-how. But Fletch had snapped away happily, occasionally showing Trefor, painting at his workbench, what he had done.