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Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

With a laugh, Allison did as she was told. She would have liked to have changed from her widow’s weeds. Black wasn’t her colour, her skin too naturally pale. Opening her make-up drawer, she applied enough to put some colour on her face, finishing with a pale red lipstick. She took the band from her ponytail, shook her hair out and ran a brush through it. Much better. She was even looking forward to getting out of the house.

Staring at her reflection, she admitted she was also glad not to be there when Jo arrived back. What would the woman think – that Allison had scarpered? Perhaps she should have told her the truth about Peter’s estate. It might have made her think twice about returning. Too late now.

Peter’s estate. The bastard! Shock had worn off. Now she felt anger towards the man who’d deliberately misled her. I’ve made an appointment to see my solicitor to change my will, leaving everything to you. There had been no guile in his eyes when he’d spoken about it. God, he’d been good. She could almost admire him… almost.

She heard Portia shout up the stairs. ‘Allison, taxi’s here.’

‘Coming.’ She grabbed a jacket from her wardrobe. Fuchsia pink. Not funereal. Fuck it. She slipped it on and ran lightly down the stairs. ‘I’m sure I’ve a dark jacket somewhere…’ She joined her friend in the open doorway. ‘But for the life of me I can’t find it.’

‘It’s just us, remember. Stuart would be happy if you came naked.’

Allison, in the process of setting the house alarm, looked around in surprise. Surely, she’d misheard. ‘What did you say?’

‘Just that we’re glad you’re coming, whatever you wear.’ Portia tucked a hand in her elbow as they walked to the waiting taxi.

But it wasn’t what she’d said. Was it?

Was it?

52

Jo packed everything she owned into two cheap suitcases that had seen better days, the edges scuffed, the handles worn. Standing at the door, she looked around before shutting the door and posting the keys through the letter box. She was in arrears, but she doubted the landlord would chase her for the money she owed. He’d give it a cursory clean and rent it out as soon as he discovered she’d flitted.

Although she didn’t have much in the way of possessions, the cases were old and heavy and dragged uncomfortably. She was reluctant to splurge the little money she had for a taxi but when one passed, its vacant light calling to her, she hailed it before she changed her mind. When she got to Union Square, she’d ask Allison to pay for it. She’d money to spare after all.