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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

Better value than she expected. She arrived back less than twenty minutes later with everything she needed, including biscuits and a four-pack of cheap beer. Wine was all well and good, but beer was her drink of choice.

The day was warm enough to take her toast and coffee into the back garden. The wooden garden furniture was obviously expensive but had stupidly been positioned under the branches of a large tree and was streaked with bird droppings. Rather than using it, she sat on the back doorstep. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but she was used to roughing it. As she worked through two slices of toast, her fingers slippery with melted butter, she thought about Allison.

Jo was surprised she’d been left alone. How did Allison know she wouldn’t wreck the place or steal the silver?

That thought brought her to her feet. Was there anything worth hocking? She’d sold stuff on eBay before; it was surprisingly easy and lucrative. Allison’s designer bags and shoes would fetch a few quid; it was something to keep in mind. She hadn’t found much else of worth.

The rubbish bags she’d spied in the spare bedroom were, she supposed, Peter’s clothes. Like the contents of his bedside table, Allison hadn’t wasted any time in getting rid of them. Good suits might bring a few quid. Worth thinking about too.

She couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm, though. Where the hell was Allison?

* * *

Three days later, having heard nothing from her, Jo was worried. She watched the news, bought a newspaper, combed every page for any reference to Allison’s death or to the discovery of an unnamed dead woman. Nothing.

Was it possible she was going to stay away until after probate was settled? Sell the house in a quick cash sale, contents included? Was this her response to Jo’s demand?

The bitch!

Jo frowned. She could go to the police with the video she had. They’d have ways to find her, trace her phone or something. They’d find her, arrest her and charge her with her husband’s murder. Wouldn’t they? Or would she be able to explain away her presence in the station that day? A downside of being short, Jo had been unable to see over the shoulders of crowds to capture Allison pushing her husband onto the track.

Jo gave a harsh laugh. Even if she did have footage of the actual moment, she wouldn’t go to the police. She hadn’t wasted all these years only to see Allison locked safely behind bars out of Jo’s reach.

But Allison didn’t know that…

So where the fuck was she?

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