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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

‘Allison!’ Lorraine appeared at her side, a drink in one hand, a party horn in the other. She blew it next to Allison’s ear, almost deafening her. ‘I really didn’t think you’d come.’ Alcohol slurred the edges of her words. ‘You didn’t come to the Christmas party, so I’m honoured.’ She waved an arm around the room, swaying alarmingly. ‘You know everyone; grab a drink.’ Another expansive wave pointed towards where a table was set up with glasses and bottles. ‘It’s free till it runs out’ – she giggled drunkenly – ‘which won’t be long at the rate everyone is drinking, so grab a glass while you can.’

Another blow on the party horn and she left. Allison’s panic had faded. Her duty had been done; the birthday girl had seen her. She didn’t want a drink; she could leave.

The music changed to a song she liked, a George Michael one she hadn’t heard for a while. With a shrug, she headed to the drinks table, humming along to ‘Faith’. She might as well stay for one drink.

The white-linen-covered table was festooned with birthday banners and helium balloons. It had probably looked jaunty and festive at the beginning of the night but now, only an hour into the party, it was looking bedraggled. The biggest of the banners was torn in two; two of the balloons had been untied and were bouncing lazily along the ceiling. To add a touch of Gothic horror, red wine dripped ghoulishly down one side of the white linen.

A waiter stood behind a table. The uniform waistcoat he wore had obviously been purchased many years… and a couple of stone… before. The small metal buttons that fastened it strained against the buttonholes and looked ready to pop at any moment. She imagined them firing into the crowd, making the drunks bleed.

He looked and sounded bored. ‘What can I get you?’

The choice seemed limited to white, red or beer. ‘A glass of white wine, please.’

Maybe he was in a hurry to finish the free drinks or perhaps he didn’t know any better because the glass he handed her was filled to the brim. Wine trickled down the outside as he passed it to her. As she hesitated, she caught him looking, a smile hovering just out of reach. He probably thought she was too precious to take it. She wasn’t, but she was conscious of her dress. ‘You can put it down, thanks.’