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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

The lid of the bin fell shut with a snap. Loud in the silence of the side passage, it startled her and made her stumble backwards and trip on the discarded rubbish. Her fall was cushioned but as luck would have it that night, the bag she landed on, bursting open under her weight, was the whiffiest. She lay stunned, surrounded by the stink, as realisation hit her with a harder blow. The bag was gone and only one person could have taken it.

Jo.

42

As she got older, the chanting stopped, but the name-calling never did and by the time she left institutional care, it had been beaten so far into her mind that she could never get rid of it. It was what she was.

And if she ever forgot, the chanting came… in the middle of the night… sometimes when she was somewhere pretty and peaceful… it never went away… she could hear the high-pitched sing-song words as clearly as if those delightful children were standing right beside her.

Monster, monster, mon-ster.

Monster, monster, mon-ster.

Monster, monster, mon-ster.

43

Allison lay awake most of the night worrying about the woman she’d stupidly let into her life. Dawn had barely tinted the day when she flung the duvet back and reached for her robe. She hesitated. There was something vulnerable about a naked body dressed in a thin robe and although Jo was hardly going to arrive on her doorstep at cockcrow, Allison wasn’t taking any chances.

In black jeans and a long-sleeved maroon T-shirt, she felt suitably clad and ready to face whatever the day threw at her.

She sat with a mug of coffee and went over the items she’d thrown into the rubbish bag Jo had taken. There had been nothing suspicious in it. She might have wondered at Allison’s haste in divesting herself of her late husband’s personal belongings, but she could easily explain it away if the woman dared to ask. ‘Grief affects people in different ways.’ No, too impersonal. She tried again. ‘My grief’ – better, owning it – ‘was almost overwhelming. The only way I could cope with such catastrophic loss was to divest myself of the physical trappings of Peter’s life.’ That sounded deep, profound even. If she could say it with enough pathos, it would fool anyone.

Okay, so Jo could find nothing in what Allison had discarded. Good, but it didn’t answer the simple question, why was she looking? And what the fuck was she looking for?