A Question of Guilt by Janet Tanner Read Free Book Online Page B

to an end, but I don’t really want to be too much longer. I’ve got to be up early in the morning.’ She grimaced. ‘And I’ve got to face telling Steve I’ve scraped his wing mirror . . .’
    â€˜Oh Rach, he’ll be fine about it, I’m sure.’
    â€˜Hmm, I wish I was! I’m going to be in the doghouse and no mistake.’ She signalled the waiter for the bill.
    â€˜This is on me,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh Sal, no!’
    â€˜Yes. Fair’s fair. You drove. I’ll get the bill.’
    â€˜Well, if you insist. Thank you.’ She slipped into her jacket. ‘I’ll get the car. Be outside in – say – ten?’
    â€˜I’ll be there.’ I grinned wickedly. ‘And don’t hit any more pillars.’
    She raised her eyes heavenward, mimed an exaggerated shiver, then headed for the door.
    I took some notes from my purse and laid them on the silver dish the waiter had provided along with a tip, then settled back in my chair with one eye on my watch and one on the road outside in case Rachel was quicker than she expected. But soon my mind was wandering as I thought over what Rachel had told me about Lisa Curry. I hadn’t realized she was local, and it opened up a whole new way of looking at what had happened, supposing that Brian Jennings had been wrongly convicted.
    If he hadn’t started the fire and if it hadn’t been an accident or the work of yobs, then whoever was responsible must have had a motive. So far, I’d been thinking of Dawn as the intended victim, but it could just as easily have been Lisa. From what Rachel had said, I’d got the impression she might not be a very nice person.
    A sharp toot attracted my attention and I came back to earth with a jolt, feeling horribly guilty. Rachel had pulled up outside and I hadn’t noticed; by the light of the street lamps I could see her leaning over, peering anxiously into the trattoria looking for me.
    I struggled to my feet, grabbed my crutches and headed for the door as fast as I could. The waiter was there before me, holding it open, and I swung out on to the pavement.
    â€˜Sorry, Rach!’ I apologized as I slid into the passenger seat.
    â€˜Not to worry. At least there aren’t any traffic wardens about at this time of night.’ She grinned, letting in the clutch and moving off with a bit of a jolt. ‘I’d hate to have to tell Steve I’ve been done for parking too!’
    â€˜You weren’t parked,’ I pointed out.
    â€˜Well, obstruction, then. Come on, missus, let’s head for home.’
    Though it was after ten by the time Rachel dropped me off, lights were still burning at the downstairs windows, small, warm oases in the dark shadow that was the rambling old farmhouse. I was quite surprised – given how early they had to get up, Mum and Dad liked to be early to bed too, and though she usually left a hall light on for me, Mum almost always turned off the ones in the kitchen and living room. She didn’t like wasting electricity, and when anyone entered the farmyard the security lights came on, making it bright as day. They were blazing out now, illuminating the barn and outbuildings, and throwing dark contrasting shadows across the cobbles. As the car turned in, Scrumpy, the collie who followed Dad everywhere by day but slept at night in her kennel, set up a frenzied barking and I called to her softly to let her know I wasn’t an intruder.
    Rachel waited for me to make it to the door, doing a three-point – or, more accurately, a six-point – turn while I fitted my key into the lock. Then, when I turned and gave her a wave, she drove off. I stood for a moment watching her tail lights disappear down the track, and breathing in the cool night air, still faintly scented with the unmistakable smell of home.
    In summer that smell could be overpowering at times – slurry and manure, the sweet aroma of silage, all