Kill Fish Jones by Caro King Read Free Book Online

rustle of the bushes, probably a cat or a fox. But it gave me a chill down my spine and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to get out of that graveyard!
    We got the coffin loaded up and drove it, and the others we had done earlier that night, all the way to St Peter’s.
    There, Steve went to speak to the vicar and the lady – you, Susan – who was helping organise the coffins. We unloaded them and you showed us where to put them in the crypt. Lampwick the Robber was first out of the van. I remember
that you tapped the top of his coffin when directing us. It was the lightest of touches, but I was already so spooked it made me flinch.
    We put him in the corner of the crypt. A quiet corner. But by then I reckon he had already been disturbed more than I care to think about.

    â€˜So you think that’s it, then? That all this is down to some kind of dreadful curse, put on us by a dead man called Lampwick the Robber?’ Marsha frowned. ‘It’s like something out of a horror novel!’
    Susan drew a slow breath. ‘And yet … there was something about the way the crypt felt not long after that coffin was brought in. As if … some creature was there, watching me.’
    She looked over at Fish, who nodded. He would have bet everything he had that he knew exactly which creature had been there, watching Susan as she made a few last checks and then locked up to go home. The demon of Lampwick the Robber’s curse. He understood now what the creature was doing – it was making sure the curse happened properly.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Jon. ‘That is what I think. I don’t care for myself any more – everything I had is gone – but I’m here to help you and Fish. And you, ma’am,’ he added, looking at Marsha. ‘If the curse was confined to just the people directly connected with the exhumation, then it would be the vicar, Steve, me and Susan whowould be dead or facing death. But we have seen that it goes further than that; it includes our loved ones too, our close family. Right through from wives,’ his voice trembled, thinking of his beloved Emily, ‘to brothers-in-law, as Reg was to Susan. So if I’m right, everyone around this table is on the list.’
    In the corner, Grimshaw scribbled in his notebook. He was having a very interesting time. He had found another human who was behaving with great dignity in the face of misfortune. He wrote: ‘ Unselfish Desire to Help Others ’.
    â€˜So what do we do?’ asked Marsha helplessly.
    They gazed at each other in silence for a moment.
    Grimshaw waited, pencil at the ready.
    Then Jon Figg said, ‘We run.’

7
SILVER KNIVES, FOR EXAMPLE
    Grimshaw snapped shut the notebook and stuffed it back into his pocket, then lodged his pencil behind his ear. He frowned at a small dirt demon that had climbed on to his back paw – probably generated by the grime gathering where the sink unit met the floor. Such things were the lowest form of Avatar and Grimshaw was glad the stupid creatures only hung around the properly alive (and the mess they created) and couldn’t exist in Limbo. He brushed it off irritably and looked at his chronometer. He had things to do and it was time to be getting on and doing them.
    A curse demon’s chronometer could take the shape of anything from an hourglass to an armillary sphere. Originally, when Grimshaw had come into existence over a hundred and fifty years ago, his chronometer had appeared as a pocket watch. So, because he had been born without clothing and had no pockets to put it in, his first task had been to find a pair of trousers. Later, to keep up with the times, Grimshaw had thrown away the chain and had strapped the watch to his wrist witha leather strip. He kept the trousers because he liked them, although, after a century and a half of wear, they were more darn than trouser.
    As well as the time and the geography, Grimshaw’s