Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz Read Free Book Online

come straight over.
    ‘You said you’d mend the kitchen light.’
    Yes. Yes. Yes. The light above the cooker. It was just the bulb but it was difficult to reach. And he’d said he’d do it a week ago. He often looked into the Lodge House when there was a problem. But how could something so trivial have developed into such a stupid row, the two of them not exactly shouting at each other but talking loudly enough for everyone sitting outside the pub to hear.
    ‘Why don’t you leave me alone? I just wish you’d drop dead and give me a bit of peace.’
    ‘Oh yes. You’d like that, wouldn’t you!’
    ‘You’re right! I would.’
    Had he really spoken those words to her – and in public? Robert twisted round and stared at the blank surface of the wood, the coffin lid with its wreath of white lilies. And just a few days, not even a week later, his mother had been found at the bottom of the stairs at Pye Hall. It was the groundsman, Brent, who had come to the garage and told him the news and even as he’d spoken there had been a strange look in his eyes. Had he been at the pub that evening? Had he heard?
    ‘We’re there,’ Joy said.
    Robert turned back. Sure enough, the church was in front of them, the cemetery already full of mourners. There must have been at least fifty of them. Robert was surprised. He had never thought his mother had so many friends.
    The car slowed down and stopped. Somebody opened the door for him.
    ‘I don’t want to do this,’ Robert said. He reached out and took hold of her, almost like a child.
    ‘It’s all right, Rob. I’ll be with you. It’ll be over soon.’
    She smiled at him and at once he felt better. What would he do without Joy? She had changed his life. She was everything to him.
    The two of them got out and began to walk towards the church.

7
    The bedroom was on the third floor of the Hotel Genevieve, Cap Ferrat, with views over the gardens and terraces. The sun was already blazing in a clear, blue sky. It had been an excellent week: perfect food, superb wine, rubbing shoulders with the usual Mediterranean crowd. Even so, Sir Magnus Pye was in a bad mood as he finished his packing. The letter that had arrived three days ago had quite spoiled his holiday. He wished the bloody vicar had never sent it. Absolutely typical of the church, always meddling, trying to spoil everyone’s fun.
    His wife watched him languidly from the balcony. She was smoking a cigarette. ‘We’re going to miss the train,’ she said.
    ‘The train doesn’t leave for three hours. We’ve got plenty of time.’
    Frances Pye ground out her cigarette and came into the room. She was a dark, imperious woman, a little taller than her husband and certainly more imposing. He was short and round with florid cheeks and a dark beard that had spread hesitantly across his cheeks, not quite managing to lay claim to his face. Now fifty-three, he liked to wear suits that accentuated his age and his status in life. They were tailor-made for him, expensive, complete with waistcoat. The two of them made an unlikely pair: the country squire and the Hollywood actress, perhaps. Sancho Panza and Dulcinea del Toboso. Although he was the one with the title, it actually rested more easily on her. ‘You should have left at once,’ she said.
    ‘Absolutely not,’ Magnus grunted, trying to force down the lid of his suitcase. ‘She was only a bloody housekeeper.’
    ‘She lived with us.’
    ‘She lived in the Lodge House. Not the same thing at all.’
    ‘The police want to talk to you.’
    ‘The police can talk to me once I get back. Not that I’ve got anything to tell them. The vicar says she tripped over an electric wire. Damn shame, but it’s not my fault. They’re not going to suggest I murdered her or something?’
    ‘I wouldn’t put it past you, Magnus.’
    ‘Well, I couldn’t have. I was here the whole time with you.’
    Frances Pye watched her husband struggling with the suitcase. She didn’t offer to