Murder in the Blood by Lesley Cookman Read Free Book Online

that a woman on her own is only looking for a man. And it’s his place to help her along.’ She shook her head. ‘He tried it on with Sally and she put him in his place.’
    â€˜You were there?’ asked Fran in astonishment.
    â€˜Oh, yes. He never cares about me. He never gets anywhere anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.’
    â€˜Can I get you a drink?’ asked Harry, standing up abruptly. Libby realised that he was moved by this stoic woman.
    â€˜I’d love a beer!’ said Betty. ‘He doesn’t approve of me drinking beer.’
    â€˜Forgive me,’ said Peter, leaning forward, ‘but how do you put up with him?’
    Betty laughed. ‘Habit, I suppose. And where else would I go? I’m far too old to start again, and he’d never cope on his own.’
    â€˜Have you got children?’
    â€˜Yes.’ Betty’s face fell. ‘They don’t get on with him, so I hardly see them. My daughter always invites me for Christmas and birthdays, but she won’t have him, so I don’t go either.’
    Libby’s stomach clenched in sympathy. What an awful life this woman led.
    Harry came back and put the glass of beer down in front of Betty and laid a hand on her arm. ‘Enjoy.’
    She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you.’
    â€˜So you knew Sally, too?’ asked Libby, attempting to put the conversation into less emotional waters.
    â€˜We met her a few years ago. One of the other restaurant owners invited all Jimmy’s guests to a party to meet some of the locals. I thought she was lovely.’
    â€˜So did I,’ said Greta, ‘but she was obviously different with men.’
    â€˜Except Alec,’ said Fran.
    â€˜But he was gay,’ said Harry. ‘That makes a difference.’ He grinned at Libby and leant over to pat her arm. ‘Doesn’t it, my old trout?’
    â€˜He’s right,’ said Libby, avoiding Betty’s wide-eyed astonishment. ‘Justin knew her, too.’
    â€˜I’m hungry,’ announced Harry suddenly. ‘Are we eating here?’
    â€˜We didn’t tell Jimmy we were,’ said Guy, ‘so he won’t be prepared for us.’
    â€˜Do you know The Red Bar?’ Betty asked diffidently.
    Everyone looked at each other.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜I’ve heard of it,’ said Tom, frowning.
    â€˜It’s at the other end of the village. I went there last year with one of the other guests here. Walter wouldn’t go. It was lovely.’
    â€˜If we go there, will you come with us?’ asked Fran.
    Betty looked as if she’d been given a present. ‘I’d love to.’
    In the end, they all went: Harry and Peter either side of Betty, who had an arm linked through each of theirs, Greta with Fran and Libby and Tom deep in conversation with Guy and Ben. The beach road petered out into a dirt track, the beach on their left and scrubby vegetation leading to the foothills of the mountains on their right. As the headland loomed towards them though the dark, a small, lighted building came into view, with red neon lighting announcing The Red Bar.
    They ate outside under a trellis of vines; simple grilled fish, caught that day, pide, the wonderful Turkish flatbread, and chopped mixed salad that only the Turkish seemed to be able to do. The family who owned the bar cooked, served, and ran around between the tables. The baby was brought out to meet them, and Betty remembered from last year.
    â€˜And how is your friend? Joan, was it?’ asked the handsome young man who appeared to be head of the family.
    â€˜How you can remember!’ marvelled Betty. ‘Yes, Joan. We only met out here. She was on her own so we palled up. We’ve kept in touch by email, but she couldn’t make it this year.’
    â€˜A pity.’ The young man turned to the others. ‘And these are your new friends?’
    Betty introduced them and he shook hands