Palmer-Jones 04 - A Prey to Murder by Ann Cleeves Read Free Book Online Page A

lived at Gorse Hill she was in a special position and she took advantage of it. She had free ice cream and candy floss. She played with the young children, laughing and rolling in the grass like a fat, overweight puppy. The whole event might have been laid on for her own amusement. Girls from school recognized her and envied her for belonging there.
    Halfway through the afternoon, Fanny climbed the cedar tree in the middle of the lawn. She had not climbed it for years – she was too old for that sort of thing now – but she was happy and wanted to see the view from the top again. The tree was shaped like a green umbrella and from the inside near the trunk where she was climbing, she was hidden from the crowds. She and Helen had first climbed the tree on their Sunday visits to their grandparents. Even Helen had been unable to reach the top at first. It had taken weeks of practice, of finding a different way up. Each stage of the tree had been like a milestone in Fanny’s growing up. She had been eight when she had made it to the top and pushed through the green foliage to be on a level with the top storey of the house and to see the gardens spread beneath her. She remembered their annoyance when two boy cousins had come to play. They had made it to the top on their first attempt without even following the approved route and made a nonsense of the seriousness with which the girls had viewed the feat. Of course Eleanor had disapproved of climbing trees.
    Fanny climbed slowly. The wood was orange, flaky-barked and sweet-smelling. When she reached the top she was breathless. She had put on a lot of weight since she had last been up the tree. She sat in a fork in the branch and leaned back against the springy branches. No one noticed her. She could look down on them all. With surprize she saw the small figure of her grandmother moving against the crowd towards the entrance gate. Fanny wondered where she was going.
    Probably to look at her silly old peregrines, she thought. She cares more about those peregrines than she does about us.
    She watched her grandmother disappear up the lane and out of sight, then climbed down the tree and went to wheedle more money from her mother. But she could not find Veronica and by half past four she was bored and wished the thing would finish. She began to prowl around the garden, watching the final rituals of the afternoon – the prizegiving for the children’s best fancy dress, the announcement of the raffle winner. Fanny was surprized that these were performed by the chairman of the Wildlife Trust and not by Eleanor.
    That’ll put the old cow’s nose out of joint, she thought with satisfaction. She won’t like that.
    Then at last it seemed that the event was coming to its end. Fanny wandered to the field at the back of the house where the falconry display had been held. It was in deep shadow, crushed between the house and the hill. Beyond the line of trees on one side of the field, cars were parked and some were already driving away. As she walked round the house an old blue transit van passed her. It was going so fast that it scattered the gravel so that it rattled against the brick wall of the house. She turned her face away, afraid that a stone would go in her eye, so she did not see the driver. She thought nothing of it and walked on. It was followed by a lorry full of sheep which had been used in the shearing competition. In the caravan the morris men were changing into their ordinary clothes.
    Beyond the morris men, in a Range-Rover parked close by, a man was asleep in the driver’s seat, his head on his chest, so it almost touched the steering wheel. In the far corner of the field the birds of prey were still in their weathering ground on perches. Fanny went up to the rope which marked the weathering ground. The bird nearest to the rope was off its perch, though still attached to it by the leather leash. Fanny was so attracted to the bird, so held by its still, brown eye that she