Snapped in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho Read Free Book Online Page A

the angle of the chimney stack on her roof.
    Rose ate two slices of toast and butter and was drinking her second cup of coffee when the news came on. There were brief details concerning Gabrielle Milton’s death which, the announcer said, the police were treating as suspicious. She had been right, then. Rose did not believe Gabrielle had simply fallen.
    Poor Dennis, she thought. But it was the reactions of both Paul and Anna which she had found interesting. They were shocked, certainly, but not distraught and they had exchanged a look she could not guess the meaning of. And the auburn-haired woman – there had been a gleam of something Rose could only think of as satisfaction when Dennis had broken the news. No, she told herself, pouring a third cup of coffee. It is not my concern. The fish-eyed inspector would sort it out. He would, he had told her, probably need to speak to her again and had written down her address. Well, it won’t be this morning, Rose decided, because I’m going out. She set off in the car.
    The tide was perfect, on the turn, leaving bare the shiny mud of the Hayle estuary where many birds were feeding.Barry Rowe liked her bird paintings. They were not accurate, detailed representations but shaded impressions of shape and line. She laid down a waterproof sheet and sat down to work.
    A slight breeze lifted her hair and soughed through the grasses behind her. There were few people in sight from the spot she had chosen and after this weekend there would be fewer still. The holiday season was coming to an end. In the distance cars crawled along the narrow road but the only sounds were rustlings and the occasional whistling call of an oyster-catcher.
    An hour and a half later, feeling stiff, Rose packed away her things and decided to walk along the bank. The tide was coming in now. She continued on to where the shops started and crossed the bridge over the estuary and followed the road up into the Towans. Here, steep banks of the well-advertised golden sand had been warmed by the sun and trickled down the backs of her calves as she descended a path trodden by other feet between the waving marram grass on to the flat sweep of the sands. The sky was clear, the sea a darker blue, almost turquoise; there was no sign of the damp mist which hung over Mount’s Bay and which could do so for days on end whilst everywhere else remained sunny. A frill of white foam separated sea from sand. Rose walked until her legs ached and she realised she still had to get back to the car.
    Yesterday’s guilt had disappeared. Rose was thinking more of the murder than of David, and of the strangers she had met. She was hungry again so she decided to go straight home, stopping only once at the Co-op in Newlyn for milk and some tomatoes. She had to wait to be served. A crew from a fishing boat had two trolleys to be checked out but she was not in a hurry.
    ‘Zat all you got, maid?’ One of the older men nodded towards her two items. ‘You gwon then.’
    ‘Cheers.’ Rose smiled and handed over the right money.
    The shock of finding Gabrielle was wearing off but Rose knew it would take at least another twenty-four hours. Work had helped to take her mind off it and she knew Barry wouldbe pleased with her efforts. The bird scenes he used on cards left blank for the sender to write their own message.
    Taking a doorstep sandwich containing cheese and salad up to the attic, Rose decided she would continue to work. Hopefully she would be able to fall into bed exhausted tonight and sleep properly. It was an advantage of being her own boss that it did not matter if she slept late in the mornings.
    Another idea of Barry’s had been to photograph churches, buildings which abounded in Cornwall and ranged from picturesque to Gothic to the no-nonsense style of the Methodists. The singing of hymns by the whole congregation had appealed to the Cornish; consequently John Wesley, who had introduced this idea, had left his mark by adding to the