The Bones of You by Debbie Howells Read Free Book Online Page B

every day, who kept to himself? He could have been up to anything. Do you think the police know about him?
    Those young men who camped on Dudley’s farm this summer, helping out, so they said. They were illegal immigrants, you know. He didn’t even have their real names.
    “There were some boys camping in the woods. Friends of Sophie’s. . .” I fall silent, wondering if the police have been told, berating myself for not reminding Grace.
    “What about the boyfriend the press keeps on about? He’s the obvious one to talk to, isn’t he? He’d know if anything funny had been going on. I’m surprised she didn’t mention him to you. . . .” Rachael sits at my kitchen table, stirring her coffee.
    “I think all that’s just gossip. You know what the papers are like. Jo told me she didn’t have one. And Grace didn’t know anything.”
    “Really? Bloody scandalous, isn’t it?”
    I nod, feeling the lump in my throat. “She was so private, Rachael. And shy. And now she’s everyone’s business. . . .”
    “I know. Awful, isn’t it? Talking of the press . . .” Rachael’s thoughtful. “Have you seen your friend at all?”
    “You mean Laura? No. To tell you the truth, I’m avoiding her.”
    “Why?” Rachael frowns. “I liked her. Did you look at her magazine? Only it’s not trashy. It’s intelligent. Did you know she’s a psychologist? She writes really well.”
    “I’ll look. I just hate the idea of adding to all the gossip out there.”
    “Kate, look at it this way. You could help her tell the actual true story—if you wanted to, that is. Fair enough if you don’t, though. I’m sure she won’t be short of offers.”
     
    I keep coming back to Sophie’s friends, knowing I have to tackle Grace about them.
    “Sweetie? Did you talk to Sophie? About going to the police?”
    She shakes her head, her eyes wide and serious. “I have to, don’t I?”
    “Yes.” I say it gently. “They may know nothing about Rosie.” I frown. “But what if they do? And I’ve never really understood why you’ve kept so quiet about them.”
    Grace sighs; then the familiar defiant look is back. “If you really have to know, they’re not really Sophie’s friends. They were just these guys she got weed from, that’s all. I didn’t touch it, Mum. I never do. Just so you know.”
    Knowing what my reaction will be, daring me to be furious with her, Grace stands her ground. Any other time, I probably would be, but while I wasn’t looking, while a murder took place, the rules shifted imperceptibly.
    “Sophie know how stupid that is? Buying weed from just anyone like that?”
    My mind racing, because yes, they’re probably harmless, but what if they’re not? What if Rosie somehow got caught up with them?
    “Mum! It’s just weed!” Grace’s outraged cry breaks into my thoughts. “Everyone does it—except me, of course.” She says it resentfully, as if it’s somehow my fault that she’s missing out.
    “Whatever, Grace. All that really matters is finding the murderer. I’m sorry, but Sophie talks to the police today, or I will.”
    Knowing she’s in the wrong, Grace glowers at me, then turns and flounces away.
     
    And then a thin veneer of normality filters in, sorely needed, as I busy myself with new clients’ gardens, finding peace as I always do in the music of the seasons. The drone of insects and the harmonies of the birds, pitched against the backdrop of the wind. Perfect fleeting moments, until the Everest-sized mountain that’s Grace’s university shopping list rears its ugly head.
    “You can’t need all this!” I gasp in horror at her list. “You don’t need new bedding, Grace. We have plenty. Or towels . . . and plates and mugs . . . Come and have a look in the kitchen.”
    And then we go shopping and buy new towels, new china, new bedding, and new everything else, diverting ourselves from recent events with frivolity, soft fabrics, and prettiness, as the closer she gets to leaving, the