Written in the Scars (The Estate Series Book 4) by Mel Sherratt Read Free Book Online Page A

rubbish. Parked on it was a bottle-green Land Rover, gleaming in the reflection of the mid-morning sun. Flowers were dotted around a dug-over border around the edge of a small patch of freshly mown grass. A hanging basket next to the door sprouted multi-coloured lobelias, almost tumbling down to a small wrought iron bench in front of the living room window.
    Josie knew from experience how much you could tell about someone from the state of his or her garden. Not necessarily from the house, if paint was peeling from a door or if someone had a broken window or was in need of new windows altogether. In her mind, there was a world of difference between untidiness and poor maintenance.
    She glanced over the fence at next door again. The garden she was in made the adjoining property’s stand out for its lack of maintenance. She tutted: the weeds in number nineteen’s garden were higher than the small patch of grass left in the middle, the hedges were overgrown too. The weather had been wonderful for three weeks now, there was no excuse. But then again, Margaret, who lived there with her teenage son and daughter, would find sunning on the doorstep far more important than tending to the grass.
    As she waited, she wrote down details to pass on to the environmental enforcement officer when she was next in the office. He’d need to visit to get Margaret to take action.
    A woman opened the door behind her. Laura Prophett’s greying blonde hair had been tied back from her face, making her look more youthful than her actual age of early fifties, but her puffy eyes and faint smile betrayed her worry. Despite that, she was dressed in colourful summer clothes.
    ‘Hi, Mrs Prophett,’ Josie smiled. ‘Might I have a quick word?’
    She was shown into a living room that was as tidy and respectable as the garden. The wall that housed the chimney was covered with wallpaper of large black flowers on a white background, the remaining walls painted white. The three piece was black leather, a three-seater settee and two armchairs, dented where bottoms had settled over the years.
    Josie sat down when invited, pushing her hair out of the way behind her ears. She’d long ago swapped her glasses for contact lenses, showing off deep blue eyes below a thick, blunt fringe. Her friend, Livvy, had given her a well-needed makeover a few years ago and, despite trends coming and going, she’d kept her hair shoulder length because it suited her so much.
    ‘You’ve come about Lewis, haven’t you?’ asked Laura.
    When Josie nodded, Laura’s shoulders sagged.
    ‘I’ve been trying to get him out of bed for the past hour. But whatever he’s done, he won’t come down to face the music.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve tried to be patient too, but he just goes up like a bottle of pop if I suggest anything he doesn’t like. Then the next minute, it’s ‘’I’m sorry, Mum. It’s just taking me time to adjust.’’ It’s like living with Jekyll and Hyde. I dread seeing him in the mornings now. It puts me on edge for the rest of the day and I don’t want it when I’m off to work.’ She glanced away sheepishly. ‘Sorry, mouth overload.’
    Josie knew that Laura worked at Poplar Court, a sheltered housing block for dementia sufferers. Patience was a virtue for her role as a housing officer but so much more was needed when it came to working with the elderly. Sometimes Josie would hold back her annoyance if she knew someone was trying to get one over her, using age as an excuse. But most of the time, she dealt with genuine cases of hardship and people unable to cope.
    ‘Are you aware of what I’ve come to see you about?’ she asked now, hoping to move things along.
    ‘He hasn’t hurt anyone, has he?’ Laura sat upright.
    Josie shook her head. ‘There was a spot of trouble last night. It’s the damage he’s caused to a car that’s my main concern. We think he kicked off someone’s wing mirror and smashed it while it was on the