The Serial Killer's Wife by Alice Hunter (best romantic novels to read .txt) 📗

Lucy stands behind the counter, refreshing the plates with new pastries and baked goodies.

‘Yeah. Although, it’s a bit odd.’

‘Oh? Odd how?’ I have a feeling I know where this is going.

‘The customers were queuing! Waiting for me to open. Just seemed a bit eager to me. And they aren’t from Lower Tew.’ Lucy narrows her eyes.

As I thought. Already news is travelling; curiosity is building. Sightseers. And I don’t think they’re here for the views or the pottery. Nausea catches me off-guard and I hold my stomach. ‘Well, any custom is money in my pocket,’ I say, giving a forced laugh.

‘Yes, well. Let’s hope it doesn’t become a circus around here. This is a lovely, small community – the locals wouldn’t want it becoming known for anything other than its picturesque cottages and fabulous pub,’ she says, before adding with a strained smile, ‘And pottery café, of course.’

‘Look, Lucy – it’s the last thing I want too, you know.’ I can’t keep the hurt from my tone. Lucy has worked for me for over a year and we’ve always got on well. I’d hate for this to affect our working relationship; I need her. ‘I’m certain it’ll all blow over. I’m talking to the police later, I’m hoping that will help clear some things up. Tom is a good man,’ I say, quickly wiping a rogue tear with my sleeve.

‘I’m sorry, Beth. I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, especially after you’ve had such bad news.’

‘So, you’ve heard the latest then?’

Lucy puts her arm around me and lays her head on my shoulder. ‘It’s a village, Beth,’ she says as way of explanation. I sigh, and she continues. ‘I love working here, and I love living in Lower Tew. I get a little over-protective of the place sometimes.’

‘I know, hun. And it’s lovely that you care about your community so much; I love your passion. It’s why I hired you, after all. It’ll all be okay, I promise.’

It’s a promise I instantly regret making. How do I know it’ll all turn out okay? There’s no guarantee Tom will be released at the end of the detention period. Nothing is certain.

I give myself a shake and a good talking to.

It is certain. Of course everything will be fine.

The police can’t have enough evidence to charge him – they just can’t. Be positive. Unless something to contradict it comes up, I have to show the world that everything will be all right. For now, for my own sake and Poppy’s, I am working on the assumption Tom is completely innocent, and there’s no chance he could possibly be charged with such a terrible crime.

The truth will prevail.

Chapter 21

BETH

Now

I’ve been sitting twiddling my thumbs, literally, for the past half an hour. Clock-watching. Waiting. Why are they so late? Is it because they’ve been tied up with getting permission from a magistrate to extend Tom’s custody time? He’s not home and their thirty-six hours was up earlier, so I’m guessing they’ve succeeded. Maybe they’re just late on purpose to put me on the back foot.

Breathe.

This morning’s breakfast is still churning in my stomach; my digestion has gone all to pot. If they don’t hurry, I’ll be late picking Poppy up from nursery, too. I already feel guilty enough leaving Lucy on her own for longer than usual; I don’t need the extra stress of worrying about letting Poppy down on top.

Christ’s sake – hurry up.

The heavy knock makes me freeze. This is it.

Come on, Beth. You’ve got this.

I clench and unclench my fists a few times, jiggle my shoulders to loosen them, take some deep breaths, then calmly walk to the door.

‘Mrs Hardcastle,’ DC Cooper says, tilting her chin up. I swallow hard, then invite her in. Just as I think I’m getting away with it being just one detective, the large figure of DI Manning sweeps around the corner and strides up my path. He gives a curt hello and follows Cooper inside.

‘We met briefly yesterday, as you might recall,’ she says. As if I’m likely to have forgotten that experience. ‘I’m Detective Constable Imogen Cooper, working with DI Manning. Thank you for seeing us today.’

I note Cooper’s eyes darting all over the room, taking in every minute detail. Didn’t she already do that yesterday? Is this for show now? Her demeanour is doing nothing for my nerves.

‘If you’d like to come into the kitchen, I’ve got fresh coffee brewing and I’ve baked cookies.’ The smell of my lemon, ginger and white chocolate chip cookies is wafting through the cottage. They usually go down a storm with the customers so I’m hoping it’ll soften the detectives up a bit.

‘Thanks,’ she says. I think I catch a hint of a smile, but I could be wrong. It’s hard to tell – her expression hasn’t really altered since she walked in the door. I have the feeling I’m in for a rough ride. I look to DI Manning and smile. Thankfully, he reciprocates, and I allow my racing mind to slow a little.

They take a seat side by side at the farmhouse table and get notebooks and pens out. I try to focus on pouring the coffee. My hands are trembling but there’s nothing I can do about that. Surely nerves are common – and expected – in a situation such as this? They won’t think it’s unusual, or a sign that I’m worried, will they? As much as I would like to stretch this moment out, put off the inevitable questions, I know I can’t afford to play for time.

‘There you go. The best cookies from Poppy’s Place,’ I say, brightly, as I place two plates in front of the detectives and turn back to fetch the tray of drinks.

‘So, this Poppy’s Place is your café?’ DC Cooper asks.

‘Yes, it’s a ceramics café – you can paint pre-made bisque pieces, like plates, mugs, animals and things, and have a coffee and cake while you do it. Then it’ll be popped in the