Guilty Conscious by Oliver Davies (best ereader for students .txt) 📗

notes stuck to them that were more rude than sweet, but that was Liene. In turn, I made coffee every morning, always up before she was, and nothing short of the strongest coffee known to man would lure her from her cocoon of sheets and set her off to the museum. So far, so good, and I really was ready for her to meet Elsie.

Speaking of; the car now warm, I pulled away from the kerb and drove off through the darkening sky, street lights flickering on as I made my way through the city and out towards the countryside. It was a good drive, usually took me around thirty to forty minutes, and I turned the radio on, tuning into the voice of a familiar DJ from my youth.

Out here, autumn was in full swing. The hills were a patchwork of red and orange and brown. Leaves flittered down onto the road, landing on the windscreen, gathering in soggy piles by the sides of the roads. I enjoyed the scenery, making a note to come back out here at some point on a nice dry day, take a good romp across the fields, maybe convince Sally to let me take her dog with me for a bit of conversation-less company. It was quite beautiful, in a staggering sort of way, and made me realise just how long it had been since I really came home and made the most of it.

I reached the village where Halloween decorations hung and draped around houses and fences, trees and gates. I drove to the coaching house, parking in the front and climbed out of the car, looking up at it. I’d say it was spooky enough with the amount of dust and spider webs that lurked around inside. There were probably one or two mice as well, birds nesting in the attic and a hole in one of the floors downstairs that was creepy to look at. Otherwise, the place was getting there. Inside, anyway. Outside needed some landscaping down, the door and windows needed a lick of paint and a few of the broken windows desperately needed replacing. I tucked my car keys into my pocket and walked away, leaving it for another time. I jogged across the road to the row of cottages on the other side of the green and took my spare key from my pocket, opening Elsie’s door and calling through.

“Elsie? It’s me!”

“Max? Come inside, lad. Don’t trek any mud in with you, mind.” I stepped into the low ceilinged, warm house and shut the door behind me, deciding just to take my shoes off to avoid any mess. I walked through to the kitchen where a few dishes were left by the sink, some old mugs of tea abandoned on the table.

“Max?” Elsie called from upstairs.

“Be up in a minute,” I called, rolling my sleeves up and tackling the dishes first. Once the kitchen was clean and tidy, I brewed us both a mug of tea, grabbed the biscuit tin from the cupboard she hid it in, and loaded it all onto a tray which I balanced precariously as I walked up the staircase, almost bent double under the sloping ceiling.

Her bedroom door was ajar, the smell of Olbas oil and lavender wafting into the hall, and I pushed the door open and smiled at her. She was sat up in bed, a handmade blanket pulled up to her armpits. Her little frame huddled in a dressing gown, her fluffy white curls of hair sticking about statically. I walked over to the desk by the window where a vase of flowers filled the room with their smell, and set the tray down, handing her favourite mug to her before settling down in the armchair by her bed. She looked me over with an astute stare.

“Did you clean my kitchen?” she asked abruptly.

“I did. Didn’t think you’d be resting properly knowing it was a mess down there.”

She hummed thoughtfully and blew on her tea. She looked better than she had in the hospital, most of which I pegged down to her being in her own bed. There was colour back in her soft, wrinkled face, the old sharpness back in her eyes, and she held herself and her mug with a renewed strength. I relaxed at last, and she noticed.

“Don’t say you were worried about me, lad.”

“Just a tad,” I answered, leaning forward to be a bit closer to her.

“You needn’t worry about me. I’m tough as old boots, you know that.”

“I do. It’s impossible not to know that, Els. How are you feeling?”

“Glad to be out of that hospital,” she said with a sniff. “Place smelt funny.”

“Most hospitals smell funny,” I pointed out.

“Not in my day,” she answered. “The doctor said you paid me a few visits.” She slurped her tea loudly.

“One or two. You were asleep most of the time. I did bring flowers,” I added.

“The daisies, I saw them. Thank you.” She reached out and took my hand. “Now then, how are you, my love?”

“Better for seeing you,” I replied with a grin. “It’s good seeing you looking better.”

“And everything all well with your girlfriend? Sally told me she met her.”

“Liene. Everything’s great. When you’re up to it, I’ll bring her round to meet you.”

Elsie raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never brought anyone here to meet me except your sergeant. He was a nice boy.”

“He was also here because I got hit on the head,” I reminded her.

“You hit yourself on the head, you dolt. How goes it over there?” she asked with a nod to the window. I could see the shape of the coaching house through the thin lace curtains.

“Nothing’s changed since the last time we talked about it,” I replied. “And I doubt there’ll be much I can do once winter comes.”

“No, I don’t suppose so,” Elsie said, taking another sip of her tea. “And work?”

“Same as ever.”

“I hear you had quite a big case when I was indisposed. A murder, Sally