A Watery Grave (Karen Cady Book 1), Penny Kline [book recommendations for young adults txt] 📗

‘What kind of bag? Lost it have you? Why not sit down and tell us all about it.’ He winked at his friend, then stubbed out his cigarette.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Karen turned on her heel and made for the door.

What was the point of asking? Whoever had taken it could be miles away by now.

Outside in the street she looked quickly in each direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone running, then stood with her back to the window of the burger bar, trying to remember what she had lost. Her money was in the pocket of her jacket, along with her keys and the pen her father had given her for her last birthday. That meant all the bag contained was a book she had borrowed from the library, a comb, a tube of extra strong mints, some file paper, a bar of chocolate – and her notes on the Natalie Stevens case.

Someone was calling her name. It was odd how you could always pick out your own name even if there was a terrible noise going on all around.

‘Karen?’

It was Laura, from Karen’s tutor group. She was wearing a track suit and sweat was dripping off her forehead. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You looked as though you’d seen a ghost.’

Karen wasn’t sure whether to tell her what happened. There was something stupid about having your bag stolen. It made you seem helpless, defenceless. ‘I’ve just come out of there,’ she said, jerking her head in the direction of the burger bar. ‘Somebody nicked my bag.’

‘Stole it? How awful. Did you tell the manageress?’ She waved to someone coming up the street.

Karen recognised Russell Donnelly, his hair damp, sleeked back, as though he must have jumped into the pool for a swim before he came off duty for his lunch break.

‘What’s the problem?’ Then he noticed Karen and smiled. ‘Hey, I didn’t know you two knew each other. What’s happened?’

‘Karen’s had her bag stolen,’ said Laura, ‘while she was in the burger bar.’

‘What’s it like?’ Russell glanced at his watch. ‘Any cash in it? No? The reason I ask, people only snatch bags for the cash and credit cards. When they’ve got what they want they throw away the rest.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘I tell you what, you two go that way and I’ll go back towards the pedestrian area. Look in all the litter bins, down alleyways, anywhere it could’ve been got rid of in a hurry. If I’m right it won’t be too far away. What’s it like?’

‘It’s a sort of sack thing,’ said Karen. ‘Blue, with an orange and white pattern.’

‘Should be easy to spot.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ What else could she say? He was trying to help. There was no hope of getting the bag back but she would have to make a token effort, peering into the rubbish bins, looking in the gutter.

‘Meet me here in about fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘OK?’

A group of visitors were being shown the houses that surrounded the cathedral green. A guide in a red jacket droned on about Mediaeval merchants or Elizabethan monks.

Laura pointed at a large cardboard box that had been left under a tree, and Karen joined her, peering inside at an old pink jumper, a pair of black trousers spotted with mould, and a pair of high-heeled shoes.

‘Someone must be walking around with nothing on!’ said Laura.

Karen managed a feeble smile. ‘I’d rather be seen naked than dressed in that lot.’ She was wondering how her father would have gone about looking for stolen goods? The truth was he wouldn’t have bothered. It wasn’t worth the effort. All the same, she couldn’t help noticing how things that normally wouldn’t have received a second glance suddenly seemed worth investigating. In the same way, quite ordinary people became potential suspects: an old woman wheeling a battered pram full of carrier bags stuffed to the brim. A man with a bulging brief case and shifty-looking eyes. Only, on second thoughts, his eyes looked perfectly normal.

The bag was a write-off but thinking about her father had reminded her of why she had become interested in the Natalie Stevens case in the first place. Finding out who had killed Natalie was the only way of convincing him he needed an assistant to help him run the agency.

‘You’re a friend of Glen Fortune, aren’t you?’ said Laura, lifting the edge of an old newspaper with her foot. ‘I see him at the Sports Centre most Wednesday evenings. He works out in the gym.’

‘Glen does?’ In spite of being so fed up about the bag she couldn’t help grinning.

‘Better not tell him I said so,’ said Laura. ‘Some people are sensitive about that sort of thing. Building up their muscles.’

They passed under the archway that led back to the High Street.

‘Look, don’t bother searching anymore,’ said Karen. ‘Thanks, but I’m sure it’s a waste of time.’

‘Yes, I suppose. Perhaps Russell’s had better luck. I didn’t realise you knew him.’

‘I don’t, not really. I go swimming occasionally with Glen and his girlfriend.’

‘Right.’ Laura took a comb from her pocket and ran it through her short straw-coloured hair. ‘I’m going in for a diving competition. I practise four or five times a week. It’s hell.’

When they returned to the burger bar there was no sign of Russell. Most likely he had given up the search and gone home. Then Karen saw him, on the opposite side of the road, forcing his way through a group of gossiping women.

‘Any luck?’ he called.

They shook their heads and he crossed the road and joined them. ‘Oh, well, I reckon that’s it then.’

Inside the burger bar someone was waving her arms. The woman Karen had spoken to, the one who