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

Up in her room she tipped the contents of her bag onto her bed, picking out the comb and throwing it in the waste paper basket in case the thief had run it through his greasy hair. For a dreadful moment she had thought her mother might be pregnant, then she remembered she couldn’t have any more children. Something to do with her tubes. Having one had been a miracle. Well, that’s what her father had told her. Maybe her mother was afraid Alex would push off. After all he was four years younger and always dropping hints about his long list of previous girlfriends.

It didn’t take her long to calm down. Five minutes later she had forgotten about the divorce and was wondering why whoever had taken her bag had hung onto her notes about Natalie? Most of it wouldn’t make sense to a stranger. Just a few names, addresses, descriptions.

So what. The thief probably had no interest whatsoever in the actual material, just wanted the file paper and the file itself, which was brand new, and quite expensive, and had a picture of an alligator on the cover.

Downstairs her mother and Alex were talking in low voices, reassuring each other that she would soon adjust to the idea, that she was bound to react badly in the first instance but given time . . . Blah, blah, blah.

Opening her bedroom door she shouted down to them. ‘Hey, we should all go out and celebrate?’ And then, when her mother’s beaming face appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘No, not your engagement, me getting my bag back!’

Chapter Nine

This time she was certain of it. Someone was following her, keeping a good distance away and disappearing into doorways when she looked back. At the end of the road she paused for a moment, to make sure whoever it was had a good view of her, then turned left, ran about fifty yards, and hid behind some rhododendron bushes just inside the front garden of a house that seemed to have been converted into offices.

There was a brass plate on the front door but it was too far away for Karen to read the name of the company. If anyone came out of the building they would see her crouched by the bush, assume she was up to no good, shout out and ruin everything. Bright strip lights were on in the downstairs rooms, but all she could see were the backs of several large computers.

The sky was overcast, making the visibility poor, but when the man who was following her came round the corner it shouldn’t be too difficult to see his face. She had a feeling it was a man but it could just as easily be a woman. Someone tall, dressed in a long dark coat.

The minutes ticked by, but perhaps they were only seconds. If she looked at her watch the man might suddenly appear, then become suspicious and start moving away fast before she had a chance to see his face.

Nothing happened. No-one came round the corner. Five minutes later, annoyed and frustrated, Karen stepped back onto the pavement and continued on her way to the park. She had her camera slung over her shoulder. This time, if she was lucky enough to see Olive Pearce she was going to tell her she was doing a course in photography and needed some shots of the duck pond. It was risky. Mrs Pearce might begin to suspect she was a journalist, writing a follow-up story on Natalie Stevens’ baby. On the other hand, it might be a good way of getting into conversation, a conversation she hoped would last longer than their previous encounter.

*

Nothing ever turned out the way you expected. As she passed the row of shops at the top of Arkwright Way she could see Olive Pearce in the chemist’s, standing by a shelf of baby goods. Bath oil, talcum powder, drinking cups, bowls with bunnies round the edges. Karen stuffed the camera in her bag, then pulled open the door, marched up to the counter and asked for a packet of throat sweets.

The bored-looking woman behind the counter pointed to a display on Karen’s left.

‘Oh. Right.’ She selected a packet of blackcurrant lozenges and felt in her pocket for some change.

‘Thought it was you.’ Olive Pearce was standing a few feet away. ‘Funny place to do your shopping isn’t it? Bit out of the way.’

Karen smiled at her. ‘Oh, I often come this way. I’m doing a project on how small shops can compete with supermarkets. You know the kind of thing.’

Mrs Pearce glanced at the shop-keeper. ‘We can help there, can’t we, Doreen? All the supermarkets are out of town these days. Need a car. Besides, it gives the baby some fresh air and what else would I do all day if I’d done my week’s shopping in one go?’

Karen took a notebook from her bag and wrote down what Olive Pearce had just told her. ‘So you see shopping as quite enjoyable then, not just something you want to get done as quickly as possible?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ The two women were smiling at each other, laughing at Karen, but she didn’t care. She was wondering how she could find a reason to walk down the road with Mrs Pearce and the baby.

‘How’s Justin?’ She bent down to look in the buggy.

‘Oh, you remember his name?’

‘Yes, I told you, it’s one of my favourites.’

Olive Pearce paid for her packet of disposable nappies, then started moving towards the door. Karen held it open and gave her a hand with the buggy, lifting it down the steps to the pavement.

‘Thanks, love. Which way are you going?’

Karen pointed in the direction of Mrs Pearce’s house.

‘You know who I