Alice-Miranda to the Rescue Read Online Free

before it had even opened. Myrtle had argued that the smell of the curries would overpower the fresh air that their little pocket of countryside was renowned for, but Reg suspected it had as much todo with her fear of the unfamiliar as anything else. To everyone’s great surprise, Indira Singh and Myrtle Parker had bonded over a mutual love of organising. Indira went on to become head of the local garden club and often asked for Myrtle’s help with planning events. Myrtle had just invited her onto the Show Society Committee too.
    â€˜Well, don’t just stand there,’ Myrtle said, eye balling her husband. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

Myrtle Parker pinned a pillbox hat onto her helmet of brunette curls before wrestling into a bold floral coat that matched her dress. She applied her favourite coral-coloured lipstick and smacked her lips together, then hurried to the kitchen to pick up the cake.
    Reginald met his wife at the front door.
    â€˜What in heaven’s name are you wearing?’ she said, looking him up and down.
    Without a word, the man walked back down the hall and changed out of his favourite browncardigan and into the checked sports jacket his wife had bought for him.
    Myrtle smiled her approval and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Much better. You look very handsome.’
    Reg didn’t agree. He’d always thought the jacket looked like it had been made from one of Myrtle’s tablecloths. Her own ensemble could have been sewn from the lounge-room curtains, but at this stage in life there was no point arguing. It would only upset her.
    The mismatched pair walked down the front steps and onto the driveway. Myrtle glanced over at Ambrosia Headlington-Bear’s front garden and tutted. ‘Ever since that woman got herself a job, that garden has been in sharp decline. She really should do something about it.’
    â€˜I’ll pop over and mow the lawn this afternoon,’ Reg said, glad for the excuse to escape.
    â€˜Good, but she’ll have to find a more permanent arrangement. We can’t have Wisteria Cottage letting the street down, can we?’ Myrtle nodded, apparently forgetting that her own weed-infested garden had blighted the landscape until Ambrosia had set to and performed nothing short of a miracle makeover.
    Rosebud Lane ended in a cul-de-sac just over the rise from the Parkers’ plain bungalow on one side and pretty Wisteria Cottage on the other. The house on the curve of the road was a rambling affair with a thick hedge shielding it from the neighbours. The previous owners had extensively remodelled and updated the house but had only ever used it as a weekend retreat. Myrtle had hoped that Mr Cutmore and his wife would become more involved in village life, but her entreaties were always met with a curled lip and protestations that Mr Cutmore was far too busy with his work commitments. The man was a barrister of some repute and Myrtle would love to have had him on the Show Society Committee. In the end, she wasn’t terribly disappointed when the ‘For Sale’ sign had gone up, although the prospect of new neighbours always set her teeth on edge.
    One large removal van was still parked in the driveway and another on the street but the four-wheel drive and trailer were nowhere to be seen. Outside the front gate was the sign Reginald had told her about. Written in swirly script were the words ‘ Nobel Kennels, Breeders of Exquisite Afghan Hounds ’ beside a painting of a regal-looking dog. Myrtle squinted at the name. Surely it was a spelling mistake, she thought to herself.
    A spotty young fellow in a blue singlet walked down a ramp at the back of the truck balancing a large armchair above his head. Myrtle and Reg followed him up the path to the front door.
    â€˜Excuse me, can you tell me where the owners of the house are?’ Myrtle asked.
    â€˜Last I saw, Mr Dankworth was in the sitting room,’ the man replied.