Boomerang Read Online Free Page B
Author: Sydney J. Bounds
Tags: detective, Suspense, Crime, Mystery, Women Detectives, Traditional British
you might know the answer.”
“Glad to help an old girl.”
“We’ve got a problem student—George Bullard by name—a most obnoxious person who upsets everyone. I’ve asked him to leave and he simply laughed at me, and I’m at my wit’s end.”
“I’ll soon get rid of him for you,” Miss Eaton said.
She had a vision of getting out of London in a heat wave to a cool breeze off the sea.
“Oh, I do hope you can.”
Miss Eaton said. “Nothing to it. I’ll run down and sort out this Bullard for you.”
* * * *
“You what?”
Reggie Courtney looked at his wife in astonishment. His voice was unusually sharp.
“A detective? Coming here? Why on earth did you do that?”
They had met at the bottom of the staircase in the hall. Val coming down to go to the kitchen, Reggie coming in from the garden and going upstairs to wash.
‘’You heard what Keith said. He wanted me to do something about Bullard.”
“That’s true. But he didn’t mean you to call in the police. You know Keith—he’s artistic, he dramatizes. One awkward student won’t ruin us.”
“Well, Bullard refused to leave. And Belle isn’t police—she’s a private investigator.”
Reggie relaxed but still looked doubtful. “She might upset the students, all the same. Nobody likes a snooper. Don’t forget they’re our bread and butter.”
“I’m sure they’ll be as pleased to see the last of Bullard as I’ll be.”
“I don’t doubt that, but—”
“I was at school with Belle. She was always reading those dreadful American stories about private eyes and finding out things for us. I’m sure she’s very good, and won’t upset anyone.”
Reggie Courtney sighed. “And she’s coming?”
“Yes. You’ll see, she’ll know how to handle George Bullard.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WILFRED GOES MISSING
When Miss Eaton arrived at the converted mews off Chelsea Reach she had made her home, she began to pack a suitcase.
Sherry, a large blue Persian cat, prowled around her restlessly. Sherry knew her mistress was going away, and protested loudly.
“Stop it, Sherry. You’re coming too.”
Miss Eaton opened a bottle of dry sherry and poured a little into a saucer. The Persian purred and rubbed silky fur against her legs; she was one cat who liked her tipple. She lapped delicately until the saucer was clean and curled up in her basket to sleep it off.
Miss Eaton’s home, unlike her office, was spotless. Behind glass in a row of bookcases reposed her personal library of Sam Pike novels, and an almost complete collection of Black Mask detective magazines.
She packed a tracksuit and swimming costume, her Smith and Wesson and binoculars. She showered and inspected her slight figure in the mirror; fit at forty, and her sharply pointed nose might be taken as an indication of her chosen profession.
She dressed for comfort and carried the cat basket, with Sherry still asleep, out to her car. She returned early, to get her case and an early Sam Pike novel, Model for Murder , and locked up.
As she drove out of London, Sherry dreamed of fat mice in a cat Heaven in the back of the small Fiat saloon. Miss Eaton drove along the M3 motorway into the west country through the early evening. She felt relaxed and drove at an unhurried pace
She stopped at a motel outside Exeter and booked a room for one night. There was no hurry. She regarded this job as a bit of a holiday, a chance to gossip about old times with Val. Bullard would be no problem.
As she dropped off to sleep, with Sherry on the bed at her feet, Miss Eaton wondered idly what was happening at Porthcove.
* * * *
George Bullard chuckled to himself as he wiped his brushes. He was alone in the grounds of Porthcove Studios. His easel was set up in the shade, and trees screened him from any casual eye.
He was reasonably pleased with the result he had captured in oils: the bloom of dark red roses against the pale yellow of sunlit grass.
Pleased, too, with the way he had stirred things up
“Glad to help an old girl.”
“We’ve got a problem student—George Bullard by name—a most obnoxious person who upsets everyone. I’ve asked him to leave and he simply laughed at me, and I’m at my wit’s end.”
“I’ll soon get rid of him for you,” Miss Eaton said.
She had a vision of getting out of London in a heat wave to a cool breeze off the sea.
“Oh, I do hope you can.”
Miss Eaton said. “Nothing to it. I’ll run down and sort out this Bullard for you.”
* * * *
“You what?”
Reggie Courtney looked at his wife in astonishment. His voice was unusually sharp.
“A detective? Coming here? Why on earth did you do that?”
They had met at the bottom of the staircase in the hall. Val coming down to go to the kitchen, Reggie coming in from the garden and going upstairs to wash.
‘’You heard what Keith said. He wanted me to do something about Bullard.”
“That’s true. But he didn’t mean you to call in the police. You know Keith—he’s artistic, he dramatizes. One awkward student won’t ruin us.”
“Well, Bullard refused to leave. And Belle isn’t police—she’s a private investigator.”
Reggie relaxed but still looked doubtful. “She might upset the students, all the same. Nobody likes a snooper. Don’t forget they’re our bread and butter.”
“I’m sure they’ll be as pleased to see the last of Bullard as I’ll be.”
“I don’t doubt that, but—”
“I was at school with Belle. She was always reading those dreadful American stories about private eyes and finding out things for us. I’m sure she’s very good, and won’t upset anyone.”
Reggie Courtney sighed. “And she’s coming?”
“Yes. You’ll see, she’ll know how to handle George Bullard.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WILFRED GOES MISSING
When Miss Eaton arrived at the converted mews off Chelsea Reach she had made her home, she began to pack a suitcase.
Sherry, a large blue Persian cat, prowled around her restlessly. Sherry knew her mistress was going away, and protested loudly.
“Stop it, Sherry. You’re coming too.”
Miss Eaton opened a bottle of dry sherry and poured a little into a saucer. The Persian purred and rubbed silky fur against her legs; she was one cat who liked her tipple. She lapped delicately until the saucer was clean and curled up in her basket to sleep it off.
Miss Eaton’s home, unlike her office, was spotless. Behind glass in a row of bookcases reposed her personal library of Sam Pike novels, and an almost complete collection of Black Mask detective magazines.
She packed a tracksuit and swimming costume, her Smith and Wesson and binoculars. She showered and inspected her slight figure in the mirror; fit at forty, and her sharply pointed nose might be taken as an indication of her chosen profession.
She dressed for comfort and carried the cat basket, with Sherry still asleep, out to her car. She returned early, to get her case and an early Sam Pike novel, Model for Murder , and locked up.
As she drove out of London, Sherry dreamed of fat mice in a cat Heaven in the back of the small Fiat saloon. Miss Eaton drove along the M3 motorway into the west country through the early evening. She felt relaxed and drove at an unhurried pace
She stopped at a motel outside Exeter and booked a room for one night. There was no hurry. She regarded this job as a bit of a holiday, a chance to gossip about old times with Val. Bullard would be no problem.
As she dropped off to sleep, with Sherry on the bed at her feet, Miss Eaton wondered idly what was happening at Porthcove.
* * * *
George Bullard chuckled to himself as he wiped his brushes. He was alone in the grounds of Porthcove Studios. His easel was set up in the shade, and trees screened him from any casual eye.
He was reasonably pleased with the result he had captured in oils: the bloom of dark red roses against the pale yellow of sunlit grass.
Pleased, too, with the way he had stirred things up