North Sea Requiem Read Online Free Page A

written—the block capitals are elegant—but I couldn’t say for sure.”
    â€œAnd it raises the point that the writer must know about my husband’s fate . . . don’t you agree?” From the coolness of Mae Bell’s voice, it was obvious she had thought about the note or, more importantly, the writer, many times.
    â€œPossibly . . .” Joanne looked again at the note.
    â€œA note like that is an invitation for a good journalist to investigate further. Yes?”
    Mae Bell’s statement and Joanne’s need for a good story that was hers alone collided.
    â€œYou’re right. And I will. Investigate.” A quick glance at her watch and Joanne saw that an hour and a half had passed.
    Mae called for the bill, paid, tipped, gathered her bag, her cigarettes, and lighter, and said, “Let’s do this again.”
    As the women made their way out onto the street, Joanne almost walked in to Mal Forbes, who was about to go into the downstairs bar.
    â€œA bit posh for you here, isn’t it?” Mal said.
    He was friendly. He was joking. Just stating the obvious. Joanne knew that. But was offended just the same.
    Then he saw Mae Bell, who was buttoning her coat to be ready for the onslaught of winds funneling down the streets straight from the North Sea.
    â€œHello, and who have we here?” The voice changed to a purr; the body changed from slightly too short Scotsman to suave lounge lizard. He raised his hat, held out the other hand, and said, “Malcolm Forbes.”
    Mae Bell ignored the hand—but gracefully, with an I’m-tangled-up-in-coat-and-handbag-and-scarf gesture—said, “I’m a friend of Joanne’s . . . Oh my, is that the time? My train is in five minutes . . . Joanne, point me to the station . . . Oh, of course . . . I’ll call . . . good to meet you, Mr. Fraser . . . so long, my dear, that was lovely . . . let’s do this again . . . soon.” And she was gone in a trail of scent and smiles, leaving a beaming Joanne and a curious Mal in her wake.
    â€œWho is that woman?”
    Joanne, taking her cue from Mae, said, “A friend,” and walked away, but in the wrong direction; the effect of her first-ever martini made her doubt she would make it back to the office. She went for coffee instead and took an hour over two cups, replaying again and again the conversation with the exotic Mae Bell, daring to think that she and Mae Bell might possibly end up friends. Good friends.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Next Monday at the news meeting, Joanne said, “I have a story.”
    She explained about Mae Bell and her search for her husband’s friends. Joanne finished outlining the article, but for reasons unknown even to her, she left out the anonymous note. Wait and see, she was thinking, surprise McAllister with a story worthy of the front page.
    â€œI like the idea,” Don said. “I remember the story of that aeroplane disappearing. There was a huge search-and-rescue operation. Nothing was found. And at the Fatal Accident Enquiry, there was no evidence as to what happened. To this day it’s a mystery.”
    â€œHuman interest stories, that’s what a local paper does best,” McAllister added.
    Joanne smiled. “It may not turn into much but it’s a nice story . . .”
    â€œAye, it’s a nice wee story, just right for the Wimmin’s Page.” Mal smiled at Joanne. She blushed. Her hands were trembling. She put them under the table. And not one of the men in the room noticed anything untowards.

T HREE

    H ighland Gazette .” Rob listened. “Witches did it? Any proof? Your mother-in-law? Name?” The caller hung up. And this was one of the more moderate of the suggestions about how a severed leg had shown up in a local woman’s washing.
    The story had