The Ambleside Alibi: 2 Read Online Free Page B

It’s a terrible thing to happen, Sim. You can’t just ignore it.’
    ‘No,’ said Simmy slowly. ‘I don’t expect I can. But I’m not going to dwell on it, either. It has nothing to do with me,’ she said loudly.
    ‘No man is an island,’ Julie reproached her. ‘It has to do with all of us – especially women living on their own in isolated little villages,’ she added. ‘Doesn’t it scare you?’
    ‘Only if people like you do their best to spread panic. And Troutbeck isn’t an “isolated little village”. It’s really quite big and I’m right in the middle of it, with houses on all sides.’
    ‘People like me?’ Julie frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘Nothing. Sorry.’ She could hear her mother inside her head, groaning at yet another taboo phrase that was sure to give offence. Julie subscribed wholeheartedly to such thinking, while at the same time laughing in genuine amusement and admiration at many of Simmy’s turns of phrase. It was as if she would have liked to share her attitude, but was afraid to. It made their friendship lopsided at times, but such was Simmy’s gratitude for Julie’s generosity with her time and attention that it was never seriously in jeopardy.
    ‘Anyway, I didn’t mean we ought to care because it scares us. I meant – nobody should have a thing like that happen to them. You agree with that, don’t you? It’s so
wrong
. It’s uncivilised.’
    ‘It’s barbaric,’ Simmy confirmed. ‘Utterly awful. I hope they catch him quickly, Whoever he is that did it.’
    ‘Yes. So do I. Although it might be a her, of course. Girls do wicked things these days, as well as boys. They break into houses carrying crowbars and baseball bats and think nothing of bashing people. On drugs usually.’Julie shuddered. Simmy suppressed a smile at the world weariness of a divorced forty-year-old hairdresser. No doubt she heard some gruesome stories as she snipped and styled her customers.
    ‘I can’t really stop,’ she apologised. ‘I need to get on with the Christmas cards.’
    ‘Blimey! I don’t do mine for
ages
yet. I don’t even want to think about it – I send them to all my regulars, you know.’
    ‘How do you know their addresses?’ Simmy couldn’t recall ever giving such information to a hairdresser. ‘There must be hundreds of them.’
    ‘I’m very organised,’ boasted Julie. ‘I send them reminders about their appointments and special offers and so forth. I’m doing depilation from next year as well – and nails. I’ll be needing another girl.’
    ‘Great,’ Simmy approved absently. ‘Well …’
    ‘Yes, all right. Go and do your cards. And mind you lock your door properly. I’m serious. You just can’t trust people these days.’
    Simmy’s urge to argue was weak enough to resist quite easily. Trusting people remained her default position despite Tony’s lapses and the shocking double murder a couple of months earlier. ‘Oh – one thing I wanted to ask you. Do you know a man called Ninian Tripp? He’s a potter.’
    Julie’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve met him once or twice. He lives in a tumbledown cottage up on Brantfell. Doesn’t he make tiles mostly?’
    ‘I don’t know. He wants me to sell vases for him.’
    ‘He’s from Yorkshire or somewhere. Had a breakdown or something. He’s very good-looking.’ She gave Simmy a searching look – like Melanie, she was always on thelookout for a new love interest for her friend, having vowed she was herself sworn off men for ever.
    ‘Breakdown? Poor man.’ She supposed she’d come close to a breakdown of her own, when Edith had died, and a flash of fellow feeling went through her. ‘He seems okay now, though.’
    ‘What did you tell him?’
    ‘That I’d look at his stuff if he brings me some. I suppose it’s worth a go, if they’re any good.’
    ‘His tiles are gorgeous, apparently. Terribly expensive.’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Simmy. ‘Thanks for the information. I’m off now.’ She