The Fall Girl Read Online Free

been running – no, bolting – from some faceless pursuer. But now her legs had turned to
lead. She could only stagger, unable even to turn, while the thing behind her gained ground, until she could feel its hot breath on her neck.
    A claw raked her cheek.
    Lexy yelled out, her hand grabbing at the flowery curtain beside her.
    Flowery curtain?
    Pale dawn light filtered into the room.
    “Kinky! You little shite!” Lexy shoved the chihuahua away, glancing at her watch. Six-thirty. She groaned. He usually had the decency to wait until at least ten past seven before
waking her up.
    Her heart was still racing. She lay back, trying to control her breathing. Perhaps the dream was a warning from her own subconscious, telling her not to get mixed up with that Paterson girl and
her peculiar paranormal problems. And somehow, that black... thing she’d seen the day before, that was all tangled up with it. That’s what had been chasing her.
    Lexy gave a snort. She was going soft. There was no black creature! It had just been a trick of the light. There was nothing supernatural going on, either in Clopwolde or in the world according
to Rowana Paterson. The kid hadn’t killed Elizabeth Cassall by magic, and the bad dream was just...well, a bad dream.
    Lexy would nip over to Four Winds Cottage today, have a quick look around, just for the sake of form, then come back and convince Rowana that Elizabeth Cassall had toppled over her balcony
accidentally. Just as the coroner would soon confirm. Charge her for a half day, seeing as the kid was flush. But she wasn’t going to take advantage. And she wasn’t going to have any
more peculiar visions or bizarre dreams. That would be an end to it.
    She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Kinky dashed eagerly to the stairs.
    “No way! It’s too early for breakfast.”
    He sloped back, tail down, jumped on the bed, and sat with his back to Lexy. She rolled over with a sigh. Might as well get up and feed the little git. She wasn’t going to be able to get
back to sleep again, not now.
    Nevertheless she lay back for a moment and surveyed her surroundings with quiet pleasure.
    Her bedroom used to be a fishing-net loft, and was accessed by a set of steep wooden steps from the main living area. Not quite what she’d been accustomed to in her previous life as a
trophy wife in South Kensington, but it suited her just fine. And it provided a perfect refuge from Gerard Warwick-Holmes, the husband from whom she had fled three months earlier. Each passing day
at Clopwolde, Lexy had relaxed a little more. He hadn’t tracked her down yet. Perhaps he never would. A genteel Suffolk coastal village had to be one of the last places he’d look.
    Lexy smiled up at the protective rafters over her head. The sturdy wooden cabin used to be a base for offshore fishermen in the early nineteenth century. They took boats out into Clopwolde Bay,
in the North Sea, a rich herring ground. At least it was until they’d caught them all.
    There were about a dozen cabins originally, but with the demise of the herring population, half got neglected and fell down. Then the remaining ones were rediscovered by artists, and after that
the river fishermen and holidaymakers moved in. Suddenly the humble dwellings were commanding as much as a semi-detached house in Reigate.
    Lexy’s friend Edward owned the cabin she was now in. He wasn’t really a beach hut kind of man, and she had been desperate for a base, as her previous home had met with an unfortunate
end three months previously. So an arrangement had been made.
    Lexy sat up and glanced out of the window. She hadn’t been wrong about that marquee yesterday – some kind of tent village was springing up on the opposite bank, a sea mist rising
rapidly behind it. Obviously a local show of some sort, probably involving home-made jam and peculiarly-shaped vegetables.
    She continued to watch the activities, until the rising swirls of mist began to obscure the bank and blot out