The Attic Room: A psychological thriller Read Online Free Page B

had
been missing since her grandmother’s death. It was great to hear her so bright
again, though Nina knew that no-one grieved in a straight line. She herself
could be almost content one minute, and then the senselessness of Claire’s
death would hit her yet again. Thank God she was never further than a phone
call away if Naomi needed her. Permanent accessibility had its advantages.
     
     
    It was well before seven when Nina awoke the next morning.
The curtains in her bedroom didn’t quite meet in the middle, and sunlight
slanting through trees in next door’s garden was creating flickering shadows on
the wall beside her bed. She watched them for a few seconds, then stretched
luxuriously and swung her feet to the floor. Parquet, no less, though a rug for
her toes would have been nice. But never mind, it was a beautiful morning and
even John Moore’s dreary décor looked better when the sun was shining.
    Returning to the house after breakfast, she ran up to the
airing cupboard for a couple of towels for the downstairs loo. Heavens, by the looks
of things John Moore hadn’t splashed out on towels since the nineteen eighties;
these were all either threadbare or stiff as boards. What on earth had the man
spent his money on? Nina grabbed two of the least ancient ones and was turning
for the stairs again when the attic doorway caught her eye. Eight or nine steps
above, it was set in the middle of a little landing, a solid, wooden door
painted dingy white, a raised T-shaped panel on the lower part.
    Nina stood motionless, staring at the door. That T-shape…
what was it reminding her of? Something was jumping up and down just beyond
memory, and she couldn’t pinpoint it. Nina shivered, and ran on downstairs. It
couldn’t be anything important, an old door…
    Sam’s documents in the study were all bank-related, apart
from receipts for medication that John Moore had bought online. He’d worried
about his thinning hair, apparently, and was prone to heartburn. A lump came
into Nina’s throat as she leafed through them, sorting the photos into a
separate pile. How pitiful it all felt. Poor sick John Moore, with no-one to
care.
    Now for the photos. She took them to the window where the
light was better, dismayed that most were of places, not people. Two she put
aside to look at again. One showed a woman and a small boy standing in a
doorway, too far away to be recognisable, but maybe a magnifying glass would
help with that. The other was a terraced house with a tiny patch of grass in
front, the same small boy and a cat sitting on the garden wall.
    Nina shrugged – these wouldn’t help solve the mystery. But
surely there must be more photos – Sam had been searching the desk, so these
were probably floating around the drawers, as photos had a habit of doing.
There could be albums somewhere too, and John Moore might have kept more recent
images in his computer. According to the receipts there must be one somewhere.
    She stared round the study. There was no computer in sight,
but between the windows was a rather nice secretaire and when she opened the
cupboard part underneath, lo and behold there was a laptop. Great – if she
could get on the internet here it would make life much easier. Sending emails
with her phone was plain fiddly.
    Happier, Nina went to see if the kitchen would reward her
find with a hot drink. A rummage through the food cupboard produced a packet of
coffee well within its sell-by date, and the two cartons of long-life milk on
the bottom shelf were okay too. She rinsed the old-fashioned filter machine and
set it brewing.
    The smell made the kitchen seem more homelike, and Nina
checked the remaining cupboards while she was waiting. There was a large
selection of plates and glasses, but no perishables anywhere and the fridge was
switched off. John Moore must have known he would never come back here. Did
someone help him clear the kitchen, or had he done it himself? Dear God, what a
depressing thought that