According to Dad, there was something that went on in the family, a murder or something like that

Sue Lawrence is a popular novelist as well as a cookery book author. The Night He Left is published by Freight. Down to the Sea, her first historical mystery, was published by Contraband in 2019. Sue’s latest book, The Unreliable Death of Lady Grange, was published in March by Saraband.

The driver continued to stand, listening. “What a grand instrument that is. I love a melodeon.”

Ann shuffled in her seat and pulled her cloak round her.

“She cannot see a thing yet, did you ken, she’s got a gift, sees things no one else can.” He shook his head. “It’s a gift, but she’s still a poor soul.”

“Drive on!” Ann commanded.

As the horse began to trot off, she pulled back the curtain a fraction to see Blind Mattie put down her melodeon, pick up her pipe and put it in her mouth.

Ann watched as she put her other hand behind her onto the window ledge where she felt for the tin can, placing it on the ground in front of her.

The woman looked up, towards the street, as if searching for someone.

Her dead eyes met Ann’s gaze and she felt a chill penetrate her soul.

She slumped back into the seat and pulled the curtain shut.

2015

“Sounds to me like that Debs woman made it all up. She seems like a psycho. Mind you, where would she have got the photo.”

Martha was pulling on her white gloves in the archives room the following morning.

“At least Cressida told you how madly in love he was with you though.”

“Yes, I suppose that was something. She kept saying she couldn’t believe he’d done a runner as he’d told her how blissfully happy he was at his work and at home; he said we were good together.

“Though why he poured his heart out to her I have no idea.”

“Maybe just because they were both into food? Allie’s always telling me about the great chats she has with Claire, that woman she works with. Makes me feel quite jealous sometimes.”

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. She was actually really nice, much nicer than slutty Debs.”

Fiona sat down at her desk and turned on her laptop. “Right, I’m going to get all the stuff out on Sir Thomas Bouch today.

“Did you know there’d been a gale, about the same intensity, in 1853 that sank boats and wrecked houses? Must have been gale force nine or ten, just like in 1879.

“So there was history of bad storms, but he still paid little attention to wind pressure when he designed the bridge.

“Got to find out if he was just plain incompetent or if he was trying some new technique.”

“He certainly doesn’t come out of the tale well, does he?”

“Definitely not, there were a lot of Dundonians who wanted his knighthood stripped, but then he died only a few months after the public inquiry.”

Fiona went over to the bookshelf. “Oh, where can I find out about Dad’s ancestors, M?

“In the 19th Century. According to Dad, there was something that went on in the family, a murder or something.”

Martha looked up from her screen. “Wow, amazing. What sort of date?”

“I’m not sure. Dad’s grandpa told him the story, so the late 19th Century at some point?”

“The Dundee Courier and Argus was the main paper in the city then.

“You’ll find the back copies in the archives room along the hall.”

“Thanks. I’ll see if I’ve got time to nip along in the lunch break. I don’t need to go out, Mum’s made me one of her famous cabbage and peanut butter sandwiches.”

“Your mum’s a hoot.”

Enquiry

“Hmm . . . Anyway, it’s her birthday tomorrow, sixty-five. Big tea party once Jamie’s home from football.

“Why not pop in for cake and a glass of bubbly if you want. Bring Allie?”

“Thanks, Fi. We’re out for dinner tomorrow night, our fifth anniversary. But I’ll nip out and get a card at lunch.”

A couple of hours later, Fiona’s blackberry pinged with an email.

Dear Ms Craig,

Thank you for your enquiry. I am in fact from New Zealand and new in this post so not familiar with local knowledge.

My colleague is currently away but he is due back tomorrow so I will try and find out more then.

Swansea’s not that big, so I’m sure it won’t be difficult. In the meantime, wishing you all the best from Swansea.

Yours sincerely,

Joanna Coles, Librarian, Swansea Library.

Dorothy Craig sat at the kitchen table in front of a pile of presents.

“Open them, Granny. This one first!” Jamie thrust forwards a large present from the top of the pile.

Dorothy smiled and put it on her lap. “Jamie, the wrapping’s lovely.

“I don’t really want to open it. Did you wrap it yourself?”

Jamie nodded, grinning.

“Takes after his artistic dad, of course he did, Mum.”

Dorothy peeled off the paper and lifted out two pictures, both with purple wooden frames. She gazed at them and sighed.

“Jamie, these are beautiful, I love them. What a talented boy!”

Jamie pointed to one of them.

“I did this ages ago, but Mum thought you’d like one of the bridge from your bedroom.

“If I did it now, I’d do Fife better, it looks all flat. I’d draw more hills now.”

“But it’s great, you’ve drawn the old columns where the old bridge stood too.”

Talented

Dorothy looked at up at her husband, who was peering over her shoulder.

“What d’you think, Pa? Look at the detail.”

“I think it’s his grandfather as well as his father he takes after, what a hugely talented artist. “Look at the precise lines of that bridge!” He poured more bubbly into the glasses on the table.

“And this picture of the house is amazing. Look, you’ve got the gravel path and the gate and the windows all just right. “

“And the pillars, Jamie. Remember I told you what they’re called?”

“Iconic, Pa.”

Struan guffawed. “Nearly, Jamie. Ionic.” He patted Jamie’s head. “The lad’s learning well.”

Dorothy peered closer. “Goodness, you’ve even got the magnolia tree in it, with the flowers out. And what’s that behind the tree?”

“A summer house. Pa said there used to be one there and there was a gap in the picture so I put it in.”

Dorothy frowned. “What?”

More tomorrow.