|Three Mile Drove (standard:mystery, 348 words)|
|Author: Brian Cross||Added: May 30 2002||Views/Reads: 2536/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Prologue to a completed novel featuring kidnap and murder.|
The washing machine was grinding through its task with a tumult more akin to a pneumatic drill, driving mental rivets into Myra Bentley's besieged head as she struggled with the assortment of pots and pans cluttering the sink. Somewhere outside, on a cool October day her daughter Emma was playing. Myra had wrapped her up well and warned her not to stray, because when she'd finally finished her never-ending chores she would make Sunday lunch. She turned in annoyance to the washing machine. The bloody noise seemed to be getting even louder. There was no doubt in her mind that the age old machine was going to blow soon and where would she find the money to replace it? A surge of anger took her back in time, cursing the day she'd met Bob Freeman, her common law husband. It was ironic now that she couldn't understand what she'd first seen in him. He had been an overweight, work-shy slob, had been and always would be. It was a year to this very day that he'd walked out and she'd discovered he'd left her with a mountain of bills that resembled a scale model of Snowdon, with no prospect of getting back on her feet. Oh the bloody machine was so noisy she felt she could physically demolish it! She should have been able to see her daughter playing on the flat area of dark soil that seemed to unfold like a drab, black carpet from the kitchen window, she might perhaps have heard her footsteps on the makeshift gravel path that bordered it. She might even have heard the brief, pathetic scream that broke the air for a second before dying wretchedly away, and if she had been outside she would certainly have smelled the nauseating, acrid stench that swept across the isolated yard in permeating waves. That she experienced none of these things was due to the gathering variety of problems which enclosed her like a mental strait-jacket. Only later, when she wearily called Emma for lunch, did Myra Bentley realise that something was very wrong. Tweet
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