THE BRITTANY MURDERS by ANNE PENKETH EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: ANNE PENKETH
- Language: English
- Genre: Small Town & Rural Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
It was 3.20 a.m. and Jennifer was dreaming about food.
She picked up a steaming mug of builder’s brew and inhaled its robust
aroma. In front of her was a slice of moist carrot cake. She scraped off a
strip of the buttercream icing with her finger and licked it off with the tip of
her tongue. It was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, her favourite
comfort food. She picked up a knife to cut into the cake, which was placed
on a granite counter. When she turned and looked up, she saw railings and
the feet of a man and a woman walking along the pavement. At that very
moment of realisation that she was back in their basement kitchen in
London, the knife sliced into her ring finger just as a long shriek pierced the
air.
Jennifer rolled over as the sound travelled through the open window.
She felt unsettled, not knowing why she’d woken. Something wasn’t right.
She blinked, staring up at the ceiling while she adjusted to the dark. Then
her gaze fell onto the familiar shapes of the bedroom furniture, the chunky
wardrobe that they’d bought in a local brocante and the heavy chest of
drawers that had almost defeated their attempts to get it up the stairs. She
switched on the bedside lamp to check that her finger was still intact.
Jonathan grunted beside her and turned towards the darkness.
She lay there, hardly breathing, attentive to the slightest sound. She
listened for footsteps on the wooden staircase. In this remote part of
Brittany her fear of a night-time intruder kept bubbling up. She knew it was
irrational but couldn’t help it. Were the children still safely tucked up in
bed?
She looked across at Jonathan’s back, his lean body curled away from
her under the duvet. The nights were cool in late September and he’d taken
to wearing a crumpled T-shirt and boxer shorts. She had on her winter
pyjamas which Jonathan had once described as “unsexy”. She’d retorted
that they were comfortable, which he seemed to have taken to mean “no sex
please, we’re British”. If it was a strategy, it was working. She sat up on the
edge of the bed and picked up her slippers. As she creeped to the door,
another ghostly cry rang out from outside. It sounded human. Could it be a
neighbour’s child in distress at this time of night? The nearest house was
half a mile away.
She moved to the window and pulled open the curtains gently, so as not
to wake Jonathan. She knew what he’d say. The risk of anything happening
to them was far greater in Hackney than here in the middle of nowhere.
Peering into the darkness, she saw a white shape swooping over the hedge.
The screeching had only been from a barn owl on the hunt. She drew the
curtains again and slipped between the bedsheets.
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