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Dying Fall

Dying Fall

Titel: Dying Fall Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Elly Griffiths
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its black sails intact. Clayton’s home had been a wonder of glass and exposed wood, old and new artfully combined, with a minstrel’s gallery and an observatory at the top, where the sails had been. How could a professor in a failing department afford a home like that? Ruth wishes there was someone she could ask. Not for the first time, she imagines chatting to Dan about his colleagues, forgetting that if Dan were here she wouldn’t be.
    Her phone bleeps. Probably Cathbad, wondering where they are. Kate runs up to her and Ruth hoists her onto her hip, clicking on Messages with her free hand.
    But it’s not Cathbad. It’s her mystery friend again.
    ‘
If u know what’s good for you
,’ runs the text, ‘
stay away from the bones
.’
    Ruth stands still for so long that Kate becomes bored and scrambles down. Is this message from someone who was at the party? Someone who, only a few hours ago,she was chatting to by the bouncy castle? How many people know that she’s going to see the bones on Monday? What
is
the mystery about Dan’s discovery? Something or someone is responsible for Dan’s fears, Clayton’s bluster, maybe even Elaine’s tears. But what or who? She knows she should ring Nelson. Someone is threatening her and, by implication, Kate. But she shrinks from Nelson knowing that she has followed him to Lancashire. The texter is probably just a nutcase. None of the preening figures at the barbeque struck her as dangerous exactly. Nevertheless, she shivers in the mild evening air and, gathering up her daughter, walks home without looking back.

CHAPTER 13
    Sunday in Lytham has a beguiling, Fifties feel to it. Cathbad, Ruth and Kate stroll in the park, eating ice creams and watching the world go by. Pensioners are playing bowls and children are shrieking from the swings. They walk past brilliantly clashing flowerbeds and a curious metal fountain in the shape of a man holding what looks like a rake.
    ‘Funny, isn’t it,’ Cathbad says. ‘Sunday has a different atmosphere from other days, even if you don’t go to church.’
    ‘I know what you mean,’ says Ruth. She has noticed this herself, even in her house where the only sign of the Lord’s Day is the omnibus edition of
The Archers
. She thinks of her parents, who will often spend all of Sunday in church. It seemed a joyless thing to her when she was growing up, but lately, she has been thinking more charitably about her parents’ faith. It keeps them off the streets at any rate.
    ‘Did you go to church as a child?’ she asks Cathbad as they stop at a cafe overlooking the bowling green. Cathbad orders tea for himself and Ruth. He still looks slightly delicate after yesterday. Ruth wipes Kate’s face and hands. She even has ice cream on her neck.
    ‘Of course I did,’ he says. ‘I was brought up in Ireland and we all went to Mass every Sunday.’
    ‘I’d forgotten you were Irish,’ says Ruth. The tea comes in a proper pot with thick china cups.
    ‘I’m Celtic through and through,’ says Cathbad. After a pause he says, ‘She was a great character, my mammy. I wish you could have met her. I thought of her when Pendragon was telling us about Dame Alice.’
    ‘Why?’ asks Ruth, surprised. Kate, who loves the word, repeats ‘Pendragon’ in a whisper.
    Cathbad grins. ‘In olden days Mam would have been called a witch. Oh, she was a good Catholic but she thought you could mix praying to the Virgin with making spells and no harm done. Everyone knew if you had a problem Bridget Malone was the person you went to.’
    ‘Is she still alive?’ asks Ruth. It’s funny but she has never thought of asking Cathbad about his family. She has never really thought of him as having a family.
    ‘No.’ Cathbad looks away, towards the white-coated figures on the green. ‘She died when I was sixteen.’
    ‘What about your dad?’
    ‘I never knew him. Mam never talked about him. Of course, that was a real scandal in our village, Bridget Malone having a baby with no man in sight. But shetoughed it out, never said a word about it, just went about her business as usual. My gran was a big support to her, I know. She was another amazing woman. I lived with her after Mam died – before I went away to college.’
    No wonder you like the company of women, thinks Ruth. She knew that Cathbad did a chemistry degree (presumably in Ireland) and then went on to study archaeology at Manchester under Erik. At some point he acquired a daughter. Beyond that, he

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