A Share in Death

And she felt so at sea with this case—if you could call it a case. How could she dig when she didn’t know what she was digging for? The action lay in Yorkshire and she had no idea whether the disconnected bits of information she turned up were of any use at all.

Lavender Lane seemed deserted, as if all the inhabitants had suddenly packed up and gone to the moon. Not a pram in sight, no children’s bikes or scooters left abandoned in the front gardens. Gemma tried the neighbors either side without success. Of course it must take two wage packets

 

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A share in death 143

 

to pay the mortgages here—all the mums would be out working and the kiddies left with the sitter. She had turned back to the car in disgust when she caught the twitch of a net curtain in the house across the street.

 

The woman who answered Gemma’s ring wore jeans and a tee-shirt, a sticky-faced toddler attached to her hip. “If you’re looking for the Lyles,” she said before Gemma could speak, her eyes alight with curiosity, “they’ve gone on holiday.”

“I know. We’re making some routine inquiries about some things that have happened where they’re holidaying. Do you know them? Perhaps you could help me.”

“Janet’s all right, isn’t she?” The child caught the note of alarm in his mother’s voice and began to fret.

“Mrs. Lyle’s fine, I’m sure, but there have been two unexplained deaths.”

“Unexplained? You mean accidents?” The woman’s arm tightened around the baby and he began to howl in earnest.

“Well, we’re not sure.” Gemma made an effort to pitch her voice over the baby’s din. “That’s why we’re making inquiries. If I could just ask—”

“You’d better come in.” The woman bounced the baby on her hip, saying, “Hush, Malcolm, hush,” then stuck out her free hand to shake Gemma’s. “I’m Helen North.” She gestured toward the back of the house with her head. “Come back to the kitchen. Janet and I are friendly enough when he’s not around,” she said over her shoulder, “and I’d not like anything to happen to her. She’s had a hard enough time as it is, poor dear.”

Gemma followed her, thinking that Helen seemed rather an oldfashioned and elegant name for this rumpled young mother. Helen North seated Gemma at a small table in her bright kitchen, and set the baby down amidst a jumble of plastic blocks. “Here I am forgetting my manners. Would you like a cup of tea?”