Read The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow for Free Online Page A

were just itching to pick up a length of pipe and beat him senseless with it. All she trusted herself to do was nod, before spinning on her heels and striding away, heading for her only sanctuary, the kitchen. Within seconds the stone walls were filled with the sound of crashing and banging, and it had nothing to do with the two men working upstairs. In her anger, Meli was slamming drawers and cupboards as she tackled the monstrous task of clearing away the breakfast clutter, each time imagining Dick Swindon’s head and sticky out ears were being pummeled and crushed in the process. Her cheeks burned red. No doubt news of her bizarre behaviour would feed the village grapevine for weeks, if not years to come. She’d probably be labelled the Village Idiot.

Chapter 3

    Burnt out, having rampaged through the kitchen like a bushfire, Meli stood back and inspected her handiwork. The kitchen was spotless. It was amazing how a spate of indignation and anger could be channelled into a frantic burst of spit and polish that otherwise would be unachievable. It was a pity it couldn’t be bottled; it would make someone a fortune. Despite this quirky sense of satisfaction, Meli still felt pent up. Opening the French door, she slipped out into the garden. She would have words with Cassie tonight. There was no excuse for not closing the door properly; it was so careless of her. Standing in the shade on the patio she shivered, as a cool westerly wind snatched strands of hair and tried to flick them in her eyes. Ignoring its bothersome antics, she absently reached up and drew her jumper tighter around her neck. She stood that way for a moment, gazing blankly across the lawn towards the tall wall of Leylandii that separated them from their neighbour, lost in thought. Suddenly her skin began to prickle, alerting her that she was being watched.
    Her neck jerked round to the right. Elsa Vitty was standing on the track that ran passed the lodge on its way to the farmhouse, staring at her over the hedge. Meli shuddered, wondering how long Elsa had been watching her, and why. Forcing herself to be neighbourly, Meli raised her hand and gave the old woman a friendly wave. In return, Elsa lifted her walking stick over her head and thrashed it in the air in an alarming imitation of a dumpy Zulu warrior thirsting for blood. Fortunately, the effort of maintaining the gesture quickly became too much and the spear reverted back to its alternative use, as a walking aid. Meli almost grinned. As Elsa turned and hobbled on her way, Meli caught tiny flashes of smoky grey and white through breaks in the hedgerow, as Tabby, as she had come to refer to the skinny moggy, romped along behind her. What an odd pair.
    Remembering her Chelsea Bun her mouth watered. Maybe some refreshments would perk her up. Letting herself back in, Meli filled up the kettle and plugged it in. A nice calming cup of tea would go well with her treat. Lifting her head she glanced up at the ceiling where the light bulb had begun to shudder, agitated by a frantic burst of activity coming from the pipe work overhead. She wasn’t going to offer them a cup of tea. No way, she wouldn’t do it, not after their cheek, coming into her home uninvited and almost turning her grey!
    Snatching a mug from the cupboard she hurled a tea bag at its bottom. The kettle boiled. More sounds overhead. She turned on the radio. Adding milk and sugar to her drink she choked every dreg of tea from the teabag before plopping it into the bin. She took a tentative sip. Thoughts of her earlier behaviour began to churn uncomfortably in her stomach, its unsavoury taste rising up to contaminate her mouth like raw sewage. Had she been unreasonable? There was no one in when they arrived; the door wasn ’t locked; it was an easy mistake for them to assume it had been left open for them. Her lips pressed together tighter than the steel jaws of a German Shepherd being force fed a worming tablet. She knew she was weakening.