Distraction

Chapter One

Too tired to bother with the glass of elderflower wine she'd promised herself, Margaret hung up her coat and pottered upstairs.

'Night, Hyssop,' she said to the tabby cat curled up on the landing.

He flicked an ear.

With the full moon illuminating her bedroom, Margaret padded across the room, humming as she unfastened her pendant and dropped it into its silver bowl. But the pendant hit wood. The bowl wasn't there.

Hyssop, the little imp, must've knocked it to the floor again. Stepping back, she glanced around, expecting to see the bowl but instead, lying in the shadows, were the worthless trinkets she kept in her jewellery box. She grabbed the pendant and clutched it to her chest.

Had she been burgled?

With shaky hands, she flicked on a lamp and tugged open the dresser drawer, suppressing a sob when she saw nothing more than rifled through knickers. Her diamond earrings were gone. A burglar, nothing but a common little thief, had stolen her earrings. They, along with the emerald pendant, were the only pieces of jewellery she had worth wearing, irreplaceable gifts from her only love.

Don't cry, Maggie. Don't let a bloody little hoodie who thinks they can help themselves to other people's property make you cry.

Raising her chin and taking a slow breath, she let anger kick aside the threatening tears. Now, she'd have to ring the police and wait up, just to have them treat her like a doddering old fool and lecture her for not locking the back door. Of course, if they had the odd copper patrolling the streets once in a while, she wouldn't need to. In the hallway, she paused, shaking her head at Hyssop.

And you're a useless guard-cat.

A floorboard creaked. What was that? Margaret's stomach contracted and she held her breath as she turned to the spare room. A dark figure stood silhouetted against the moonlight.

Get out. Run. Scream.

But she couldn't. Margaret shrank back against the wall, her heart racing, her legs rigid.

Oh please, no. Take the jewellery.

She held out the pendant but the burglar stepped forwards, hands on hips, tutting in disapproval. Margaret had made a terrible mistake. This was no hoodie.

'Why won't you just die, you stupid old cow?'

Margaret lurched towards the stairs, treading on Hyssop. He hissed and darted between her legs, tripping her. She screamed, flailing as she tried to grasp at the handrail, doorframe, anything to steady herself but two firm hands pressed hard against her back. Margaret tumbled down the steep cottage stairs and landed in an undignified tangle on the tiled floor, banging her head but feeling surprisingly little pain. How many times had Zoe said not to let Hyssop sleep on the landing?

Now that's what I'd call ironic, Miss Morissette.

Margaret closed her eyes.

*

After tugging the emerald pendant from Maggie's fingers, the thief paused, watching for signs of life. It was an unnecessary task. No one could survive with that much blood oozing out of their skull. Or with their neck at forty-five degrees to their body.

'Ding dong, the witch is dead.'

♥♥♥ Author's Note ♥♥♥

So there aren't too many chick lit books that open with a good old murder, right? Now we've met the witch, we'd better meet the ballerina and the vet...

Please don't forget to Vote!

♥♥♥ Happy Reading ♥♥♥