Skip to main content

Stranger - C. L. Taylor

Chapter 1

Alice
Alice Fletcher has never seen a dead body before. She always imagined they’d look peaceful: their skin slackened, their muscles  softened and their mouths settled, not into a smile exactly, but  a loose, contented line. Alice Fletcher was wrong. The body lying motionless at her feet looks nothing li. ke the soothing mental  
image she’s been carrying around with her for the last forty-six years; the mouth is open, the jaw is hinged into a silent scream  and the glassy, lifeless eyes are staring into the distance, some- where beyond the toes of her sensible court shoes.  
Alice isn’t aware of the frantic pounding of her heart, the heavy-duty lino beneath her feet or the steel-grey shutter that  
separates her from the rest of the world. Nor is she conscious of the people around her. She doesn’t notice when the tall hulking  woman to her left takes a step closer. She doesn’t see the sweat  
patches under the armpits of Ursula’s pale blue sweatshirt or the way her hands are shaking, one fingernail torn away leaving behind a raggedy nail bed, tinged with blood. She isn’t aware  
of Gareth’s laboured breathing or the bruise blooming on his jaw.  
An anguished scream from across the shop snaps Alice back into herself. There are other sounds too: whispering, sobbing  
and ‘Oh God, oh God’ repeated over and over again. And then there’s the pain, the deep, nauseating ache that radiates up her  
arm and across her shoulder to her neck. Alice clutches at her arm, her fingers sliding over the warm, wet polyester sleeve of  
her blouse. But it’s not the blood that makes her stomach lurch and her legs weaken. There’s a dead body at her feet and her  
nightmare isn’t over yet.
‘I need my phone,’ she mutters. ‘I have to find my phone.’ ‘Where are you going?’ Ursula shouts as Alice stumbles away  
and the frantic wail of a siren drifts through the open window.
‘The police are coming. What do we tell them when they get here?’ 
Alice turns slowly, her gaze returning to the corpse. She looks at it for a second, two, three, then draws an exhausted, raggedy  breath and raises her eyes.  ‘ We say it was self-defence.’

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Slow Lane Walkers Club - Rosa Temple

  Buy Here This is my first book by Rosa Temple and it won't be my last.  I was a bit unsure when I started it. However I loved it.  Its not often I finish a book and end up hugging it because I loved it so much.  The characters were great, Hazel is amazing. She reminds me of an old family friend who never gives up no matter what. Daniel is a kind lad who I think is slightly misunderstood when he arrives back in Cornwall.  Their relationship is fantastic, one you can only dream about having with your grandmas friend.  This book is one big giant hug and it's exactly what I needed at the time of reading. Once you start you dont want to stop.  Best book of the year so far! 

Mimic - Daniel Cole

  Buy Here Having previously read Daniel coles books I was looking forward to this stand alone novel. It packs a punch right from the word go and it doesn't let up throughout the book. So many murders and so many what ifs.... And what an earths?!  I liked Chambers and Winter as detectives and their relationship that they had. They never lost charm even if there was a 7 year break in the book for them. They picked up exactly where they left off.  The book was very clever in the way that the murders took part. It was all a work if art. And don't worry if you are like me and aren't sure what they are there are paintings in the book to help you incase you cannot visual it. Great read. 

The Puritan Princess - Miranda Malins

Buy Here PROLOGUE  30 JANUARY 1661 We stand together, shoulder to shoulder, skirt to skirt, like a chain of paper dolls, come to see our father’s execution. Our hoods are pulled low over our faces although, in truth, few in the crowd would recognise us without our finery: we grace no coins, no medals or prints, and it is hardly likely any of them would have seen our portraits hanging, as they had, in the palaces of Whitehall and Hampton Court.  A frosted blast of wind whips around my cloak and sends the three nooses hanging from the gallows before me swinging as if the condemned men already danced their deaths. I stare at the gibbet in blank horror. It is a terrible thing, vast and three-sided like a triangle, designed, Father once told me, to hold twenty-four souls at a time.  ‘Why did it have to be here?’ I speak sideways to my sisters. It is somehow worse, much worse, that this is happening at Tyburn, the dirty, eerie crossroads outside London where they hang common fe...