Driven to it

Book 0: Briefcases

by Andrea Frazer

Genres: Short Stories; Cozy Mystery; Police Procedurals; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

The fifth of a series of short stories covering the elapsed time between the books in the Falconer Files series. Abigail Wentworth is looking forward to her reunion lunch with Alison Fairweather. They are old schoolfriends who met twice a year, usually for Alison to dish the dirt on the others they had known when they were younger ? and for Abigail to gloat over their `inferior? circumstances, in comparison to her own respectable existence. During one such lunch, though, Abigail recognizes a face from the past ? and from that moment onward, her life skids completely out of control ?

Release date: February 6, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 35

Sample

Friday 26th November 2010 – lunchtime

Mrs Abigail Wentworth capped her lipstick, fluffed up her tinted beige curls, and looked at herself in the mirror. Sadly, it was still her mother’s face that looked back at her, but as there is no escape from that cruel beast, Anno Domini, she merely picked up her perfume atomiser and sprayed herself generously with a fine flower-scented mist. She was as ready as she could be for lunch with her old schoolfriend, Alison Fairweather, who would be visiting Market Darley that day for their annual luncheon in the town.

Although they didn’t live very far apart geographically, their lives were so different that this meeting was one of only two that took place each year, the other being in a hotel or restaurant in the vicinity of Alison’s home. Thus they hadn’t seen each other for six months, and Abigail wanted to look her absolute best, to show that she wasn’t ageing as fast as her friend. It was a matter of pride to her that she appeared just that little bit more youthful than Alison.

Scrutinising herself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door, she thought how well she had retained her figure over the years, whereas Alison had allowed her body first to swell, then to sag, as the years took their toll. Well, there was nothing about Abigail’s body that a well-made corset couldn’t set to rights, and she had one of these on for today’s luncheon. Although it wouldn’t allow her to eat much, it did ensure that she could get into a dress a size smaller than she wore on a day-to-day basis, and this pleased her enormously.

Having not grown much heavier with the years, it meant she was also still able to walk in relatively high heels, and this, of course, would emphasize the difference in their builds. Alison always wore trainers these days, something that Abigail wouldn’t be seen dead in. At least she hadn’t let herself go over the years and still tried to retain a little grace and elegance, particularly when she was to see her old friend.

She particularly looked forward to these six-monthly lunch meetings with Alison, as it always brought news of other old school chums. They had all started on a level playing field at St Hilda’s, but the winds of life had scattered them in completely different directions, and Abigail revelled in the fact that so many of them had failed to reach their true potential.

Sally Carter had screwed up big-time, producing five illegitimate children one after the other, and all with different fathers. At school, she had been the romantic, and fell in love at the drop of a hat. As far as Abigail had been informed, she now lived in some sort of hippie commune, amongst all the other dross of the late sixties that had never adapted to the conventions and responsibilities of adult life. Alison said that, even at her advancing years, she still wore flowing kaftans and numerous strings of beads, and plaited her hair in the hope that what sparse growth. . .