The house remained silent, apart from the background buzz of the central heating.
“I reckon she’s still in bed,” Baz said.
“Yup. Let’s go.” Shell took the lead. When she glanced through the open doorway beside the kitchen, she halted, staring into the darkened room.
“Hey, warn me when you’re gonna do that, would you?” Baz chided, stepping aside so as not to plough into her.
“Oh, crap!” Shell motioned through the door.
Baz followed her gaze. Someone lay on the threshold between the dining room and lounge.
“She’s fallen.” He swallowed.
They hastened to put on their disposable gloves, Shell pausing to turn on the dining room light.
A woman wearing a pink fluffy nightgown and matching slippers was curled on her side, her auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun and a pair of round-lensed spectacles askew on her large, aquiline nose.
Baz crouched beside her and took her hand with care. It chilled his palm.
“Jasmine, can you hear me?” His voice sounded foreign to his ears.
No response.
Pressing his fingertips into the woman’s neck, he felt for a pulse. Nothing.
He held his wrist to her mouth, hoping to feel the faintest tickle of a breath.
Again, nothing.
Pulling aside her robe, he checked for chest movements and froze.
A large kitchen knife protruded from her stomach, sticky blood coating the inside of her gown. He snatched his hand away and leaned back. “She’s dead.”

About the Author

Jes was born, raised and continues to reside in England’s northern city, Kingston Upon Hull. She lives with her mother, eight-year-old daughter and their Abyssinian cat, Petrie.
Growing up, she was inspired by Point Horror stories, Sweet Valley High and anything by K A Applegate, and as an adult she was gripped by the writers Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child, Lee Child and Scott Mariani.
As an advocate of breastfeeding, Jes volunteers for a local trust, assisting mothers to feed their children, in addition to promoting the benefits of human milk to their relatives. She has also taken on a new role at a nearby gymnastics club, a sport she loves to watch if unable to participate in.
A fair warning—don’t get her talking about ancient Egypt or cats, you’ll never get away.
Throughout her adult life, Jes has always been the one persuaded to produce thank you cards, letters of complaint, résumés, advertisements, and much more for family and friends. The constant excuse being, “You know how to write.”

Links To Murder On Call

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