LAST RITES. Neil White

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Название LAST RITES
Автор произведения Neil White
Жанр Зарубежные детективы
Серия
Издательство Зарубежные детективы
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007322725



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Chapter Thirty-nine

       Chapter Forty

       Chapter Forty-one

       Chapter Forty-two

       Chapter Forty-three

       Chapter Forty-four

       Chapter Forty-five

       Chapter Forty-six

       Chapter Forty-seven

       Chapter Forty-eight

       Chapter Forty-nine

       Chapter Fifty

       Chapter Fifty-one

       Chapter Fifty-two

       Chapter Fifty-three

       Chapter Fifty-four

       Chapter Fifty-five

       Chapter Fifty-six

       Chapter Fifty-seven

       Chapter Fifty-eight

       Chapter Fifty-nine

       Chapter Sixty

       Chapter Sixty-one

       Chapter Sixty-two

       Chapter Sixty-three

       Chapter Sixty-four

       Chapter Sixty-five

       Chapter Sixty-six

       Chapter Sixty-seven

       Chapter Sixty-eight

       Chapter Sixty-nine

       Chapter Seventy

       Chapter Seventy-one

       Chapter Seventy-two

       Chapter Seventy-three

       Chapter Seventy-four

       Chapter Seventy-five

       Chapter Seventy-six

       Chapter Seventy-seven

       Chapter Seventy-eight

       Chapter Seventy-nine

       Chapter Eighty

       Chapter Eighty-one

       Chapter Eighty-two

       Chapter Eighty-three

       Chapter Eighty-four

       Chapter Eighty-five

       Chapter Eighty-six

       Chapter Eighty-seven

       Chapter Eighty-eight

       Chapter Eighty-nine

       Chapter Ninety

       Chapter Ninety-one

       Chapter Ninety-two

       Chapter Ninety-three

       Chapter Ninety-four

       Chapter Ninety-five

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       By the Same Author

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      Abigail Hobbs looked up and shivered as she opened the door to her stone cottage. The wind was blowing hard from the west, October ending with a snarl, the first bad mood of winter. It roared along the sides of Pendle Hill, a huge mound of millstone grit covered in grass and heather. The hill dominated the surroundings, dark and gloomy, and kept the sunlight from her windows. She pulled her coat to her chest and flipped the collar to her ears. She was too old for mornings like this.

      ‘Tibbs? Tibbs?’

      She couldn't find her cat, a grey British Shorthair, all smile and floppy paws. He was always there when she woke, waiting on her windowsill, blinking at her. But not that morning.

      ‘Tibbs?’

      She looked around. Still nothing. Her voice wasn't as strong as it had once been,