‘What is Mr Bridgewater is doing? That’s a mighty big bag he’s putting in his boot. And in all this snow too.’
‘It’s a dead body, mum,’ Bailey said, not looking up from his magazine. ‘I told you months ago he’s been killing off the wrinklies in the neighbourhood. But you never listen. He can see you, you know. The light.’
‘Oh.’ She flicked the lamp beside her off.
‘It’s probably Mrs Gillespie, haven’t seen her for a while.’
‘Oh dear, I hope not. The annual neighbourhood watch meeting is next month and she makes the most amazing plum pudding.’