"Gill, B.M. - Nursery Crimes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gill B M)

Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

She's blonde, beautiful and she kills people. Her first victim is little Willie, drowned in a goldfish pond. Evans the Breadman is next.

Zanny Moncrief is six years old....

Frantically her parents despatch her to the local convent for the good of her soul. Once there, even Zanny isn't tempted to kill anyone. Until, that is, unrequited love for the gardener, Murphy, rekindles all her old murderous inclinations.

B.M. Gill

Nursery Crimes




One



When she was quite sure that Willie was dead Zanny began to scream. She screamed shrilly and with all her might. In all her six years she had never screamed so loud. Even the goldfish were scared. They swam around Willie's submerged yellow head like aquatic dancers caught off-beat.

One frantically nibbled the lobe of Willie's ear before Zanny pushed it away with the toe of her sandal.

She climbed out of the goldfish pond, wet to the armpits, and roared lustily once more, her face upturned to the sky. Spitfires returning to base waggled a victory roll as they burst through cream cumulus, their engines making a staccato racket as if noise were released in small explosive quantities. Temporarily silenced, Zanny watched the squadron depart. Daddy flew aeroplanes, too. Bigger than those. Daddy flew bombers. She began screaming again. For Mummy.

Clare Moncrief was in bed with the local doctor when Zanny's screams shattered the post-coital calm.

Usually she and Peter made love when Zanny and the two little evacuees from Birmingham -- Dolly and her brother, Willie -- were off the premises in the infants school down in the village. But today was a holiday and the children were spending the morning in the garden, playing peacefully. Until now.

"It seems," she said, hurriedly pulling on her clothes, "that my daughter needs me."

"Rather urgently," Doctor Tolliston agreed, suppressing his annoyance. He had three children of his own and knew how to interpret the varying degrees of vocalised distress.

He was the first to arrive at the goldfish pond, but Clare was the first to look in.

"Dear God!" she gasped.

Later that day Graham Moncrief arranged compassionate leave from his air base and arrived home in Wales at seven o'clock. Zanny heard him going into Dolly's bedroom and then, after spending some time with her, he came into hers.

She was delighted to see him. "Hi, Daddy!"

"Hi, Zanny!"

He kissed her and she twined her arms around him and hugged him.

"Mummy said you were coming. I stayed awake specially. You shouldn't have gone to see Dolly first. I love you. Love you. Love you!"

Graham released himself gently and sat beside her on the bed. How in hell, he wondered, was he to broach this most appalling subject and keep relatively calm? The knowledge that Clare, sick with worry, was waiting downstairs while he tried to find the truth of the horrendous business, didn't help. The truth might not be desirable. Quite the reverse. So why seek it? But he must.

"Dolly is very sad about her brother's accident, darling. We all are." He did a little careful probing. "When little boys of four fall into ponds - shallow ponds - they usually get out again. I wonder why Willie didn't?"