A cooler breeze, a reminder that summer is on the wane, wafts over Bessie’s face. She lays awake in her bed, willing her typewriter to type by itself. She checks her clock radio – 4:05 a.m. It has been a while since Angel Mel first got in touch. She had wrongly assumed he would contact her every night. After all, isn’t he my guardian angel?
After all, isn’t he my guardian angel?Miss Marple looks up at her from the end of the bed where she is curled on a discarded T-shirt. She stares at Bessie for a few moments before stretching her paws in front of her and cradling her head on them again. Eventually, Bessie’s eyes drift closed …
She is on a beautiful sandy beach, walking in bare feet at the edge of the surf. A pelican is drifting on the flat sea not very far out, as if he is observing he
