Books with author Anna Browne

Magnolia lane was a pretty suburban street, where very ordinary people lived very ordinary lives. Or so it seemed. Nobody, not even Mrs Wright, an extremely nosy widow from number 12, would suspect there was something strange about the handsome couple, Alan and Patricia Grey, who lived at number 7 with their daughter Sophie. Alan was a stockbroker, and Patricia a freelance illustrator of children’s fantasy books. They didn’t appear to have any family, and except for a couple of friends, nobody ever visited them. They were liked by their neighbors, and always had a friendly smile for everyone. But Alan and Patricia Grey had a secret, which they closely guarded, and were prepared to carry on guarding no matter what the cost, to protect the safety of their daughter. The residents of Magnolia lane had one thing in common: they all took pride in their gardens, meticulously mowing the lawns, and tending to their shrubs and flowerbeds. Dogs digging holes in the lawns were decidedly unwelcome, which was why Mr MacTavish, a retired colonel always walked his Scottish terrier Binky on a leash. You could set the clock by Mr MacTavish. He took his morning walk at precisely 8:30, and his evening walk again at 8:30pm. He never varied, and to anyone’s knowledge had never once missed his walk. This morning he was wearing the blue and red MacTavish tartan pants and cap, and Binky had a little jacket of the same pattern. Patricia Grey, who just finished trimming her rhododendrons, knew it would be exactly 8:33 when she saw Mr MacTavish approaching. ‘Good morning to you Mrs Grey,’ he called, lifting his cap and exposing a shiny bald head. ‘Good morning, Mr MacTavish, are you and your wife well today?’ enquired Patricia. ‘Aye very well, thank you. The missus is looking forward to her tea with Mrs Forbes, been getting prettied up since dawn,’ he winked. Patricia tried to imagine the angular and rather stern Mrs MacTavish getting ‘prettied up’, and smiled at the thought. ‘And how is the young Sophie?’ asked Mr MacTavish. ‘She’s fine, she’s at a horse riding camp, the Prestons are bringing her back this afternoon,’ replied Patricia. ‘She was getting so restless at home.’ ‘Enjoys her riding, does she? Growing to be a lovely girl. Well I must be getting along. Good day to you Mrs Grey!’ called Mr MacTavish, as he crossed the street. Mr MacTavish was fond of Sophie. She was just three when her parents moved to Magnolia lane. She loved animals, and had a way with them. At the age of six she climbed a huge sycamore tree just like a monkey, to rescue Mrs Wright’s cat, which wouldn’t come down. Mr MacTavish was sure she would fall, but down she came, with the cat quiet in her arms. Then there was the time when the Bugley’s vicious Doberman got out, and ran down the street, and there was Sophie, calmly walking up to him and grabbing him by the collar. The beast followed her meekly back to his home, but growled if anyone else came close. Mr MacTavish still shivered at the thought. Patricia spotted Mrs Wright emerging onto her front lawn, her hair in a perfect ‘Marilyn Monroe’ style, held in place by a heavy dose of hair spray. Patricia ducked behind her rhododendron bush making a quick decision to escape the latest gossip. She wanted to finish her work, and be ready when Alan came home. Sophie’s birthday was the next day and they still had to go and collect her present. They decided on a pair of riding boots, and a saddle and bridle, it was all made to order and would be ready today. Patricia, who was a hopeless cook, had also ordered the birthday cake. It sat proudly in the fridge, with thirteen golden candles stuck in the middle. A large crow landed on a tree branch in front of the study window. Patricia looked up from her drawings. The crow’s beady eyes studied her, and she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Last night she dreamed again of the old mansion. She was running down the passage to Sophie’s room ....