Dan woke up early after a fitful night. His bedroom had been too hot and far too airless to allow for proper sleep. And anyway, his tired mind had refused to rest. Recent events had replayed in a muddle of half-dreams, disjointed sequences running over and over like some angst-ridden experimental film. He’d tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on pleasant memories. But a devilish part of his subconscious had needled him all night, urging him to untangle the mystery of Mortimer Gamble’s death, to solve the problem, to help his friend.
And Dan recognised the signs: the broken night, the restlessness, the sense of impending failure. This was how he’d felt in the long weeks before he’d lost his job in the City. Back then, he’d spent his days wired on caffeine but unable to concentrate, his wits stretched tight like wires pulled to breaking point. His nights had been lost to dark imaginings, scattered dreams shot through with fragments of unspoken fear. Eventually, day and night had merged into perpetual gloom, and he’d frittered the minutes away until they’d turned into hours, hamstrung by indecision, uncertain at every turn.
He couldn’t go down that path. Not again. He had to break free from anxiety’s oppressive gravity before it took him spiralling down. Before it was too late.
I need to go for a run, he told himself. I need to go right now. He climbed out of bed, but somehow he didn’t want to run on his own, didn’t want to be alone with his demons. If he waited just a little while, he might be able to persuade Alan to come with him.
By seven o’clock, Dan’s patience had reached its limit. He made his way across the alley, letting himself into the garden at the rear of Alan’s house and taking the short path to the back door. But he didn’t knock.
Perhaps Alan wouldn’t be awake, perhaps he’d be annoyed at being disturbed at this hour. There was only one way to find out. Dan rapped his knuckles on the wooden door, and a minute later, Alan appeared, wearing a dressing gown and slippers, a mug of tea in his hand. “Dan, what’s up? Everything all right?”
“Fine. Have you eaten yet?”
“No, I was just about to.”
“Don’t,” Dan said. “We’re going for a run.”
“Are we?”
“Yes. Can I come in? I’ll wait while you get ready.”
“You can come in,” Alan replied. “But I don’t know about going for a run. I’ve hardly had time to wake up.” Alan shambled back into his kitchen, calling out, “I’m making toast. Would you like some?”
Dan followed. “No thanks. Wait. Yes, maybe just one piece. I shouldn’t really, but if you’re having some…”
“All right. Coming up.” Alan busied himself at the counter, sawing at a large loaf with a bread knife then posting the thick slices into his cheerfully red toaster. He stowed the loaf in a wooden bread bin, brushed the crumbs from the breadboard into the palm of his hand, and once he’d stood the board neatly on its edge, he headed for the door.
“Where are you going now?” Dan asked.
Alan stopped in his tracks, turning to study Dan. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to put these crumbs out for the birds. I think you’d better sit down and take a minute. Otherwise, no toast, and definitely no run.”
Alan continued with his task and, chastened, Dan did as he was told, sitting down and watching as Alan shuffled outside. He looks even more tired than me, Dan thought. This business with Mortimer must be playing on his mind. When Alan came back in, Dan said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so…” He waved his hand in the air.
“So you?” Alan smiled. “No worries. It’s these hot nights; they make everyone fractious. I hardly slept a wink.”
“It wasn’t just me then.”
“No.” Alan placed a jar of honey and a plastic tub of spread on the table. “Don’t worry, the spread is dairy free. And that’s not Marjorie’s honey. I found it at the back of the cupboard, and if memory serves, I bought it from the village shop.”
“Ah, the legendary shop. I haven’t sampled its hidden treasures.”
“Oh, but you must go,” Alan said. “If we don’t support it, we’ll lose it.”
“I have tried, several times, but whenever I get there, it seems to be closed.”
Alan nodded wisely as he placed a plate of toast in front of Dan. “The opening hours are somewhat erratic. It’s best to try it early in the mornings. There’s a young woman who keeps the place running almost single-handedly, and she’s there most mornings. In the afternoons, Gary is supposed to take over. He owns the shop, but he’s also a keen fisherman. As the day wears on, he loses interest in cans of beans and pots of instant noodles, so he heads for the coast and his boat. Still, if you get to know him, he might offer you a few mackerel. You won’t find fresher.”
“Good to know.” Taking a knife from the cutlery holder on the table, Dan applied some spread to his toast and took a bite, chewing enthusiastically. “I skipped the honey, but this bread is good. Is that from the shop too?”
Alan looked quietly pleased. “I made it myself. It’s not difficult once you know how, and living out here, it’s easier than going to the supermarket.”
“What about supporting the village shop?”
“You’ve got me there,” Alan admitted. “They do sell bread, although they have a tendency to run out of the good stuff. But to be honest, I really enjoy making bread. It’s very therapeutic. You should try it. I can give you the recipe.”
“Thanks. I might give it a try.” Dan munched the last of his toast, then brushing his hands together, he said, “About this run. I’ve figured out a new loop.”
“Oh good,” Alan said, his voice heavy with reluctance.
“It’s an easy route,” Dan went on. “We take the public footpath past the spoil heaps, pass Marjorie’s house, then we take the lane that leads back to the village. The whole route is roughly five K, and according to my app, it’s mainly level, so no problem.”
Alan scratched his jaw. “Mainly is the operative word. There’s a steep hill along that lane.”
“Then we’ll take that part a bit slower. Come on, it’ll do you good.”
Alan grunted under his breath. “Define good.” He held up his hand. “I take that back. Whatever you do, please don’t start a lecture on the benefits of cardiovascular exercise. I give in.”
“You’ll come?”
“Yes. You’ll have to give me a few minutes. My running gear is… well, to tell the truth, I’ve no idea where I left it. I think it might still be in the wash.”
Dan smiled. “Is that what your pupils used to say when they wanted to get out of PE lessons? I bet it didn’t work when they tried it. Am I right?”
“No comment.” Alan marched from the room, and a moment later, Dan heard him trudging up the stairs.
They almost made it to the end of the public footpath before Alan jogged to a halt, his hand pressed against his side. “Hold on a sec,” he said between gasps. “Stitch.”
Dan nodded. “We’ll walk for a bit. Try touching your toes. Remember what I said about the—”
“Yes, I know all about the blood supply to my diaphragm, thank you.” Alan threw his head back, gasping for air, and he staggered toward the gate that marked the end of the path.
Dan followed at a respectful distance. Alan’s prickly moments never lasted long, he was too good natured for that, but at times, he needed to be given some room. That’s what happens when you live in a place like this, Dan thought. Will I end up the same way if I stay here long enough?
In London, Dan had grown used to the idea of space as a luxury: something to be enjoyed on a walk through the park on a Sunday. Yes, he loved the excitement of bustling streets, the sense of energy, the idea that there was always something happening. But he’d rarely stopped to consider what it meant to live in proximity to so many people. He’d accepted that he must travel pressed shoulder to shoulder with his fellow city-dwellers, breathing the same stale air in the underground, squeezing past each other in the rush to gain a prime position on the platform, dodging through crowds to catch a connection, hail a taxi or leap aboard a bus.
Here, surrounded by acres of empty countryside, it was the other way around. Space was a given, but the company of others was a luxury to be savoured from time to time, and best taken in small doses. Dan took a deep breath of sweet air and smiled to himself as he followed Alan through the gate. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to grow accustomed to this way of life. It wouldn’t be so bad at all.
Alan cast an appraising glance in Dan’s direction. “I know why you’re smiling.”
“I very much doubt it.”
“You were thinking I shouldn’t have had that second piece of toast.” Alan stifled a belch. “And to be honest, I’m starting to think you were right.”
“I wasn’t going to lecture you. We can walk for a minute if you like.”
“Fair enough.” They ambled across the road, passing the entrance to Marjorie’s garden. “That reminds me,” Alan said, nodding toward a pair of plastic crates at the roadside. “I must put my recycling out. They’ll be coming for it this afternoon.”
Dan halted, staring. “Look at that.”
“What?” Alan moved closer to the crates, peering inside. “Oh yes. She must’ve had a clear out.”
Dan stooped to pluck a glass jar from the crate, holding it up to the light. “There must be thirty jars in here and all completely clean. She washed them out then threw them away.”
“Yes. You’re meant to rinse them out. It helps with the recycling.”
“Alan, this jar wasn’t just rinsed out; it’s been scrubbed clean. Does Marjorie strike you as the kind of woman to throw away so many perfectly good jars?”
“No,” Alan admitted. “If anything, I’d have her down as a hoarder of bottles and jars and the like. But she must’ve had a good reason.” His lips formed an O. “You think she’s getting rid of the evidence. The toxin from the honey.”
Dan nodded, then he gave the jar an experimental sniff. “Bleach. If she wanted to hide her tracks, she’s done a good job. I doubt whether a forensic expert could glean much from these.”
“You’re not still thinking she might’ve poisoned the old man deliberately, are you?”
“It’s unlikely, I know, but I wish there was some way we could be sure.” Dan looked across Marjorie’s yard. “I wonder where she keeps the hives.”
“Stop right there,” Alan said. “You can try raiding a hive if you really want to, but there’s no way I’m doing battle with a swarm of angry bees.”
“But if we just had some honey to test, it would make it easier to see if we’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You mean, we could eliminate Marjorie from our inquiries,” Alan intoned. “Honestly, Dan, you’re going too far. We’re not the police. There’s only so much we can do.”
“But that’s the frustrating thing. We have to do more. Spiller is never going to get very far. He was here for an hour at most, then off he went to type up his reports. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole investigation has been rubber-stamped already. No further action, that’s what they’ll say. No admissible evidence, no witnesses, no real motive. Nothing.”
“Even so,” Alan began, but Dan didn’t let him finish.
“And anyway, I want to help,” Dan said. “I know this is serious, and ordinarily I wouldn’t get involved. But as long as this remains unsolved, you’ll have a cloud of suspicion hanging over you, and you’re putting a brave face on it, but I can see what it’s doing to you.”
Alan’s expression fell. “Really?”
“Yes.” Dan took a breath, exhaling slowly. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but you’re not just tired, Alan; you’re all in. You look defeated, ready to give up. So let me help you. Between us, if we keep trying, I’m sure we can piece this together.”
Alan held his gaze for a second. “All right. I must admit, it was starting to get to me. I was thinking it over last night, and it all felt a bit hopeless. We don’t seem to be getting anywhere, but we’ll give it another shot.” A brief smile lit his features. “After all, who better to get me out of a tight spot than a troubleshooter? I just hope you’re not intending to send me a bill.”
Dan laughed. “Believe me, if I did, you couldn’t afford it.”
“Well, shall we head back to the village?” Alan asked. “My stitch has gone, and I reckon I’m ready to run the rest of the way.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
On the way back into the village, Alan halted by a crossroads, breathing hard. “Which way?”
“We turn right here. It’s an easy stretch, then we’ll be home.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d like to make a detour. If we go down here and then take a left, it makes the run a bit longer, but we can go past the shop.”
Dan shrugged. “Yeah. It’s no problem for me, but are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Definitely. I’ve got my second wind.” Alan grinned. “Plus, if we call in at the shop, I can stock up on supplies. All this pounding the tarmac has given me an appetite. I’m famished.”
“Okay, but if you follow up a run with a full English breakfast, you’ll cancel out all that exercise.”
“Exactly,” Alan shot back. “I’ve earned it, so I’ll enjoy it all the more. Come on. Catch up.” He set off at a brisk pace, and Dan matched his speed easily.
“You’re doing well,” Dan said. “We’ll make a runner of you yet.”
Alan didn’t reply; he simply jogged on, determined. The rest of the run passed quickly, and before long they were slowing outside the squat stone building that advertised itself as Embervale’s General Store.
“Time for your initiation,” Alan said with a wink as he pulled open the door, and Dan stepped inside.
The shop was surprisingly large, the impression of space conjured by the tightly packed rows of shelves, all crammed with a curious assortment of colourful packets and cans. Scotch broth sat alongside shoe polish; dishcloths flopped lazily against plastic bottles of shampoo; and boxes of washing powder vied for space among a crowd of gleaming jars, instant coffee rubbing shoulders with jams, chutneys and pickled beetroot.
The word cornucopia sprang into Dan’s mind, and he found himself wandering between the shelves, gazing in wonder at the profusion of mismatched items. Only one display seemed to be thoroughly organised, and he stopped in front of it, running his hands over the neat rows of cardboard boxes. “Why are there so many candles? Who buys their candles in boxes of twenty or more?”
“Stay here until winter and you’ll find out,” Alan replied. “How many power lines do you think there are between this village and the nearest substation?”
“I don’t know. A dozen?”
Alan chuckled. “One.” The expression on Dan’s face made him laugh even more, and still chortling to himself, Alan strolled away between the shelving units and disappeared from view.
“Can I help you with something?”
Dan turned to see a young woman staring at him with frank curiosity. Her deep brown eyes lent her an open expression, but when she smiled, her cheeks dimpled in a way that hinted at hidden depths of impish charm.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Dan replied. “Just browsing.”
“Oh right, I’ll leave you in peace then.” The woman folded her arms, but she showed no sign of moving away.
As far as he knew, Dan had no need of candles, but since the woman was still following his every move with rapt interest, he picked out a box of white candles and examined the label, hoping to be seen as a serious customer who just wanted to be left alone.
“Dinner party, is it?” the woman asked.
“No. I was thinking about stocking up. You know, just in case.”
The woman narrowed her eyes, then she smiled. “Oh, it’s you, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you at first, what with all your multicoloured Lycra and that.”
“It’s not Lycra,” Dan stated as carefully as he could. “It’s textured polyester, actually.”
The woman waved his objections aside. “Whatever. You’re in your running kit. You know what I mean.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Sam. I work at the pub.”
“Oh.” Dan shook her hand briefly. He had no recollection of the young woman, but he could hardly admit to that. “Of course. Right. The pub. Silly of me.”
“You probably never noticed me. I’m always stuck in the kitchen, slaving away over the fryer, or washing up, cleaning the glasses: all the mucky jobs. But I’ve seen you lots of times. You’re from London, aren’t you? You come in with Alan.” Her lips curled slowly into a knowing smile. “And you found old Morty, didn’t you? Tried to save him.”
“Yes. We tried.”
Sam watched him, expecting more, and when he didn’t elaborate, she said, “I suppose you’ll be going back soon. To London.” She grinned. “I love it down there. I haven’t been for years. But it’s better than this dump, that’s for sure.”
Dan looked at her more closely and realised that she was nearer his own age than he’d first thought. She had the artlessness of youth, but her eyes betrayed a hint of weariness with the world. She was like an unfinished painting: a portrait of a young woman denied the chance to fulfil her potential. Dan pictured her strolling along Oxford Street in the sunshine, her crumpled overall swapped for a summer dress, and her hair shaken free from its ponytail.
Meeting his gaze, she smiled. “Well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Going back to London.” She watched him carefully as if everything depended on his answer.
“Eventually,” Dan said. “I’m not sure when. I’m here for a while yet. So I’d better get these.” He held up the box of candles. “Do you take cards?”
“Yeah, but you need to come over to the machine.” Sam headed back toward the counter, installing herself by the till and tapping the buttons rapidly. She pushed the card reader across the counter. “This might not be London, but we’re not quite in the Stone Age.”
“I know.” Biting back a number of smart remarks, Dan offered his card to the machine and was rewarded with a beep. “Oh, I forgot. I was going to have a look around, but I don’t suppose you have any oat milk, do you? Or soy. Anything like that.”
She eyed him levelly before pointing across the shop. “Soy or almond. Over there, next to the bran flakes. There’s quite a lot of demand, as it happens. Lactose intolerant, are you?”
“No, but I don’t eat dairy products.” Dan smiled. “Anyway, it’s great that you have them. I’ll be able to pop in more often.”
She returned his smile but there was no warmth in it, and Dan had the impression she’d already dismissed him from her mind. “Right, well, I’d better go and see what’s taking Alan so long.”
“I’m here,” Alan said, bustling into view with a plastic basket in his hands. “It turned out I needed more than I bargained for.” He flashed Sam a smile. “Morning, Sam. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you, Mr Hargreaves,” she said brightly. “Here, let me take that for you.” Reaching over the counter, she lifted Alan’s basket easily, setting it down and beginning to unload it, entering the prices into the till. “Shall I put all this in a bag for you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Alan replied. “Thank you.”
“No trouble.” Cheerfully, Sam packed the groceries into a carrier bag, and Dan watched their exchange with interest. Sam had become more animated, the twinkle returning to her eye. For his part, Alan seemed absorbed, his gaze lingering on Sam’s face.
“There we go.” Sam handed the carrier bag to Alan. “Anything else I can get you?”
“No thanks,” Alan replied. “Dan, are you finished?”
“Er, I was going to get some soy milk, but I only have my card and…” Dan indicated a notice attached to the till, the bold capitals forbidding card payments for any amount less than five pounds.
“Add it to my shopping,” Alan said. “You can settle up later. Problem solved.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll go and get it.” He set off for the promised shelf, and found it easily, pleasantly surprised that there were several dairy-free products, and all brands he’d tried before. Grabbing a litre of soy milk, he added a small carton of custard, then he headed back to the till where Sam and Dan were deep in conversation.
“I’ll take these, please,” Dan said, placing his items on the counter.
“Right.” Sam quickly added Dan’s shopping to Alan’s bill. “When you’re ready, Alan. It’s gone over the limit, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to enter your PIN.” She smiled sweetly, and Alan inserted his card into the reader and tapped the keys.
“All done.” Ignoring Dan, Sam said, “Are you going to the pub later?”
Alan tilted his head to one side. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“We could pop in for a pint,” Dan suggested. “Perhaps we’ll see you there, Sam.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not much chance of that. There’s a darts match on, so I’ll be stuck in the back making sandwiches all night.” She shook her head. “It’s always the same. Kev’s not much help. He’ll pull the pints, all right, but he leaves everything else up to me. And you know what? Every night, as soon as he’s called time, he clears off and goes out the back for a smoke. He leaves me to collect all the glasses and wipe down the tables, when by rights my shift should’ve finished.”
“It’s a long day for you,” Alan said. “And hot work in the kitchen at this time of year.”
“Tell me about it.” Sam wiped her brow. “Anyway, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’d better get on. Gary’s gone fishing, and I’ve got a delivery to unpack.”
“Anything exciting?” Dan asked.
She stared at him wearily. “Instant barbecues. Gary reckons we’ll need them if we get a good weekend. But on the radio, they’re giving rain. Non-stop.” She eyed Dan as if somehow, he bore the blame for the gloomy weather. “Typical. Just when I’ve got the weekend off for once.”
“Ah, well, maybe the rain will miss us,” Alan said. “It has been known to happen.” He turned to Dan. “It’s the microclimate in the valley. Sometimes, the weather patterns skirt around us. You’d be surprised how often it happens.”
“And sometimes the rain gets stuck here for days on end,” Sam put in. “So if it rains all weekend, it wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
“Yes, there’s a reason it’s so green around here.” Alan picked up his bag of shopping. “Right, I’d better get going. Bye, Sam. We might see you later.”
“Bye,” Dan added. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem.”
Sam watched them leave, but when Dan paused at the door and glanced back, she’d already disappeared from behind the counter. He pictured her surrounded by towering crates of instant barbecues, then he let the door swing shut.
“Nice girl,” Alan said breezily as they walked away. “You’ve got to feel for young people, though. There aren’t a lot of opportunities for them.”
“I guess not,” Dan said. “But she’s not that much younger than you, is she? I’d say there’s only five or six years between you. That’s nothing.”
Alan pursed his lips. “I’m hopeless at guessing how old people are, but you’re probably right. I always think of her as younger, but I suppose I’ve grown used to seeing her in the shop. She’s worked there for as long as I’ve lived in the village, so I suppose I’m remembering her as she was back then.”
“Right. Does she smile so warmly at all her customers?”
“I expect so. As I said, she’s a nice girl. I mean, a nice young woman.” He cast a questioning glance at Dan. “Why? What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing really. But it seemed as if she was keen on you, that’s all.”
“No.” Alan chuckled at the thought. “Sam was just being friendly. It’s how people get along in a small place like this. The problem with you is, you don’t make time for people. You don’t show an interest.”
“Probably because I’m not interested in small talk. It’s a waste of time.”
“Honestly,” Alan muttered. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? It costs nothing to spend the time of day with people. Not every conversation is a competition, you know.”
Dan could think of no suitable reply. He wanted to explain that resolving conflicts had been his stock in trade for the last few years, but although he hated to admit it, Alan’s words had struck home. It wasn’t easy for Dan to adapt to relaxed social interactions. His mind was a greyhound, always longing for the sprint, the headlong dash. He’d never allowed himself to stroll through life, and until recently that had worked to his advantage. But not anymore. Now, he knew where his old way of life would inevitably take him, and he wasn’t at all happy with the destination.
His stay in Embervale had allowed him to break free from his old routines, but he still hadn’t found new ones to replace them. Perhaps that would take longer than he’d thought. He’d just have to be patient.
Dan and Alan didn’t talk much for the rest of the journey home, and when they reached The Old Shop, they went their separate ways, Alan handing over Dan’s cartons of dairy-free products in a strange parody of a parting gift.
“I’ll see you later,” Alan said, heading for his door.
“Did you want to pop into the pub this evening?”
“I’ll see. Possibly.”
“Okay. Give me a shout,” Dan said. “I still want to figure out what happened to Mortimer.”
Alan barely paused. “Go ahead. If you need any help, give me a call.” He smiled. “But do me a favour, and let me finish my breakfast, okay?”
Dan returned the smile. “Sure.” He raised his hand to wave, then he headed for his own home. In his kitchen, there was a new packet of coffee beans just waiting to be opened, and he had a sudden craving for a really good espresso.