Eighteen
By the time they were back at the inn of the hunted boar, the church tower struck one, and Alkmene’s stomach was growling. She wanted a big slice of apple pie, preferably with whipped cream, and coffee.
Or no, hot chocolate.
She already savoured the taste on her tongue.
But as they came in, the innkeeper himself was behind the reception desk, gesturing at them with a cream-coloured envelope in his hand. ‘This message has been delivered here for you, sir.’
Jake took it and studied it. ‘By whom?’
The man shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I was in the back tending to some chores and when I came back here, it was lying on the desk.’
Jake turned the envelope over but there was no sender recorded on it. It just read Mr Jake Dubois on the front in print letters that could disguise a man or woman’s handwriting.
Jake thanked the innkeeper and walked into the room, slipping his little finger under the edge and tearing open the envelope. Alkmene followed him curiously, one hand on her hair to feel if it had grown very wild in the wind.
Jake whistled softly as he read what was written on the single sheet he had pulled out. Then he handed it to her.
It said, ‘Come to the ruins of the old keep on the moor. Anybody can explain the way to you. Information will be waiting for you there. Do not share this message with anyone and do not bring any locals.’
There was no name under it.
Alkmene said, ‘I suppose we are not going to see what this is all about? It seems rather fishy. If somebody wanted to give you information, he could have enclosed it in this envelope. He left it without being seen, so anonymity can’t be an issue.’
Jake shrugged. ‘You never know why people are extra secretive. It could be worthwhile. I will go. Alone of course.’
‘Oh, no. We are in this together. I brought this whole case to your attention.’
‘Wrong, my lady. I was already on the case before you even knew there was one. Remember? I do not owe you a thing.’
Alkmene felt like grabbing his lapels and shaking him, but she became aware the landlord was watching them curiously from behind the reception desk. She hissed, ‘We will have to decide about that later. I want to come. Pronto.’
Jake held her gaze a moment. ‘I suppose,’ he said in a whisper, ‘that if I left you here you’d go out anyway and land in no end of trouble. I don’t want to have your dead body on my conscience. So I will have to take you so I can protect you.’
Alkmene snorted. ‘What will you do? Carry a gun?’
Jake smiled at her. ‘That is an excellent idea.’
She stared at him. ‘You own a gun? You brought it with you?’
He didn’t reply, but strode to the desk where the landlord pretended to be engrossed in the ledger. ‘The ruins of the old keep…where would that be? I have heard it is a sight worth seeing.’
The landlord frowned. ‘It is nothing but what it says it is, sir. Ruins. There is nothing there like a real keep or castle. Just crumbling walls and weeds.’
‘I love weeds,’ Alkmene said engagingly. ‘As I told your wife this morning over breakfast, my father is a botanist, a specialist on all kinds of plants. I am collecting some rare specimens for him. I am sure that he will be so grateful for your help. If you can point it out to us…’
She reached into her purse suggestively.
‘It is easy enough,’ the man said at once. He opened the ledger in the back and tore out an empty sheet. Then he picked up his pencil and began to sketch. ‘The inn is right here. Now you round it and then you are here. There is an old track, wide enough for a cart and well used at that. You can follow it for about a mile…’
The explanations dragged on, and the drawing became more complex. Alkmene hoped Jake had a scout instinct that would get them there. All she wanted was lunch before they started out. She was pretty bushed after their first walk and now that a second was imminent…
She saw the innkeeper’s wife appear and asked if she could pack a lunch for them. ‘Some bread, cold cuts, cheese. Oh, and the apple pie you were baking this morning.’
‘That is plum pie, but if you want some…’
‘If you please. You can all put it on the bill.’ She batted her lashes at Jake, who just picked the sketch off the counter and put it in his pocket.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Never mind. I am glad you are such a perfect gentleman who is taking such good care of me.’
Raising her voice, she added to the innkeeper’s wife. ‘We will be outside in the square waiting for the lunch, thank you.’ And she pulled Jake to the door.
‘What was that?’ he asked suspiciously as they emerged once more into the sunshine.
Alkmene shook her hair loose and remodelled it. ‘Nothing. Lunch will be ready soon. Let’s just have a look at the church for a moment. It looks old.’
It was old, as a plaque on the wall told them. Built in 1341, destroyed by war in 1414, rebuilt… Destroyed by fire. Rebuilt. Tower hit by lightning. Rebuilt…
Jake seemed intent on reading it all, but Alkmene’s attention waned, and she walked away to the side of the church where old graves were. Family graves of the families who had lived in this town for centuries. The Dawsons, the Millers, the Smiths.
And the Sullivans.
She stared at their names and the dates on the large stone. There were Marys among them, but those had to be ancestors. The dates were not right to fit the mother of their missing heir.
She frowned as a cold draught that breathed around the church building kept hitting her exposed neck. Jake had to give that scarf back to her.
She looked up and saw a shadow slip away around the far end of the church. Just a hint of a dark sleeve, a shoulder maybe.
She walked a few paces in that direction, then halted, knowing she’d never catch up with whoever it had been. But they were still being watched. First this morning at Wally Thomson’s place, now here. Why? And by whom?
‘Are you coming?’ Jake called for her. ‘Your basket is here for you to carry along.’
He had to be kidding. He would carry it for her.
Right?
The wind tugging at everything loose and fastened made the basket swing and beat against her leg. She bet she’d have bruises there in the morning. But Jake refused to carry it. She had managed to persuade him to sit down and have the lunch before reaching the old ruins for the precious information, so the basket was considerably lighter now. The plum pie had been excellent, and the little flask of sherry the woman had included had warmed them inside and given them new energy to tackle the hike.
For a time they could already see the ruins in the distance, but the moor seemed to have an odd way of distorting proportions. The ruins seemed so close, within reach, and then as they ascended a new hill, the crumbling walls seemed to have stayed just as far away as before. Like the landscape shifted every time.
Alkmene halted a moment to wipe her right eye that kept tearing up from the wind. She had never walked this much across uneven tracks, rising and falling all of the time, and both her feet and knees were hurting.
Not to mention how sore her palm was from carrying the stupid basket. But she would never admit that to Jake. He was already convinced she was a prissy little lady who had no stamina. She would prove him so wrong.
Catching up with him, trying to sound level and not out of breath, she said, ‘What do you expect us to find there? Do we have to scour each crack in every crumpled bit