CHAPTER THREE
Market day dawned cloudless and still. Despite all that had happened the day before, Alice’s mood was equally untroubled. It was a trick she had learned years before during one of Stanley’s disappearances. Every night she closed her eyes, went through the preceding day step by step, faced down any demons she might have met along the way, and dropped off into a dreamless sleep from which she always awoke refreshed.
The jackdaw was making strange sneezing sounds in the kitchen as Alice went in. She smiled. Milly had come over a few days ago with her terrible cold, and the bird was now imitating her rather accurately. She fed him some more dog food and switched the kettle on. While the water was coming to the boil, she opened the back door and looked outside. Her cheerful mood chilled abruptly when she saw the rain gauge indicating that three inches of rain had fallen overnight.
She stepped outside onto the sodden grass and made her way past the beehives to the hollyhock bushes. She took a deep breath and looked directly at the soil by them. The rain had washed away a substantial amount of earth, and a bluish-black human hand was sticking out of the soil. The ring finger, of course, was missing. Alice fought back the urge to vomit and tried to calm herself. She heard a disturbing sound from the kitchen and jumped. The jackdaw was sneezing again. She fancied she could hear her own heartbeat drumming too.
Alice scrabbled in the earth, scooping up piles of soil to cover the hand. She smoothed over the loose pile of dirt and stood on it. She felt something give as the hand was pushed deeper into the ground. She went back into the kitchen to wash her hands and finally drink her tea. The day had barely started but she already felt drained.
* * *
The drive to Berryton usually only took ten minutes, but in June the tourists jammed up the roads, and she had to leave more time. She got there for eight thirty and started to set up her stall. Usually Milly would have been there by now.
Milly’s baking stall was one of the market’s most popular attractions.
“Where’s Milly?” Derek asked Alice. Derek had the stall next to hers. He sold Cornish pasties, which the tourist couldn’t get enough of, even though Alice thought his pastry wasn’t up to scratch.
“I haven’t seen her. Maybe she’s running late. The traffic was terrible this morning. She’s going to lose her spot if she’s not here soon.”
* * *
That market day in Berryton turned out to be Alice’s best yet. The green money tin was overflowing with notes and coins. That lot would easily see her through to the end of the month. She was still debating whether she would get that new television set. Everybody had seemed to enjoy the honey samples she had put out, whether or not they noticed the flavour had changed, and nobody had quibbled at the higher price. She threw the empty boxes into the back of the van and put the cash tin on the passenger seat in the front.
“See you next month, my love,” Derek said.
I’m not your love and you’re not even from Cornwall originally.
“See you next month, Derek. I’m going to see if Milly’s all right.”
“Maybe she just forgot. None of us are getting any younger.”
“Perhaps.” Alice got in the van and started the engine.
Milly Lancaster’s house was two doors down from Alice’s. It was a small cottage desperately in need of some work. The white paint had turned an off-yellow colour and was flaking off. Weeds had taken over the garden. Her husband Graham had maintained it when he was alive. After his death from a stroke a few years ago, the house and garden had gone to ruin.
Alice opened the rusty garden gate and pushed her way through the huge dock leaves that blocked the path. She rang the bell. There was no sound. It was obviously broken. She knocked harder and the door opened slightly. It was unlocked.
“Milly,” she shouted, “Are you all right?”
There was no sound from inside. Alice pushed the door open and went in. The familiar smell of baking hung in the air. Milly’s cakes, shortbreads and biscuits were famous for miles around. In the kitchen, rows of biscuits lay on cooling racks next to the open window. Three chocolate cakes stood on the table, ready to be sliced. Milly was nowhere to be seen.
“Milly,” Alice shouted again.
There was only one bedroom in the small cottage. Alice went in. The bed was made and the window was open. No Milly. Alice checked the bathroom. Milly’s toothbrush was in a glass next to the sink and nothing looked disturbed.
Milly Lancaster had got up and made her bed. Her baking was laid out ready to be packed for market. Alice felt queasy. She sat down at the table in the kitchen. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. All she knew was that Milly was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alice phoned the police, as she’d promised Milly. However, when she was finally put through to a rather grumpy-sounding constable in Trotterdown, she didn’t mention Stanley’s finger. She was more concerned about reporting Milly’s disappearance, even though PC Wood tried his best to assure her that her friend would turn up soon enough. A few hours’ absence didn’t justify opening a missing person’s case.
“But it’s not like Milly,” Alice argued. “She never misses the market. Her door was unlocked and her cakes were ready. Something’s wrong.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Mrs Lancashire will turn up in the end.”
“Lancaster.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mrs Lancaster,” Alice said. “Her name is Milly Lancaster. How are you going to find her when you can’t even get her name right?”
She hung up.
“Idiot,” the jackdaw screamed. “Idiot. Idiot.”
“You’re not wrong there, my boy,” Alice told him. “This isn’t like Milly. It isn’t like her at all.”
She needed something to take her mind off things. She opened up the green cash tin and took out £250. A new television set and a bottle of fine port would do the trick. She checked on the bees before setting off for Trotterdown. Normally, she wore protective gloves to open the hives when the sun was so high in the sky, but today she didn’t even think about it. She lifted the lid off one of the hives and slid out one of the frames. There was much more honey on the frame than yesterday. The bees were performing magnificently.
A sharp pain on the back of her hand reminded her of the downside of beekeeping. She pulled the bee off, but its sting remained in her skin. “Why did you do that?” She dropped it on the ground and watched as it writhed on the floor, turning circles on its back. It was doomed. When she could take it no longer, she stepped on the poor creature.
The initial sharp pain on her hand had been replaced with a dull itch. She went back into her kitchen, and took a pair of tiny tweezers out of the drawer, along with a bottle of a baking soda solution she had made up for stings. She tweezed out the sting and applied a small amount of the baking soda. She tried to remember the last time she had been stung. It had been August last year, during a particularly nasty heatwave. As she’d told Milly, her bees were Italian, generally docile and not prone to sting on a whim.
* * *
Alice parked her van in the car park of the main shopping centre in Trotterdown. The itchiness from the sting had gone completely. She locked the van and patted her pocket. The money for a television set was safely there. The set she’d been eyeing in the second-hand shop for weeks was gone, but they had a perfectly good alternative for £20 less. By the time she drove back towards Polgarrow, she had almost forgotten about Milly. She was looking forward to watching her favourite quiz shows on the huge television. She wouldn’t have to sit so close anymore to read the questions on the screen. And she was able to set it up. She’d learned to do all those things for herself over the past ten years on her own.