Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- Chapter 60
- Acknowledgements
- Canelo Crime
- About the Author
- Also by Rachel Lynch
As she left the house, her breath escaped in vapour clouds. There must have been a frost last night, she thought. She opened the garage and unlocked her Range Rover Sport, throwing her running bag, gloves and hat on the passenger seat. She’d wear a jacket to go into town. The garage closed automatically as she pulled away and headed along the shore of the lake, passing walkers heading out to the fells, swaddled in layers of thermal kit. Their faces looked ruddy and fresh. Her favourite season in the Lakes was spring, when life burst through the hard ground and announced itself in swathes of colour, but autumn came a close second. The dark nights, sitting in front of an open fire preparing for Christmas with the kids, and fewer tourists all made it feel less crazy than the summer.
After her run, she needed to do some shopping in Keswick, but she planned to have everything done in time to get home and take her son to football. Jordan was a sports addict, while her daughter, Millie, hated any kind of physical activity – except skiing – preferring piano and Spanish. The children attended a private school on the outskirts of Keswick. At sixteen and fourteen, they were almost – but not quite – old enough to be left alone in the house overnight. She’d discussed with Thomas the idea of stealing away for a dirty weekend somewhere and decided that they’d perhaps try it next year. If it proved to be a success, and they didn’t come back to the detritus and carnage of a teenage party, they’d even go abroad.
The clear blue sky reminded her of her wedding day. They’d married in November, and everyone had said she should wear fur, but the sky had been just like today: bright blue and clear. It would be their twentieth anniversary next week, and Thomas had bought her a spectacular ruby ring, which they’d chosen together. It probably wasn’t a piece to wear daily, but Ella couldn’t help herself, and she admired it affectionately as she tapped the steering wheel. They’d insured it for ten thousand pounds. It was a whole band of the claret stones, in an intricate medieval-style setting.