Maeve shook her head, suppressing a smile. Trying and failing, I suspected, to picture Liam with a sheep in his arms. “No – I should be fine. The farmers will all have help organized. Thanks anyway, Liam.” Her smile faded. “Just as long as I don’t come across anything like I did last night.”

“Keep your phone charged,” Liam warned, causing the rest of us to check ours, of course.

Mine was at 25 per cent. I’d forgotten to bring my charger from home, but I had a spare in the office I could collect. In the meantime, the Oak pub with its roaring fire was a far more attractive option than going back to the sergeant’s house on my own.

Chapter Sixteen

IT WAS STILL dry when we emerged from the hall, and it was so good to be able to breathe in some fresh air without battling the wind and the rain. It felt oddly calm, making it hard to imagine that we were cut off from the rest of the world. Until, that was, you came across a stretch of water you couldn’t cross, or saw a floating oil tank, or an abandoned car, or a doorway plugged with sandbags. With the daylight almost gone, the town looked strange and unfamiliar, reminding me of J. G. Ballard’s novel The Drowned World, about a post-apocalyptic, flooded London. I almost expected to see huge swamp-like plants and boats navigating their way through the square.

All of which meant that it was a relief to walk into the unchanged surroundings of the Oak. Tony had lit a very welcoming fire and we made our way to the table closest to it, Phyllis and I collapsing into the battered old couch while Liam went up to order drinks.

“So,” Phyllis said, pulling off her hat and placing it on the table. “My shop is closed and so is your office …”

“It would be anyway since it’s the weekend,” I added.

“And there’s nothing we can do for the moment while the Fire Service and the county council have everything in hand …”

I knew what was coming next.

“So, I think we should find something useful to fill in our time.” Phyllis rubbed her hands together. “Let’s see if we can figure out what happened to the late Bob Jameson.”

And there it was. There was a twinkle in the bookseller’s eye that I knew of old. I also knew that any protest would be futile.

“Let’s start with the last time we saw him alive,” she said. “Here in the pub, snogging his wife. What time did he leave here? And who saw him leave?”

“I didn’t,” I replied. “He was still here when I left.”

“Same here,” Phyllis said, momentarily disappointed.