They went in the shop entrance. Harriet was impressed by the array of sweet jars. The pear drops jar was almost full. The liquorice allsorts and dolly mixtures would need filling soon. She had seen bigger shops that didn’t have as many varieties. “There’s nothing but sweets and tins.”

“Aye well there wouldn’t be any perishables, not since it’s stood empty.”

There was a good rag hearthrug for sale, bright colours, six shillings. There was a cheese slicer, a butter platter and a bacon slicer. Harriet sniffed. You could still smell bacon and cheese. “Why did the person leave?”

“Ah.” Mrs. Sugden walked through to the back room.

Harriet followed.

“People get old,” Mrs. Sugden explained. “There’s a time when a person is past it.”

“Oh.” Harriet believed her until Mrs. Sugden added, “Everything comes to an end.”

The shopkeeper died, Harriet thought. Why doesn’t she just say that?

They looked round the back room, the cellar, and the upstairs. Mrs. Sugden was paying so much attention to everything that Harriet began to think she was serious, and would leave them.

“I don’t want you to take over a shop, Mrs. Sugden. I’d miss you. Auntie Kate wouldn’t want you to go.”

“I’m going nowhere, love.”

“Is it to do with a case?”

“In a manner of speaking, it’s to do with a case as you say.”

“The shopkeeper died.”

“She did.”

“She was murdered.”

“That’s putting it very harshly.”

“But true.”

“Some nasty so-and-so took her life. I wasn’t going to tell you. You should have stopped at home. Now I’m going to speak to a few neighbours.” She took Harriet’s arm. “Come on, outside into the fresh air.”

Harriet watched Mrs. Sugden walk towards the miners’ cottages.

Sergeant Dog did not like his people to separate. He looked at Harriet, gave a little whimper, and tugged on the lead, wanting to follow. “She’s coming back,” Harriet explained. “We’re looking round. Keep to the edge of this allotment.” For that’s what the long garden was. Drills and trenches had been prepared. There was a seedbed and a cold frame. Harriet wondered whether seeds had been planted. One bed was covered with sacking against the frost.

Inspecting the shopkeeper’s vegetable garden gave Harriet a strange feeling. When she was little, she helped her dad in their allotment. He always explained everything to her. He followed his own father’s tradition and planted potatoes on Good Friday. She would trot alongside him when he went to consult a gnarled old man who was renowned for predicting the weather. She remembered this old man’s words: “Don’t venture to plant out until May comes in.”