client’s files all cleaned up and sent. Time to dash and pick up Chloe.
Except, she realized — amazed — that she was early — Chloe’s dance group up at the school didn’t finish for another half hour.
There was just time for a coffee and maybe — that rare thing these days — twenty minutes of ‘me’ time. She locked the car and walked across the village square towards Huffington’s, already feeling cheerier.
But Huffington’s was closed. She remembered — as the autumn nights drew in, and the summer visitors dried up, they shut shop on the dot of five.
Half an hour — time to visit Robinson’s Electric? Would it still be open?
Then she noticed the old-fashioned neon sign announcing ‘electrician’ still on.
Not surprising, she thought — the old place couldn’t afford to close early with all the discount stores and online competition.
Old Josh Robinson somehow made a living selling toasters and bedside lights and fuses — though Sarah was sure people only shopped there now out of loyalty.
And why not — Josh was a lovely man, always helpful, always had the time of day.
But Josh also had two sons who were qualified electricians — and who between them did most of the electrical work in the village. Where better to ask for the low-down on electrical work at Mogdon Manor?
The doorbell pinged as she went in. Mr Robinson sat on a stool behind the counter — as he had been, she felt, since she was a little girl.
“Ah, Sarah,” he said. “How are you, my dear?”
“All the better for seeing you, Mr Robinson,” and seeing his jovial face, Sarah suddenly realized she meant it.
“Come for more of those funny long-life eco spots have you? Well, you’re in luck: I ordered a couple extra for you back in the spring — thought you’d be needing them!”
“You must be psychic,” she said, racking her brains for any other business she could put his way. “I need a new security light as well — for the front door …”
After Mr Robinson had spent ten minutes talking through the various options on security light installation, and had rung up the sale on his old-fashioned till, Sarah felt it was time to mention Victor’s funeral.
“Ah, yes,” said Mr Robinson. “Old Mr Hamblyn. My father always had time for him — though I have to say when I was a lad we always thought he was a miserable beggar. Always yelling at us to get off his land.”
“They say it was an electrical fire,” said Sarah innocently.
“Yes. Doesn’t surprise me,” he replied. “My lads have been in and out of the place this year replacing bits of wiring, but they said it was a waste of time doing it piecemeal — whole system needed ripping out and starting again.”
“They must have been upset when they heard about the fire,” said Sarah.
“Oh, they were,” said Mr Robinson.
He leaned across the counter towards her and lowered his voice.
“Though — between you and me — they reckon Mr Hamblyn was hard done by …”
“Oh yes?” said Sarah, leaning in a little herself.
“Well, those kids of his. They could have taken better care. Instead … well, I shouldn’t …”
“What?”
“Like they couldn’t wait for him to pass away. It was disgraceful.”
Sarah nodded.
“And what do you think about this latest fire? Another case of bad wiring?”
Josh looked around as if uncomfortable with what he was about to share.
“My son Todd. They asked him to take a look at it. Part of their investigation, you know.”
“Yes.”
“So he did. Now, most electrical fires just spark a bit behind the walls. Even those old places designed to keep any frayed wires away from the wood.”
“But this was different?”
Josh nodded. “Todd said that there was nothing in the library to overload the wiring. Yet something triggered a fire there, in a room full of books! He said that it didn’t make sense at all.”
“It wasn’t like the other fires at the manor.”
Josh stared right at her, his
Except, she realized — amazed — that she was early — Chloe’s dance group up at the school didn’t finish for another half hour.
There was just time for a coffee and maybe — that rare thing these days — twenty minutes of ‘me’ time. She locked the car and walked across the village square towards Huffington’s, already feeling cheerier.
But Huffington’s was closed. She remembered — as the autumn nights drew in, and the summer visitors dried up, they shut shop on the dot of five.
Half an hour — time to visit Robinson’s Electric? Would it still be open?
Then she noticed the old-fashioned neon sign announcing ‘electrician’ still on.
Not surprising, she thought — the old place couldn’t afford to close early with all the discount stores and online competition.
Old Josh Robinson somehow made a living selling toasters and bedside lights and fuses — though Sarah was sure people only shopped there now out of loyalty.
And why not — Josh was a lovely man, always helpful, always had the time of day.
But Josh also had two sons who were qualified electricians — and who between them did most of the electrical work in the village. Where better to ask for the low-down on electrical work at Mogdon Manor?
The doorbell pinged as she went in. Mr Robinson sat on a stool behind the counter — as he had been, she felt, since she was a little girl.
“Ah, Sarah,” he said. “How are you, my dear?”
“All the better for seeing you, Mr Robinson,” and seeing his jovial face, Sarah suddenly realized she meant it.
“Come for more of those funny long-life eco spots have you? Well, you’re in luck: I ordered a couple extra for you back in the spring — thought you’d be needing them!”
“You must be psychic,” she said, racking her brains for any other business she could put his way. “I need a new security light as well — for the front door …”
After Mr Robinson had spent ten minutes talking through the various options on security light installation, and had rung up the sale on his old-fashioned till, Sarah felt it was time to mention Victor’s funeral.
“Ah, yes,” said Mr Robinson. “Old Mr Hamblyn. My father always had time for him — though I have to say when I was a lad we always thought he was a miserable beggar. Always yelling at us to get off his land.”
“They say it was an electrical fire,” said Sarah innocently.
“Yes. Doesn’t surprise me,” he replied. “My lads have been in and out of the place this year replacing bits of wiring, but they said it was a waste of time doing it piecemeal — whole system needed ripping out and starting again.”
“They must have been upset when they heard about the fire,” said Sarah.
“Oh, they were,” said Mr Robinson.
He leaned across the counter towards her and lowered his voice.
“Though — between you and me — they reckon Mr Hamblyn was hard done by …”
“Oh yes?” said Sarah, leaning in a little herself.
“Well, those kids of his. They could have taken better care. Instead … well, I shouldn’t …”
“What?”
“Like they couldn’t wait for him to pass away. It was disgraceful.”
Sarah nodded.
“And what do you think about this latest fire? Another case of bad wiring?”
Josh looked around as if uncomfortable with what he was about to share.
“My son Todd. They asked him to take a look at it. Part of their investigation, you know.”
“Yes.”
“So he did. Now, most electrical fires just spark a bit behind the walls. Even those old places designed to keep any frayed wires away from the wood.”
“But this was different?”
Josh nodded. “Todd said that there was nothing in the library to overload the wiring. Yet something triggered a fire there, in a room full of books! He said that it didn’t make sense at all.”
“It wasn’t like the other fires at the manor.”
Josh stared right at her, his
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