Lamb to the Slaughter by Aline Templeton

was something in her voice which made him glance at her sharply. She’d been all stressed out about this superstore stuff and she was looking awful, scrawny and pale, with black circles round her eyes like she hadn’t slept. Now her eyes were swimming too.
    Time she got real, he thought with irritation. He didn’t want to have to spend his life hanging round in this dump of a town where there wasn’t even any decent clubbing, just to keep an eye on his mum. He didn’t answer when she picked up her bag and said, ‘I’m just going. You know where to find me if you want anything.’
    Dylan watched her going out, then shrugged. He got up and went over to the fridge. A bacon butty might hit the spot after all.
     
    The morning service at St Cerf’s had just finished and the congregation was slowly dispersing, pausing in little gossipy groups before they went home to the Sunday roast.
    Annie Brown was the last to leave, collecting the church flowers to be distributed to sick and suffering members. As she emerged, the minister – a nice enough laddie, in her view, but just a wee thing inclined to those awful silly new hymns – who had been dutifully shaking hands with his flock as they left, was waiting for her.
    ‘Is Colonel Carmichael away, Annie, do you know?’ he asked. ‘He was down to read the lessons this morning, and it’s not like him not to tell me if he can’t make it.’
    ‘He maybe forgot,’ Annie suggested, but her concern showed in her face. ‘Mind, he wasn’t at the meeting last night either. He’s not getting any younger. I’ll away round and see if he’s all right.’
    ‘Would you like me to come?’ he offered. ‘The beadle will lock up. If you wait a minute while I take off my robes—’
    ‘Och no,’ Annie said. ‘He’d not want a fuss made, if he’s just got himself in a bit of a mixter-maxter over the dates.’
    ‘Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
    Annie nodded, then, still clutching her flowers, she hurried off down the High Street with her heart racing uncomfortably. She knew the Colonel wasn’t away. He’d said he’d be at the meeting but hadn’t appeared, and now he hadn’t come to do his reading. She’d never known him let someone down without warning.
    Kirkluce was very quiet. The Spar shop was open, with a few cars parked in front and one or two people coming out with their Sunday newspapers, but all the other shops lining the wide High Street with its spreading plane trees were closed. Some of the gift shops would maybe open this afternoon, but once the last of the summer visitors had gone, the Sabbath calm would descend. Anxious as she was, the thought occurred to Annie as she jog-trotted past the Craft Centre next to Fauldburn House that if the superstore came, other shops would need to open in self-defence and this precious, peaceful day would become just the same as all the others.
    When she reached the Fauldburn drive, she was out of breath, with the beginnings of a stitch in her side, and she slowed to a walk. The drive seemed longer than usual this morning, stretching ahead of her to the central circle with the mulberry tree which concealed the front of the house.
    As Annie rounded it, she saw him immediately, half-in, half-out of the front door, a crumpled figure, lying on his back. She stopped in dismay, the tears springing to her eyes. How long had he lain there? He’d been fine last night, when she took in his tea.
    He’d changed out of the old gardening clothes he’d been wearing then, and from his blazer and tie it looked as if he’d maybe been on his way to the meeting and had a heart attack. And no wonder, with all the strain they’d put him under, one way and another! Hot anger dried the tears as she trotted across the gravel.
    It was only as Annie got closer that she saw the dark, bloody hole torn in his blazer pocket. She gave a cry of disbelief, of horror, and for a moment her head swam. She dropped the flowers she was