The Mystery on the Cornish Coast: Two private detectives on a mission (The Quentin Cadbury Investigations Book 4) by Christine McHaines

Author:Christine McHaines [McHaines, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: THE BOOK FOLKS
Published: 2024-07-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

‘We’ll go out for the day,’ Wanda said over breakfast the next morning. ‘It’ll be better than sitting about doing nothing.’

‘Count me out,’ Colin said. ‘I could do with a day sitting about doing nothing.’

Quentin and Wanda hadn’t got further than Redruth when, in the rear-view mirror, Quentin noticed a white vehicle.

‘Oh-oh,’ he groaned.

Wanda shot him a look. ‘What is it?’

‘Behind us – a white van, maybe a Citroën Berlingo. Looks like the one that girl went off in from St Michael’s Mount.’

Wanda glanced in the wing mirror. ‘Does it? How can you tell? They all look the same.’

‘Don’t turn round,’ Quentin warned, checking the rear-view mirror again. ‘Two people, I think.’

Wanda pulled a face. ‘Could be anyone. What, you think they’re following us?’

‘Don’t know, but I’m not having them on our tail all day. I’m fed up with her turning up all over the place.’

Wanda stared into the wing mirror. ‘All I can see is the front wing. Are you sure you’re not just being paranoid?’

‘Don’t know that either, but we’ll soon find out.’

Spotting a brown sign ahead, Quentin steered the car into the nearside lane. He veered off into a side road without indicating, wheels squealing as the car spun before straightening up and losing speed.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ Wanda complained, putting her hand up to her neck. ‘That’s a good way to get whiplash.’

‘Sorry. Didn’t see the sign till the last minute. You OK?’

‘I’ll live. Anyway, they didn’t follow us. Where are we?’

Quentin slowed as they came to a signpost. ‘Wheal Peevor,’ he read aloud.

‘I read about that,’ Wanda told him. ‘It’s one of the most complete tin mines in Cornwall. Let’s have a look. We’ve got plenty of time.’

‘All right,’ Quentin grunted, not relishing the thought of looking at old ruins.

He drove forward, took a turn onto a muddy track, and there was the mine, bigger than any he’d come across; three separate stone buildings, partial walls enclosing the remains of a once thriving trade, including the engine houses and the adjoining chimney stacks. There was a roughly laid out parking area, and Quentin pulled into it.

‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,’ Wanda said. ‘I’ll just have a quick look.’ Immediately she got out and walked towards the buildings, stopping at the first information post. Then she carried on, negotiating the bumpy terrain up the slight incline until she was behind the first ruin and out of sight. Mozart barked, jumping up at the window as if in protest at being left behind.

‘It’s all right, Mote, I’m with you.’ Quentin switched off the engine and stayed where he was, gazing at the imposing remains.

Testament to Britain’s industrial past notwithstanding, he couldn’t hack history today. The place was deserted, the sky grey and the mine dark and forbidding in the dull December light. The purr of a car’s engine disturbed the quiet as a white van nosed its way along the muddy track towards the parking area. A Citroën Berlingo.

Stiffening, Quentin waited until it was closer, then leaned forward to get a better view.

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