Through the Mist: A Novel by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

Author:Lindsay Jayne Ashford [Ashford, Lindsay Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2024-08-13T00:00:00+00:00

Tony parked the motorbike halfway up Tregenna Hill, well away from Fore Street. He didn’t want to risk being spotted by Ellen. There was no need for her to know that he’d left the cottage. He’d be back well before the mattress was due to be delivered.

Clive Snow was waiting for him on a barstool in The Golden Sheaf pub. He wore a mustard-colored trench coat that had a smear of blue paint down the back and a green trilby hat adorned with the feather of a herring gull. Not exactly blending in with the surroundings, Tony thought, as he sat down beside him.

“What are you drinking?”

“I’ll have a Bloody Mary.” Clive hadn’t lost his upper-class accent, despite having lived in Cornwall for more than a decade.

They took their drinks over to a table in a corner of the room. Tony could feel the soles of his boots sticking to the carpet with each step he took. The pub smelled as if someone had thrown up the previous night and whoever had cleaned it hadn’t done a very thorough job. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to linger, once he’d gotten what he came for.

“I couldn’t get as much as last time,” Clive said over the rim of his glass.

“Why not?” Tony glanced across the room, checking that the barman wasn’t looking their way before he took the package Clive passed under the table.

“Dunno, old chap. You get shortages every so often, like everything since the war.”

Tony raked his hair with his fingers. “They must grow around here,” he whispered. “I bet we could pick our own, if we knew where to look.”

Clive shrugged. “I daresay you’re right. But there’s the rub: we don’t know, do we?”

“What about that place on Tregenna Hill—the shop that sells herbal tea and dandelion wine?”

“The Botanic Store?”

“That’s the one. I bet they’d know.”

The ice in Clive’s glass chinked as he downed the dregs of the Bloody Mary. “They probably would. But I hardly think they’d tell you. I went in there once, thinking they might do a sideline in that sort of thing. The woman who owns it gave me my marching orders. Denis reckons she’s a white witch.”

“She’s not one of Crowley’s old flames?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t know her face—she wasn’t at any of the parties.”

“Hmm.” Tony stared at the froth on his beer. “I heard that he died. Just before Christmas.”

“Did he?” Clive shook his head. “Poor old sod. He must have been getting on a bit, though?”

“Early seventies, according to Nina.”

“Well, I’m surprised he lasted that long. The stuff he took . . .” Clive glanced at the pocket where Tony had hidden the illicit package. “That would merely have been the hors d’oeuvre. Dora once told me his daily dose of opium was enough to kill a horse.”

“He offered me some of that, but I wouldn’t touch it. It used to knock him out for hours.” Tony patted his pocket. “Did he ever show you his version of this stuff?”

“No.

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