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Others, however, when Debo’s dog therapist friend, Chris, had worked his magic on them, were placed with new owners.

      ‘I’m off to fetch a greyhound in a minute,’ Debo said, looking at her watch. ‘Judy’s coming with me, for a change of scene.’

      ‘A greyhound? You haven’t had one of those before, have you?’

      ‘No, because there are specialist greyhound rescue places. But this is urgent – if I don’t fetch her by three this afternoon, she’s going to the vet’s to be put down. She’s retired from racing, but her new owners put her out in the back garden when the pet rabbit was loose, and you can imagine the result.’

      ‘Yes. Bit silly of them.’

      ‘It was the neighbour who suggested me and rang up. She said it was a nice dog, but they were going on like it was a blood-crazed monster and had locked it in the garden and left it there. But they’ve given permission for me to take it if I pick it up before they get back, and the neighbour will let me in.’

      ‘That might be one to send straight to your friend Lucy, to rehome,’ I suggested.

      ‘Maybe, but I’ve just had a thought: greyhounds don’t need a lot of exercise and they make good pets, so I might be able to persuade Jonas that he’d like her instead of a little dog.’

      ‘So long as he hasn’t taken to breeding rabbits. Or what about that little white mongrel, Snowy?’

      ‘Unfortunately he barks his head off whenever the TV’s on, so until we can break him of doing that, he’s going to be a bit difficult. Chris is thinking up a plan.’

      ‘Let’s hope it works,’ I said, then set off for the Spring, with Babybelle’s imperative barks turning into long, blood-curdling howls behind me.

      I slowed down once I was out of earshot – or perhaps Babybelle had just given up. I had so much on my mind that I really needed a little peaceful time to be alone and let the birdsong and the buzz of busy insects soothe me … but unfortunately, I didn’t get it, because Dan Clew, the Sweetwell gardener, stepped out of a side path right in front of me, blocking my way.

      He was a big, bullishly handsome man, in a heavy-jawed kind of way, with a high complexion and small, dark eyes. He seemed to hold a certain charm for some women, though now that he was getting on a bit, his black hair was liberally streaked with grey and his strong frame starting to run to fat, the latter probably due to the pies and pasties he consumed most evenings in the public bar of the Screaming Skull. He had a handful of cronies there, but he wasn’t popular, due to his bad temper.

      As usual, now that he fancied himself as gamekeeper-cum-estate manager, he had a shotgun under his arm, though even if Baz had allowed him to load and use it, there wasn’t anything to shoot in the overgrown woodland that circled Sweetwell Hall. I mean, the red squirrels weren’t vicious, and anyway, they were a protected species.

      Still, it wasn’t exactly helping to dispel the faint air of menace that always hung around him.

      Dan eyed me in the way he did all women, as though examining dubious heifers at a cattle show.

      ‘You’re back visiting, then?’ he asked.

      ‘Hi, Dan,’ I said levelly, though my heart was still thumping from the suddenness of his unwelcome appearance. ‘I’m back indeed – but for good this time.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re staying here in Halfhidden? I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to do that. No one wants you here after what you did to Harry. You’re not welcome.’

      ‘So you say, but you seem to be the only person who thinks so, or who holds me to blame for letting Harry talk me into driving that night,’ I said evenly, standing my ground, for as Judy had pointed out, I’d had years of battles with obstinate village elders and petty officials while working abroad and I was no longer a traumatised young girl able to be scared off by bully-boy tactics.

      ‘Cara Ferris told me straight that you insisted on driving and wouldn’t even stop at the Lodge to let Harry take over. And my boy, who they’d made drunk, was out of it in the back seat.’

      ‘Well, you can’t blame that on me,’ I said. ‘Spiking his drink was another of Harry’s bright ideas. And I still don’t remember a thing about what happened, not even getting into the car, let alone driving, so she could say anything, couldn’t she?’

      ‘You’re calling her a liar?’ he demanded.

      ‘I’m saying that I know I would have been so terrified at the idea of driving the car on the main road, that I’m certain I wouldn’t have insisted. So yes, that has to be a lie, at least.’

      ‘Sez you!’ he sneered.

      I looked at him and suddenly decided to take the bull by the horns and get one interview I was dreading over with. ‘Actually, Dan, I want to ask you some questions about the night of the accident, and what you really saw.’

      ‘I saw you behind the wheel, that’s what I saw,’ he said. ‘And Harry next to you, with a dirty great branch sticking through him, dead as a doornail.’

      I felt slightly sick. ‘Judy said I mustn’t have been wearing a seat belt and was thrown forward, that’s why I had such bad head injuries. But you got me out of the car, didn’t you? Why did you do that?’

      ‘It was on its side in the ditch and there was an almighty smell of petrol,’ he said shortly. ‘Simon and Cara got themselves out of the back, but I thought the whole thing might go up any minute and better to move you than you be burned to a crisp.’

      ‘Well … that was kind of you, then,’ I said, disconcerted.

      ‘Tom turned up as I was getting you out; he’d have done it if I hadn’t.’ He shrugged.

      ‘Was there anything on the drive that might have made me swerve?’

      He shook his head. ‘Nothing. You probably just came too fast at the dip and then slammed the brakes on. You could have killed my boy, like you killed the boss’s son.’

      ‘Not on purpose,’ I reiterated, thinking that he himself had actually done all right out of the tragedy, because he’d lived an easy life since Baz moved abroad. And Simon seemed to have got on well too, working his way up the career ladder as a gardener with the National Trust.

      ‘How’s Simon doing?’ I asked on that thought.

      He gave me a darkly glowering, suspicious look. ‘I suppose they’ve already told you he’s head gardener over the other side of the hill, at Grimside, now,’ he said tersely. ‘In charge of that herbarium, or whatever fancy name they’ve called the walled herb garden.’

      ‘Herbivarium?’ I suggested, and he shrugged.

      ‘Old Cripchet charges people through the nose to see it, then sells them half-dead plants for stupid prices.’

      ‘Actually, I didn’t know Simon was there, but I’m glad he is, because I want to talk to him as well. In fact, I’m going to talk to everyone who was there on the night of the accident,’ I said. ‘I should have done it years ago.’

      Dan’s face darkened alarmingly and he took a hasty step forward, gripping the shotgun tightly, though more as if he’d like to beat me to death with it than shoot me. That was not a comfort.

      ‘You leave him alone – you’ll leave us all alone, if you know what’s good for you,’ he threatened. ‘And you’d better tell that aunt of yours to look for another place to take her mutts, because Rufus, the new owner, doesn’t want her on his land.’

      Then he turned on his heel and went off up the private path towards Sweetwell, slamming the small wicket gate behind him. I hoped Howling Hetty would get him.

      Angry and unsettled, I stared after him until he disappeared among the trees, before carrying on towards the Spring. Goodness knows, I needed soothing even more now than

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