Discarded M. Hunter (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📖

ever undertaken in letter form. I know Rick is a good guy – his devotion to his mother is proof of that – and in any other situation I’d kick myself for not swooning at his suggestion, but there is just too much going on in my head to really know what I want in my future. I want my sister back, and until that happens, any thoughts about romance or relationships or even dating have to remain on hold.

I can’t keep him waiting much longer. A good ten seconds has elapsed and I’m yet to speak. I want him to know that I appreciate the offer, and the courage he has shown to cross that bridge.

Fifteen seconds.

I want to be honest about my feelings, but I don’t want to see that hurt expression he’s desperately trying to keep hidden.

Twenty seconds. If only I had a pen and paper.

‘You don’t have to answer straightaway,’ he says, cutting through my thoughts. ‘I just wanted to float the idea and see what you think about it. With everything that’s going on today, I’m sure your mind is probably everywhere but here, and it’s unfair of me to put you on the spot like this.’ He releases my hands. ‘I’m gonna go and head back to Dorset, and give you the space to think about what I’ve said, and when you’re ready, you have my number and can let me know. Yeah?’

I nod, as I still can’t find the words I want to say.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around and give you a lift?’

‘You should go,’ I manage to say. ‘I will speak to you soon.’

He smiles once more before disappearing out of the room, and as I hear the front door close, I finally exhale the breath that has been trapped in my throat.

‘Can I fix you a cup of peppermint tea?’ Victoria asks, apparently alerted by the closing of the front door and surprised to find me still camped out in her living room.

‘That’s very kind, but no, thank you. And I promise we will be out of your hair as soon as possible.’

She smiles warmly. ‘Please don’t rush off on my account. The Lord clearly has brought you to our little island for a reason, and who am I to question his motives?’

Come to think of it, with Rick now gone, and Jack already outside, there really isn’t any need for me to remain inside the vicarage. Jack has already packed the box of Peter Saltzing’s belongings in his boot, so I thank Victoria for her help again, and leave a donation in the small charity box hanging by the front door as I take my leave.

The air is so fresh against my cheeks and I’m grateful for a few minutes on my own when I don’t have to pretend that everything is okay. I’m not sure I share Victoria’s sentiment that I was brought to Hayling Island for any particular purpose; it certainly doesn’t feel like I’ve achieved anything in the few hours I’ve been here. If anything, I have more questions than answers, and the one question I’m trying to avoid is who is sending these photographs? I’m not a riddle solver, I don’t like crosswords, and I’m even less keen on puzzles.

‘The boss was on the fifteenth hole with the ex-Met Commissioner when I called, and not pleased by the interruption,’ Jack explains glumly, turning the corner and finding me leaning against the door to the vicarage. ‘He says we don’t have enough for exhumation.’

‘Figured as much,’ I reply, hoping he can’t see just how close to tears I am. ‘Where do we go from here?’

He doesn’t answer, looking at me for too long. ‘Are you okay? I didn’t want to say too much when we were inside, but the news about your sister must have been a shock to hear. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to deliver it in person.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I blag, invoking a positive expression that I’m not feeling. ‘It’s good news, right? The remains in the case aren’t my sister, which means she could still be alive somewhere. Why would you think that would make me sad?’ I barely get the final word out before the tears are streaming down my face, and I have never been more grateful to feel a pair of arms wrapping around my shoulders, and just holding me.

‘We will find her,’ Jack whispers into my windswept hair. ‘This is merely a pothole in the road to the truth.’

Stupidly, I think the thing that is upsetting me most is the fact that I had accepted she was buried at Pendark. I hate myself for giving up on her so easily.

‘The pathologist told me that the DNA sample on file for Faye McKenna wasn’t ideal, and they needed to locate a separate comparison sample to confirm her identity. It was her dental records that confirmed the truth. She’d had extensive work undertaken by an orthodontist, and in the end that proved conclusive. Then there was this morning’s delay in being able to find a family member to break the news to. I finally got hold of some distant cousin of Faye’s who said she would share the news with remaining members of the family. I’m just gutted her mum didn’t live long enough to bury her only child.’

‘Who’s doing this to me?’ I manage to blurt.

‘Sending the photographs? I wish I knew. Clearly someone with an inner knowledge of what became of Cormack Fitzpatrick and Faye McKenna, but who that person is is beyond me.’

‘Do you think it’s the person who killed and buried them?’

‘I wouldn’t rule out any theory at the moment.’ He rests his cheek on the top of my head. ‘I saw your PCSO friend leaving… Does that mean you’re in need of a lift back to Weymouth?’

I break free of his embrace, and look into those coal-like eyes. ‘I’ll catch a train home.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, Weymouth is