Free FLINDER'S FIELD (a murder mystery and psychological thriller) by D. M. Mitchell

and stared at the page, wondering how he should dedicate it. To an old friend , he wrote. Cameron Slade . He slid it back to Adam, who looked at it with pleasure and then pushed over the other two volumes. He watched as Adam put the signed books carefully back into the cupboard.
    Handed a hot cup of tea, George Lee studied the lithe man before him. He appeared pleasant enough, but there was something beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Like a shadow that moved under his flawless skin; the shadow of another , altogether darker side to Adam Tredwin. Or maybe that was his imagination at play.
    ‘Are you working on another book?’ Adam asked from across the desk, a cup of tea to his lips.
    ‘Sort of,’ George replied.
    Adam nodded. ‘I really appreciated it, you know…’ he said.
    George waved it away. ‘I didn’t mind. Anytime,’ he said.
    ‘Not the signing of the books – though I do appreciate that as well,’ said Adam. ‘I mean about you being the only boy in the village who ever bothered with me. You were my only friend.’
    George felt slightly embarrassed, even uncomfortable, with the comment, with Adam opening up straight away like that. ‘It was nothing,’ he said.
    ‘It most certainly was something,’ Adam returned. ‘It meant a great deal to me at the time. I was desperately lonely till you came along. It’s a shame we only had a short time to spend with each other before we left the village.’
    ‘Yeah,’ sai d George. He saw his opening. ‘I heard you had a sister too, didn’t you?’
    ‘That’s right. Eva.’
    Adam and Eva, thought George. Was that some kind of family in-joke? ‘I never saw her,’ George admitted. ‘I never knew you had a sister.’
    ‘We left when she was just a week or so old.’
    ‘I heard she’s come back to Petheram with you?’
    Adam regarded George carefully. Sipped hot tea. ‘You heard, eh?’
    ‘It’s a small place,’ said George, recycling his uncle’s words. ‘News gets about fast. So where is Eva?’
    ‘She lives at my parents’ old place.’
    ‘I thought it was dilapidated,’ said George.
    ‘It was never sold and it has been allowed to fall into some disrepair, but I’m throwing money at it to renovate the old thing. There are only limited rooms which are serviceable, so we agreed Eva would have use of the house for now. I live here, above the shop.’
    ‘She lives all on her own?’ George asked, wondering if she looked at all like Adam’s mother. ‘Doesn’t she get lonely? The house is a bit isolated.’
    He shook his head. ‘Eva likes to be alone. She doesn’t go out much. I take her all her shopping. See to her needs.’
    Needs? George was intrigued, but held himself in check and decided not to pursue it, not on a first meeting. But he needn’t have worried; Adam was quick to explain.
    ‘She’s not well. She has problems engaging with people. It’s an illness. I’m looking after her.’
    ‘Oh,’ said George, nodding. Maybe it was true. Maybe something in the Tredwin gene pool didn’t make for perfectly adjusted children. But Adam looked fine, he thought. More than fine. He made George feel positively inadequate by comparison. Gentle, calm, good looking and with his sights set firmly on a business goal. George felt every bit the antithesis, and the curious and unexpected sensation of feeling uncomfortable crept over him. ‘How’s your mother?’ he blurted suddenly.
    After only the briefest of pauses, Adam said, ‘She’s fine. Still living in Manchester.’
    George needed to press further, but didn’t know how. Maybe he should leave it at that for now, he thought. His uncle’s invite to the pub to see the live band sprang to his mind. ‘Look, I’ve got to be going soon, but how do you fancy meeting up at the pub for a beer? There’s a live band playing – The Muddy Frogs or something – that are supposed to be good. We could catch up on things over a few drinks.’
    ‘I don’t drink,’