Free Cherringham--Mystery at the Manor by Neil Richards

it.
    It was a faded black-and-white photograph of a woman. Dark eyes, long dark hair, dressed in a traditional sari. Her smile was radiant; she was an astounding beauty.
    What is this? Jack thought.
    A shrine to a lost love?
    But then why so secret? Why not keep it downstairs?
    The he noticed something on a small shelf suspended on a wall to the right of the table.
    An ornate wooden chest with a metal latch, but no lock.
    Feeling almost as if he was violating a tomb but compelled to see, Jack tucked his light under an armpit, and picked up the box, opening the lid.
    And for a moment he stared, before placing it on the table and rifling through its contents.
    Victor Hamblyn’s secrets. All here .
    Behind him all of a sudden, he saw a light hit the attic behind him.
    He shut the lid, and quickly turned off his flashlight.
    He picked up the chest and walked out to the attic room taking care to shut the hidden room’s door behind him.
    To the window, staying back in the shadows to see some of Cherringham’s finest, outside their police car, aiming massive torches up to the attic, and all around the house.
    Jack had to move fast.
    ***
    Moving as quickly as he could with no light, his eyes less effective after using the flashlight, Jack ran down the stairs, nearly tripping on the tattered carpet, then around to the back of the house.
    He heard fumbling at the front door, and he picked up his speed, feeling like a kid robbing a neighbour. He raced to the big kitchen, bumping into the wooden kitchen table hard, suppressing an ‘ouch’ before finally reaching the back door.
    The police hadn’t made their way around to the back yet and with the scant light of the stars better than the total darkness inside, Jack raced unseen through the overgrown grounds of Victor’s estate, making his way to where he hoped his car remained hidden.
    And if he didn’t get caught, if the police didn’t take the chest from him and lock him up, he knew he would be up most of the night, looking through the contents of the wooden chest …
    Trying to understand.

14. Whac-a-mole
    “One macchiato long with extra shot.”
    Sarah waited patiently as the Huffington’s waitress in her trim little outfit, placed Jack’s steaming coffee on the pine table in front of him, without spilling a drop.
    He looks tired , she thought. How late was he at Mogdon Manor?
    “And one large Americano, with skinny hot milk on the side.”
    Sarah smiled her thanks. The girl bobbed politely and left them, in their little table by the window.
    “When I was a kid, this place only served instant coffee,” said Sarah. “Times change — thank God.”
    “True. Though the waitress looks like she should be in Downton Abbey .”
    “The Huffington’s uniform — a girl must wear it with pride, and I should know.”
    “More secrets of your teenage past, huh?” said Jack, his eyes twinkling.
    “They fired me after a week — couldn’t resist eating the cakes.”
    “I know the feeling,” said Jack.
    Sarah stirred her macchiato.
    “So why the change of plan?” she said. “I’ve not even been into the office yet.”
    Jack sipped his coffee. He might look tired but she could see that he was enjoying this moment, she knew him well enough by now to know.
    He lifted up his old sports bag onto his lap and slowly unzipped it.
    “I had an interesting night. Not entirely legal, but hey I’m one of the good guys so I figure the rules in Olde England are probably flexible.”
    “Are you about to implicate me in some kind of crime, Mr Brennan?”
    “You bet.”
    “Good. I’d hate to be left out.”
    “Left out?” said Jack. “You’re the key to its success.”
    And she listened as he told her all about what had happened at the Manor: the attic, the secret room and his unorthodox journey home via a ditch at the back of the property.
    “You’re lucky the police didn’t catch you,” she said.
    “I might be slower than I used to be — but we cops all work from the same