Free Cherringham--The Secret of Combe Castle by Neil Richards

had gone, then picked up her phone and called Jack.
    “Sarah. How you getting on?”
    “I think I’m onto something, Jack. Fancy a bite later — catch up?”
    “Sure.”
    “Let me get the kids sorted first — how about the Ploughman’s?”
    “Absolutely — food’s not bad there in the evenings. See you at seven?”
    “Grab a table by the fire.”
    Sarah said goodbye and put down her phone. She had an hour now in the empty office to dig into Cauldwells’ database.
    The estate agent usually shut at five o’clock, so with luck Anjii had logged off and Sarah would be able to get into the system without anybody noticing.
    She grabbed the log-in password from her iPad.
    Then her hands tracked across the keyboard, accessing the site.
    Thinking: if I’m right, I’ve just discovered something major.
    A lost treasure that just might still be there.
    And a very good reason to force out the FitzHenrys and take over the million pound liability that was Combe Castle …

12. A Table by the Fire
    Jack walked up the main road from Cherringham Bridge, his coat wrapped tight against the bitter wind. If he hadn’t made a date with Sarah to go through what she’d found, he’d have been happy to stay home on the boat.
    Wood-burner roaring, a good book, Riley tucked up next to him on the sofa. Maybe a small single malt too.
    Perfect combination for a dark winter’s night.
    But the Ploughman’s was always a pretty cheerful place.
    He cut across the dark pub car park towards the pub, then spotted a light go on in one of the parked cars.
    Normally it would have been no big deal.
    But in that instant he thought he had recognised two of the occupants of the car — and suddenly he was curious.
    He stepped back into the shadows of the big hedge that lined the road, and watched.
    The car was a beaten-up old Ford. In the front passenger seat, huddled over, sat Odysseus FitzHenry. Jack could see he was fiddling with something — looking at it intently.
    Next to him in the driver’s seat, also intent on something in his lap, Jack recognised Terry Hamblyn, one of Cherringham’s more interesting characters and least successful part-time petty criminals.
    What a pair!
    If Terry gave up drink and weed he’d probably be a darn sight better criminal.
    Though that was never going to happen!
    Jack edged closer so he could see into the car. The light was on — he knew they wouldn’t be able to see him.
    And Jack could see Terry … counting cash.
    Back in NYC, Jack would have tapped on the window to see exactly what was up.
    But right now he was just your average citizen.
    None of my business, he thought. Unless it connects with business up at the castle …
    He slipped round the back of the car and headed into the pub. It was too cold to be hanging around out here playing cops.
    The pub was so warm and busy. He looked around, but there was no sign of Sarah. At the bar he reserved a table by the fire and ordered a pint.
    While Billy the barman stood at the far end pulling the beer from the pump, Jack spotted the side door open and Odysseus came in. He headed straight for the bar and stood next to Jack without looking at him.
    This’ll be fun, thought Jack.
    “Terry sort you out?” he said, without looking across at Odysseus.
    “What?”Jack turned to look at him.
    “Whoa, wait — who? What do you mean, man?”
    Jack turned and smiled.
    “It’s okay Odysseus, I’m not a cop.”
    Jack watched this information infiltrate the younger FitzHenry’s addled consciousness. The guy had clearly taken one free hit as a sampler out in the car.
    “Wait a minute. You’re the guy that Pa hired to find the mystery attacker!”
    “That’s right.”
    Odysseus swayed slightly and peered at Jack through his long hair.
    “So how’re you doing with all that, Sherlock?”
    “Just fine. And how are you doing? Does dear old Dad know you buy your drugs right here in the village, in plain sight?”
    Odysseus grinned. “I’m forty years old, man, I