A Dark and Stormy Night by Jeanne M. Dams

who’s so stubborn about being called Mister.’
    â€˜Well, then, I’m Dorothy. Are you from these parts, Rose?’
    â€˜Born in Branston village, but they closed the village school before I was old enough to start, so I had to go to the comprehensive in Shepherdsford. My father had flown the coop by that time, so mum moved us to Shepherdsford to be closer to the school. There were three of us kids. She had to take a job as a cashier at Tesco.’
    Rose sipped her coffee.
    â€˜Not an easy life,’ I said.
    â€˜Not easy, no. That’s why I worked so hard in school. I was determined I was going to have marketable skills. I got four A-levels – you know what those are?’
    I nodded. ‘Advanced examinations for the college-bound. University, I mean.’
    â€˜Yes, well, I actually won a scholarship to uni, but by that time I knew I could cook. Really cook, you know. So I went to the Cordon Bleu school in London instead, and once I got out I could take my pick of jobs.’
    â€˜I admit I was a little surprised to find a cook of your calibre in a private home. I’d have thought someone with your incredible skills would be at the Ivy or somewhere like that – some posh London restaurant.’
    â€˜I don’t care for London. Oh, I could make more money there, but believe me, I do all right here, and I prefer the country. I suppose you could say my roots are here.’
    â€˜Is your mother still living?’
    Rose’s face lit up. ‘She lives in Branston, in a lovely new house we bought her, John and I. Fresh as new paint, all the latest labour-saving devices, and a beautiful garden. Mum always loved her flowers, but she didn’t have time for them when we lived in Shepherdsford. Nor the space, either. Our front garden in that nasty little house was about three feet square, and wouldn’t grow anything but weeds.’
    â€˜And your husband, is he—’
    A commotion at the back kitchen door interrupted me. Rose ran to see what was the matter, and opened the door to Alan and the other men, two of them bearing between them a blanket-wrapped bundle.
    â€˜Julie?’ I cried.
    â€˜Julie,’ Alan answered.
    â€˜Is she—’
    â€˜She’s all right, except for being nearly frozen to death. Mrs Bates, can you heat some water, please? We’re going to need lots of warm compresses.’
    The next hour or so passed in a blur. John brought in enough wood for several fires and kindled one, first, in the Aga, and then in all the downstairs fireplaces and Julie’s bedroom. Meanwhile Julie was tucked into bed with lots of blankets, with Rose spooning hot, sweet tea into her a teaspoon at a time.
    When she was finally warm she was left to sleep, with Joyce at her side, and I was able to question Alan in the privacy of our room.
    â€˜Where was she?’
    â€˜In an old shed, or hut of some sort, a couple of miles away. I suppose it must have belonged to a farm on the estate years ago, or maybe it was a shepherd’s hut, but it’s obviously been derelict for a very long time. There was nothing in it but a few rusted pieces of iron, bits of ancient tools, probably.’
    â€˜So what on earth was she doing there ?’
    â€˜Hiding,’ said my husband laconically.
    Julie had, he said, been too cold and confused when they found her to say much. But from the way she had shrunk against the wall of her shelter when they entered, Alan could tell that she saw them as pursuers rather than rescuers. She had, in fact, tried to run from them, but she was too weak to get out of the hut.
    â€˜Does she know about Dave?’
    â€˜Nobody’s told her.’
    The answer was ambiguous. My eyes met Alan’s. ‘So you think . . .’ I said slowly.
    â€˜Love, I don’t think anything yet. Too much has happened too fast. First the body under the tree—’
    â€˜Sounds like the title for a mystery