Cherringham--Last Train to London Read Online Free Page B

their beloved Otto Brendl, see him driving, oversized for the small van, his head grazing the ceiling.
    He saw a switch that he guessed would turn on a speaker, music designed to signal that the puppeteer was nearby.
    But now he drove in silence, thinking about what he had agreed to do.
    He might have thought it nothing, simply dealing with returning Brendl’s puppets and maybe a little background work to reassure the teacher.
    But there was one thing playing on his mind, something he hadn’t yet mentioned to anyone, not even Sarah.
    The matter of the tattoo.
    Instinct’s a funny thing, he thought. We don't know where it comes from, but boy do we ever trust it.
    Ahead, he saw Sarah slow down and indicate to turn off the main road onto a narrow, single lane leading up into a wooded area.
    Turning in, Jack hung back as the bushes and hedge – not as orderly as Jack had grown used to – made Sarah’s car disappear around the hairpin twists and turns.
    He came round one corner and just missed a young guy in jeans and waterproof jacket, who pressed himself back into the hedge.
    Jack checked the mirror to make sure the man was okay – and he seemed all right, standing at the edge of the road, calmly watching the little van until Jack rounded the next curve.
    The rutted dirt road made the puppet van bounce up and down. Jack heard the heavy pieces of the stage, stacked behind him, jump with each bump and indentation.
    He hoped that the Punch and Judy puppets were securely fastened.
    Should have checked that, he thought.
    Then – a hundred metres ahead – a small cottage, girded by trees, overlooking a ravine.
    All by itself.
    He pulled up beside Sarah’s car as they both got out to look at the cottage.
    “Kinda isolated,” Jack said. “Wonder why he’d live way out here?”
    Sarah looked out over rolling hills, the nearby farms, glimpses of the main road. But no question – Brendl was all on his own out here.
    She turned to Jack.
    “Must have liked his privacy. Or maybe, even after all these years he still didn’t feel part of the village.”
    “Maybe. Let me open up the van and get the stuff out. Then – perhaps take a look around?”
    “You think Mrs Harper might have something to worry about?”
    “Who knows?”
    She felt Jack hesitate – something else he was thinking but not saying? But he went to the garishly coloured van, opened the back, and began unloading the pieces of Brendl’s stage set.
    Sarah went to the front door, and a security light flashed on above her.
    She held Brendl’s key ring – so strange to have something so personal belonging to a dead man.
    The front door had two locks, and she began the trial and error process of trying each key while Jack brought Brendl’s props and stage set over.
    “There’s a big old basket in the back, buckled. Think it has Brendl’s ‘cast’. Any luck here?”
    “Lots of keys.”
    Finally one went in, and she turned it.
    “Got that open. Now …”
    Sarah tried the same process on the lower lock.
    “Pretty substantial locks,” Jack said.
    Sarah nodded, and pointed overhead. “And he has one of those motion detector lights. Came on soon as I stepped near.”
    Sarah got better at guessing which shape might fit the second lock, and she opened the heavy deadbolt. “Wonder if old Mr Brendl kept some jewellery here?” Jack said.
    “That would explain all this …”
    As the last key found its home they entered the puppeteer’s cottage. And despite having the keys and even though they were doing a favour, it felt – as they walked into the shadowy darkness – as if they were breaking in.

6. Cottage Secrets
    Sarah helped Jack stack the stage pieces just inside the front door.
    They probably had a proper place to be stored – but all of this would vanish sooner or later anyway.
    With no heirs, Brendl’s isolated getaway would be sold, his possessions as well.
    “Want to bring the puppet case in?” she asked.
    “Er – let's take a look around