Cherringham--Snowblind
Read Cherringham--Snowblind Online
Authors: Neil Richards
- Cover
- Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
- The Authors
- Main Characters
- Snowblind
- Copyright
- 1. A Lovely Night for a Walk
- 2. The Blizzard
- 3. Spinout
- 4. The Morning After
- 5. Community Spirit
- 6. Home Sweet Home
- 7. Lost and Found
- 8. Questions in the Woods
- 9. Secrets of Broadmead Grange
- 10. No Place Like a Home
- 11. Suspects
- 12. Tea for Two
- 13. A Chat in the Church
- 14. A Night at Home
- 15. A Surprising Discovery
- 16. A Lovely Cuppa
- 17. It’s The Thought That Counts
- Next episode
“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. A new episode is released each month. The series is published in English as well as in German, and is only available in e-book form.
Matthew Costello
(US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including
Vacation
(2011),
Home
(2014) and
Beneath Still Waters
(1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed
The 7th Guest
,
Doom 3
,
Rage
and
Pirates of the Caribbean
.
Neil Richards
has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He’s also written script and story for over 20 video games including
The Da Vinci Code
and
Starship Titanic
, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.
His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90’s and the two have written many hours of TV together.
Cherringham
is their first crime fiction as co-writers.
Jack Brennan
is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife a year ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.
Sarah Edwards
is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Two years ago, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …
Matthew Costello
Neil Richards
CHERRINGHAM
A COSY CRIME SERIES
Snowblind
BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT
Digital original edition
Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG
Copyright © 2014 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany
Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Edited by Victoria Pepe
Project management: Lori Herber
Cover illustration: © shutterstock: Buslik/xpixel/Ollie Taylor
Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer
E-book production: Urban
SatzKonzept
, Düsseldorf
ISBN 978-3-8387-4840-5
Archy Fleming pushed at the branches in his way.
What happened to the path I was on?
he wondered.
The night had been so nice! It had been nice, hadn’t it? Maybe a bit chilly. But now, so much colder, and it didn’t seem like such a nice night
at all
.
He looked down. Was that a path? He couldn’t tell, not with all the broken branches and leaves underfoot. Paths were usually clearer than this, weren’t they? All the people walking on them, going from … going from—
Where did I come from?
he wondered.
Back there, somewhere?
There were other people there, but though he could see their faces, their smiles, he couldn’t remember any of their names.
Maybe he should turn around? Go back there. But then if this was a path … maybe it led somewhere.
Had
to lead somewhere.
A village! A place to get warm, a pub! Yes! Has to be a pub ahead. With a roaring fireplace.
He thought of those words:
roaring fireplace.
He kept stepping forwards. A thin branch that he hadn’t seen snapped back and slapped him in the face, and it stung. That’s when he noticed that the trees, the path, the leaves on the ground had all turned white!
It’s snowing.
He did something he remembered from long ago.
Archy stuck out his tongue, letting the flakes land on it. First a few, then more, until he could see that this was no gentle snow.
Not just a couple of soft flakes landing on his dry, cracked tongue.
No, this snow was heavy, coming down hard. And though his slippers protected his feet, right at his exposed ankles, the snow landed and stuck.
Already the snow had made the ground disappear.
His thin robe did little now. That robe — a deep mix of dark red-and-blue stripes — also had snow sticking to it.
Roaring fireplace.
And a pint.
Like a pint, I would.
He’d stand by that fireplace, and sip his pint.
In his robe. His slippers. Let all that snow melt away.
As if it hadn’t been snowing at all.
Archy kept walking, his whole body shaking with each step, driven by the idea that ahead, at the end of this now-white trail, there was a village, and a pub, and all he had to do — no matter how cold he felt — was keep on going the way he was going.
He fell, hard, right onto his knees, his now untrustworthy knees, kneeling in the snow, his grey hair covered in the white stuff.
Archy looked around.
Where was the damn path?
It looked like it could go to the right. That looked
sort
of like a path.
(He remained kneeling. Didn’t want to get up until he knew where he was going.)
Or to the left! Right!
There’s
a path, narrow, but yes he could see it, the trees with their snow-covered limbs so close, trying to hide it.
No.
Straight ahead was the way. Of course.
That
was the path. Just need to keep going in the direction he was going.
He looked around for something to grab to help pull himself to a standing position.
A craggy bush nearby. Dried berries still on its branches. He grabbed at a twisted handful of the bush’s branches and pulled, using it to get off one knee.
He had the thought:
what if I can’t get up?
What if I end up staying here?
And that thought made Archy’s gnarled hands grab as tight as he could, hold the branches fast, as he struggled to a standing position again.
Then, as if rewarded for his great effort, he stood shivering, shaking and he saw lights ahead. Two lights! There — and then gone.
Then again.
The village!
The pub!
Close now. Close.
And Archy Fleming stumbled ahead, letting branches swipe at his face since he knew he had to go fast, not caring about the painful scratches.
He was close to the village. And all he had to do was keep going straight.
“Getting bad out there, Jack?” Ellie said from behind the bar, looking at the pub’s front windows, to the snowstorm outside.
Jack turned and looked at the near-empty pub. “Where is everybody?”
“Not used to big snowstorms I guess. Everyone getting all cosy at home. Fancy another?”
“No. It really is coming down. I better get back to the Goose.”
Ellie looked at two old men sitting off in a corner. “Think I’d better tell that lot over there to get going as well. Time to close up and head to my own fireplace. They say it’s going to be a real blizzard.”
Jack turned back to her. “Good idea. You know, all that snow outside … reminds me of home. We get storms like this all the time.”
“I’ve heard. So then you’re used to it. Know when to get out the snow-ploughs, salt, right? Not sure how little Cherringham will fare.”
“It’ll be interesting.”
Jack pulled on a cloth cap and buttoned up his pea coat. He had worn his wellies so he’d have no problem walking through the slushy stuff.
But driving? That could be a different story.
“Be safe, Ellie.”
“You bet,” she said, as she stepped out from around the bar and started turning lights off, finally making the two — what would the locals call them? —
geezers
start moving.
Hope they don’t have far to go, Jack thought.
As the line goes …
t’aint a fit night out for man nor beast.
And, as he quickly discovered, not a fit night for his Sprite.
Back in New York, he had driven a big SUV that had no trouble handling ice, snow, rain —
whatever
.
And though he had put winter tyres on his small sports car, he knew it didn’t have a lot of weight to get through the snowy roads.
As he backed out of the Ploughman’s car park, he could feel those tyres struggling with the snow.
Think I was a bit too cavalier about this,
Jack thought.
Back in NYC, he actually liked it when a big storm came. Brought out the best in the people; everyone pulling together. And the way snow could muffle the noisy city, covering it with a white blanket … that was something to see.
But even though he didn’t have far to go to get to his boat, he could tell he’d have to take it nice and slow.
One thing: there didn’t seem to be anyone else on the road.
No ploughs yet.
Everyone hunkering down at home.
A Cherringham blizzard.
He looked forward to getting back to the Grey Goose and enjoying the storm from there …
Jack crossed the river and came to the familiar fork where the main road turned left into a series of curves.
Although, in this storm it didn’t look familiar at all.
On either side, the hedges looked like a line of snowmen; the heavy, wet snow sticking fast.
He had tested the brakes — very easy with a few gentle pumps. No anti-locking brakes on this vintage item. The only way he could make them
not
lock was by taking it slow.
He remembered an old rule delivered to him by his dad when he faced his first Brooklyn winter as driver.
