Page 3 of Too Close To Home

Yet here she was.

Walking home alone.

Because it was only eight minutes.

The path dipped, curving towards the stretch edging closer to the open moor. The mist thickened, pooling low between tree trunks until they looked taller than they were, stretching upward into nothing. Then she squinted. Headlights beamed up ahead. Dim at first. Diffused through the fog, they looked like twin moons caught low to the ground.

She slowed.

There shouldn’t be a car this far in. Though there was an access track somewhere ahead. She knew that. Farmers used it. Dog walkers sometimes turned around there. It wasn’t unheard of. But the engine idled quietly, barely more than a hum beneath the wind, as if parked and waiting. Emily swallowed.

The driver’s window lowered a fraction. “Eh up, Em?”

Her heart jumped. Not in fear. More surprise.

She shielded her eyes against the glare. “Oh. Hi.” Relief loosened her chest. “You scared me.”

“You walking all the way back?”

She glanced behind her. The path had dissolved into white. “Aye. I’m only seven minutes away.”

“What can happen in seven minutes?”

Emily snorted. “I know, right?”

“Still, it’s pretty foggy. Want a lift?”

“No, it’s okay. I can walk.”

“Your dad’ll kill me if I told him I saw you walking and didn’t offer.”

Dad would moan. He’d lecture about safety. About men. Small towns and poor decisions. But she was freezing. And tired. And she knew him. Her dad knew him. The whole bloody town knew him. And if she was going to get on a train to Manchester next weekend, if she was going to build a life somewhere bigger than this, she had to prove she could be independent and get home without his help.

Like a grown woman.

“Okay.” She walked around the bonnet, mist curling around her knees, and opened the passenger door.

Once in, she hovered her thumb over her dad’s unanswered message.

Have you left yet?

She should probably reply now. Tell him she was on her way. Tell him she’d got a lift. But then he’d ask who with. And she really couldn’t be bothered with another interrogation.

So she turned the phone off and slipped it back into her pocket.

Then the mist closed in, swallowing the car whole.

And Emily Fisher with it.

Chapter one

Loose Slates

Harrison glanced up at his brand-new cottage.

Then sighed.

And wondered, not for the first time, if he’d made a mistake.