CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Wulfecombe

Clare had a long shopping list to carry into Barnstaple on Wednesday. Mostly, she shopped locally as much as possible, but it was time to stock up on various flours and staples, like the sunflower seeds and flax she used for bread, and the alternative flours she needed to make her gluten-free mix for her youngest daughter, who had a host of allergies and sensitivities. Clare had hoped she'd be able to heal them by the time Polly was grown, but she hadn't.

So Clare baked gluten-free for her, nut-free for one of her grandchildren, and egg-free for the vegans. Not all in one bread, usually, but something for everyone, and they'd all be there for Liam's visit. She'd invited him to stay at the farmhouse, and he'd agreed happily. He would arrive on Sunday and stay for just a few days before he took off for his European tour. Clare had no doubt there would be many visits from the cousins who remembered him, and neighbors who were dazzled by his fame and beauty. It was like having a movie star in town.

But she was adamant about protecting him, too, thus the family dinner on Sunday, and a simple tea a couple of days later for the neighbors who wanted to drop in. She'd told Liam they'd all want selfies. That was fine, he'd said, not bothered.

As she unloaded the flours and powders and bulk ingredients onto the cart, the woman and the clerk checking her out were gossiping, first about someone they both knew who'd obviously been caught red-handed having an affair. Clare sent out a kindly thought to the one who'd found them out and the two who'd been caught. It was never as cut-and-dried as everyone would believe. Life was less black-and-white than was comfortable.

In a little lag, Clare fished the last small bags from the back of the cart, brushing hair out of her face when the woman asked, "Did you hear about the bones they found in Wulfecombe? Surely, a murder."

The clerk tutted. "You've been listening to too much true crime, Nancy. It's probably some servant from the castle. Or some other poor being laid in their grave too soon."

"Murdered!" Nancy cried with some relish, and Clare saw that it was a game with them. "I heard it was a teenager, or maybe younger."

The clerk said, "My partner is with the police. They got the report back. A little girl, they think. Maybe seven or so."

Clare didn't realize she was staring so fiercely until the clerk said, "Sorry, is this bothering you? We'll stop."

"It's all right." She struggled to arrange her face, her chest growing tight. "I just think ..." She looked at the groceries, which she would still need after all this. "I need some air. I'll be right back."