Darkness Falls (Kate Marshall, #3)(75)

Kate crossed her arms, feeling chills in just her thin jeans and T-shirt. She took a sweater out of the car and pulled it on, and Tristan did the same.

They followed the footpath, which ran between the beach and a strip of ferns and weeds, for a hundred yards. They came to a big metal sign planted in the sand. Tristan had seen it before in one of the pictures Bishop had shown him.

“Warning, do not walk or drive any kind of vehicle out to the soft sand and mud at low tide,” said Kate, reading the sign. “Do you think that’s low tide? It’s really far out.”

“Looks like it,” said Tristan. He turned and pointed out a large LA-style white box with a paved terrace and landscaped gardens. “And that looks like Max Jesper’s house.”

There was one more house beyond, a small redbrick bungalow that was dwarfed in comparison. Max’s house was surrounded by a tall wall with white cladding. A steep sand track ran up alongside the sidewall, perpendicular with the seafront. It was wide enough for a car, and the sand was churned up from footfall. There was a metal bollard in the middle of the track with a sign on it that read NO ACCESS. DEAD END.

“I bet that leads up to the house and the private road on top,” said Kate.

They started to walk up the track alongside the wall bordering the property. It was almost two meters in height, so they couldn’t see into the back garden.

“It’s hard going in the sand,” said Kate, panting. She was wearing a thin pair of trainers.

“Good for the leg muscles,” said Tristan. At the top, there was another bollard, and the track opened out onto the private road. There was a large garage door in the wall, which was closed, and next to it a small front door, made of steel. There was no number, and no handle—just a keyhole. There was a small intercom to the side, and Kate was about to press it when the steel door opened.

An elderly lady wearing a pleated tartan skirt and a woolen fleece and Wellington boots came out. She had a carrier bag filled with fruit, and a key in her hand. She looked up and saw them.

“Oh! You made me jump,” she said. “Can I help you?” She had a soft Scottish accent, and she looked at Kate and Tristan suspiciously.

“Hi. We were just about to ring the bell for Nick,” said Kate, thinking quickly. “We’re friends from Exeter passing through. Is he in?”

“Yes. Hello,” said Tristan, smiling.

“No, he’s not in,” she said.

“Oh. We knew that Max is in Spain to see his sister . . . He’s back next week, on the fourth, isn’t he?” said Kate, thanking God that they’d run into Bishop at Jesper’s.

The elderly lady relaxed a little.

“You’re their neighbor, aren’t you? It’s . . .” Kate hesitated.

“Elspeth,” she said. She came out of the doorway and closed the door.

“Of course, hello. I’m Maureen, and this is John.”

“Hi,” said Tristan, looking at Kate.

She was thinking on her feet, and these were the only two names that had popped in her head at short notice.

“Nice to meet you. Nick’s away until Monday . . . Whenever they’re away, they ask me to pop in and water the plants, check the post. Feed the fish. They’ve got lots of fish in their pond,” said Elspeth.

“Do you live close by?” asked Kate.

“I’m next door, the wee bungalow next to this huge compound . . . They do have me over often, and I swim in their pool a couple of mornings a week, so I can’t complain. They’re lovely lads . . . How do you know them from Exeter?” she asked inquisitively, peering up at them.

“We go to Jesper’s often, their bar. They’re always saying that we must pop in when we’re in the area,” said Tristan. “We’ve been in Birmingham for the day.”

Elspeth locked the door and pocketed the key. “Can I leave them a message? Although I probably won’t talk to them on the phone,” she said. She started to walk back down the track toward the beach. Kate and Tristan followed.

“No. It’s fine. I’ll send them an email. I’ll probably run into Max when he’s back next week,” said Kate.

“Righto. Is that you parked down there?”

“Yes. The beach is so different here than it is further down with the promenade,” said Kate. “The tide goes so far out.”

Elspeth followed Kate’s gaze down to the beach.

“The tide isn’t fully out. People think that’s it, but it goes out way further. Burnham-on-Sea has the second-highest tidal range in the world. The tides range eleven meters from high to low. We’re second only to the Bay of Fundy in Canada,” she said.

“How far out can you walk?” asked Tristan.

“I wouldn’t go much further out than you can see there,” said Elspeth. “And even then, you must keep an eye out because it comes in very fast, and there are patches of sinking mud out on the flats. There are patrols down the coast in the high season . . . Nick, bless him, gets very concerned when he sees people out walking when the tide’s low . . . I’ve often seen him go and start shouting at people to come back. Has he told you about his hovercraft?”

“No.”

“He’s got this wee hovercraft, the same one as the lifeboat people use. It’s the only thing you can take far out on the mudflats because it hovers.”