Page 92 of Serenity Falls

He hesitates before replying. ‘Serenity Falls isn’t for everyone, Sadie – and everyone isn’t for Serenity Falls. Sometimes, it’s better to work that out sooner rather than when it’s too late.’ He straightens. ‘Anyway, I should get off. I’m heading that way, and the movie theatre is down there. Enjoy your movie. What are you going to see?’

Oh, crap. ‘Erm …’

He regards her with a half-amused smile. ‘Don’t tell me – you forgot.’ He raises a hand. ‘Take care.’ Then he strides away, long legs carrying him swiftly into the small throng milling about downtown. Sadie watches him stop a few times, saying hello to people before moving on again.

When it’s too late. But too late for what?

Cash

Carrie’s house was the last on my list. Not geographically, just because it felt too soon to be nosing around there when she’d only just died.

That’s why I was shocked when I pulled up on my bike to see a removals van parked on the drive. I stared at it. Then I checked the house number on my list: 17 Maple Street.

I supposed they could be collecting Carrie’s things, although it seemed a little soon. But then I realized that the removal men were taking boxes in. As I watched, a young woman came out of the house, directing them to be careful.

Before I could move, she looked up, spotted me and smiled. Damn. Then she walked over. I flushed, feeling awkward and guilty.

‘Hi,’ she said.

I guess she was in her early twenties, long, mousey hair in two pigtails, wearing a flowered sundress, socks and sandals. She seemed a little dowdy, although she was quite pretty.

Automatically, like I’ve been taught, I tipped my cap to her. ‘Afternoon, miss.’

Her smile widened. ‘Afternoon. And isn’t it a beautiful one?’

‘Yes, it is.’

She looked at me curiously. ‘You don’t have any mail for this house, do you, because that should have been stopped?’

‘Oh no,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m just delivering down the street, and I happened to notice you were moving in.’

She beamed again. ‘Yes, and I’m so excited to be living here. When I got the call to say I’d been approved, well, I squealed with joy.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘And the fact this house had just come up. I mean, they showed me some others, but when I saw this one, it just felt right.’

I could have asked any number of things then. I could have just been on my way, but instead I heard myself say: ‘When?’

She frowned. ‘Sorry?’

‘When did this house come up?’

‘Oh,’ she waved a hand. ‘About two weeks ago. Can you believe it?’

I couldn’t. Because Carrie only passed away four days ago as far as I knew. So how could this young woman be moving in so fast?

She held out a slim hand. ‘I’m Freya, by the way.’

‘Cash,’ I said. ‘I’m your mailman.’

‘How lovely. Well, I’m sure we’ll meet again, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to make sure the movers don’t drop anything valuable.’ She laughed. ‘Not that I have much valuable. It’s so nice that they furnish the house for you.’

‘Yes,’ I said, my throat dry, thinking, But that was Carrie’s furniture. Probably still got the indent of her dead butt cheeks.

I started to cycle away, and then, a couple of doors down I spotted Mr Bryson, an older gentleman who lost his cherished wife to cancer last year. He’s pleasant enough, but a little caustic, the way older folk are sometimes, like age wears away the veneer of polite that we all usually wear.

Bryson was standing on his drive in just a baggy T-shirt, shorts and slippers. His pale legs were rippled with varicose veins, and his white hair looked wild. He held a sleek grey cat in his arms. When he saw me, he waved. I stopped my bike again.