Page 63

And Kelly became more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

And then, just when she was about to give up, she came across a page related to a major poker tournament. A report on the tournament detailed how Pierce Littleslade, leading the tournament from the start, had suddenly capitulated, dropping from a clearly winning position into a position of utter hopelessness. He had lost, and he had lost big.

The article linked to a tabloid newspaper with more information on what had happened. For sure, Pierce Littleslade had lost badly, but there were certain tournament rules relating to how much of a stake one could put in, and that loss alone wouldn’t have been enough to ruin him.

However, frustrated at his defeat, Pierce Littleslade had challenged the tournament’s winner to an after-hours poker battle in the local casino. Therein, perhaps after one too many expensive brandies, he had lost everything. No longer even able to enter official tournaments, Pierce Littleslade’s professional poker career was effectively over.

There were rumours that he had entered under-the-table tournaments, unsanctioned events, and even games in a shady underworld that were borderline illegal. He had not only failed to claw back his losses, but had got himself into even more debt.

And now the Littleslades were officially on the run from their creditors, and no one had seen them for the last couple of years.

Kelly couldn’t believe what she was reading. These Littleslades were basically criminals, and they were here in Briar Speckles, no doubt for some nefarious reason. She needed to find out what it was, and soon. With the parade just a day away, she had no time to lose.

‘Are you ready to go, dear?’ came the old lady’s voice, shaking Kelly out of her reverie. ‘It’s after closing time.’

It was nearly half past three, and already the evening was drawing in.

Kelly packed away her things, thanked the old lady, and followed her out to her car.

Without any of Edward’s aggressive motor-racing prowess, progress was slow as they made their way down through the narrow, winding lanes to Briar Speckles, with Kelly politely listening to the old woman’s ongoing monologue about her daughter’s new business venture into flower arranging, her son’s recent new car, her granddaughter’s ballet recital, and her grandson’s victory in a local chess tournament.

Kelly smiled politely and responded where necessary, all the time wishing that the old dear would just put her foot down.

By the time they reached the edge of the village, the old lady paused to let through a car that could have let them through three times over. When the gap was clearly wide enough for two cars anyway, Kelly said, ‘Here’s close enough. I’m quite happy to walk from here.’

‘If you’re sure, dear,’ the old woman said.

‘I’m sure. Thanks very much.’

Before she could go, the old woman leaned over and pressed two pieces of paper into her hands.

Kelly looked down and saw what appeared to be two handwritten coupons, both offering two-for-one pumpkin spice lattes.

‘You can bring that young man of yours,’ she said. ‘You can do your courting in my café any time you want, and I’m sure it won’t be long before he puts a ring on your finger.’

Kelly, hideously embarrassed, smiled long enough to get safely out of the car. She waved the old woman off, wiped sweat off her brow, and then hurried back through the village.

She was only halfway back to the inn when she saw a figure walking along the street ahead of her.

Pierce Littleslade.

Now was her chance to find out what he was up to, so she followed after him.

She wondered if he would lead her all the way to where she was sure he had Clive Dawkins hidden, but instead he headed up a side road and then climbed over a hedge into a vegetable garden that, to Kelly’s horror, she realised belonged to Mrs. Flowers, who had complained about her turnips going missing.

She tried to follow him over the hedge, only to lose him in the shadows of the trees around the garden’s edge. Before she knew it, he had given her the slip.

As she waded through the vegetable garden, she caught her foot on a low bamboo fence separating two plots and let out a cry of alarm as she nearly fell on her face.

A light came on at the back window, and Kelly had to scramble for cover as the back door opened.

Mrs. Flowers appeared, flashing a torch across the garden.

‘Is there anyone out there?’ she called.

But Kelly, who had scrambled behind a line of tomato bushes—most of them dead now, their leaves starting to curl with the cold, but a few with small clumps of green fruit hanging on—kept out of sight.

As soon as the old lady went back inside, Kelly hurried back out to the road. There was no sign of Pierce Littleslade, so she headed straight back to the inn.