Alice-Miranda Shines Bright 8 Read Online Free Page B

relapse – if he’d lain down in a field, they might never find him.
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    S tan Frost reached across his desk and picked up the envelope he’d collected earlier that day. He removed the letter, scanned its contents and sighed.
    Another one. They were certainly persistent. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a small pile of papers. He clipped on this latest letter, then replaced the bundle. He was about to close the drawer when he spotted something at the back. It was another bundle of letters, still inside their handwritten envelopes. He pulled them out and stared at the top one. The words ‘Return to Sender’ stabbed at his heart. His mouth felt dry. He quickly returned them to the drawer and pushed it closed. Stan walked out of the little room he called his study and into the kitchen.
    Two saucepans huddled together on the range, containing vegetables he’d peeled and chopped earlier in the morning. At five thirty on the dot he’d light the cooker and start dinner. Tonight he had a lovely trout fillet to go with the potatoes, beans, carrots and sprouts. A good lot of colour there, he’d thought to himself as he’d peeled the potatoes with deft speed; Beryl would have approved for sure. A tear escaped his left eye. He brushed it away, shaking his head. Just the thought of her and he went to water, even though she’d been gone for almost three years now.
    It was just as well he enjoyed his own company, otherwise he could have gone a little loopy out here in the woods. He had Cynthia and the dogs, and more chickens, ducks and geese than he could keep track of. There were trout in the stream and the odd deer wandered through. He had a vegetable patch to be proud of and a couple of goats for milking. There was nothing more that he needed. He walked to the letterbox once a week to retrieve the mail. All up, life suited him just fine at Wood End. Stan picked up the bucket of scraps from the edge of the sink and walked to the back door.
    Cynthia began to bray loudly. ‘All right, girl, I’m coming. And where are those two little friends of yours?’ He scanned the paddock nearest the cottage. Cynthia shared her patch with Cherry and Pickles, two goats she pretended to dislike intensely but could often be found cuddled up with on wintry nights. There was a small shelter in the far corner and a trough and feed bin near the gate. Cherry and Pickles charged towards Cynthia – they never missed an opportunity to eat. Stan emptied the bucket onto the ground and the little donkey and her friends quickly hoovered up the vegetable scraps. Cynthia’s lower lip quivered and Stan couldn’t help but laugh. It always looked as if she had something she was trying to say.
    â€˜And where are those other two little terrors? Maudie, Itch, come on. Time to go in,’ he called to his two cocker spaniels. It wasn’t like them to stray far from home. Stan walked around to the front garden. He could almost hear Beryl’s voice: pretty as a picture , she used to say. The garden had been her pride and joy. Now he spent hours each week weeding and pruning, making sure that it was just so.
    Stan looked across the cleared fields. Maudie and Itch probably had some poor rabbit bailed up in its burrow. He stiffened at the sight of someone in the distance. They were walking towards the cottage and it looked as if Maudie and Itch were with them. Stan walked around to the side of the building and picked up a shovel he’d left in one of the flowerbeds earlier in the day. Not that he planned to use it, but you never knew with strangers.
    The figure was getting closer but Stan still couldn’t see a face. He squinted, wondering if it was a traveller coming to ask for directions or a hobo.
    He walked towards the low stone wall that hemmed the cottage so neatly on three sides. The frown on his face lifted when he realised the identity of his visitor.
    â€˜Well, blow me