At this point, Graham looks up from straightening a chair so it’s level with the one next to it. ‘Did you say Hammel?’
Karen blinks several times. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
Graham wants to ask her more about the curse, but he needs to follow this possible lead. ‘Do you know anyone by the name of Sophia Hammel?’
Karen’s eyes widen. Graham’s heart races at the prospect of finding some answers. ‘You know who she is?’
‘Certainly. She’s Frank Hammel’s daughter. Frank used to own Rosemore Cottage; your humble abode, I believe.’
‘Used to?’
‘It’s changed hands a few times in the past ten years, but yes, Frank used to own it. The Hammel family lived there for generations, but eventually Frank rented it out as a holiday home before it was bought and sold several times. Then, you came along. Frank suffered through some tough times financially, so he was forced to sell it. It’s not easy running a farm nowadays.’
Graham scratches his chin, running his fingers over his bristly beard. ‘Was Sophia ever found?’
Karen’s eyes narrow this time. ‘Found?’
‘I’m led to believe she went missing ten years ago.’
Karen stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. ‘Goodness me, Graham. Whatever gave you that idea?’
He’s aware their topic of The Hanging Tree is long forgotten, but this puzzle of Sophia Hammel is enough to keep him pressing on. He delves his hand into his jacket pocket, ready to bring out the poster to show her, but something stops him. He’s not sure why he doesn’t tell her about the makeshift poster. Call it an ex-detective’s intuition.
‘No reason,’ he says. ‘Does she live around here then?’
Karen’s eyes flick left and right and Graham notices a slight flush creep up her neck. He was in the police force long enough to learn how to read people, and this woman is nervous.
‘She, uh … no.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Quite sure.’ She attempts a smile, but her jaw quivers. ‘It was a difficult time for her family.’
‘Why is that?’
Karen gulps. Graham can’t help but notice that their job of lining up the chairs for the village meeting has also beenforgotten. They’re standing in the middle of the hall, facing each other.
‘Ten years ago. She … well, she started saying some strange things and the village didn’t like it.’
‘The village?’
‘The village committee, yes.’
‘Who runs this village committee now?’
‘Mostly the founding families. Frank is the man in charge, mostly, but Graham, I’m not sure you should be sticking your nose into this. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude and insensitive, but Frank Hammel, Sophia’s father, went through a very difficult time with his daughter, even before ten years ago when his … well, it’s not my place to say. I shouldn’t even be telling you this.’
Graham looks around. ‘There’s no one here but us, Karen. Tell me, if Sophia isn’t missing and she doesn’t live with her father in the village, thenwhereis she?’
Karen bites her bottom lip. ‘Um, you know, I’m not …’ At that moment, the double doors to the village hall spring open and several people walk in with smiles across their faces, happily chatting, but when they see Graham and Karen standing in the middle of the hall, they freeze like rabbits caught in headlights.
One is an older man, roughly Graham’s age, and he’s wearing a flat cap and a tweed blazer. Very smartly dressed.
Karen snaps out of her trance and positively beams with joy at having a distraction. ‘Goodness, we’ve got carried away, haven’t we?’ She starts placing the chairs out again, avoiding Graham’s gaze.
The older gentleman in tweed steps forward, his hand outstretched. ‘Noswaith dda. It’s about time you finally joined the village committee meeting, Mr Williams.’
Graham shakes the man’s hand. His grip is firm. Maybe too firm for a friendly gesture. The men lock eyes and Graham can’t quite work out whether he’s about to get his head bitten off or invited into the fold.
