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After she placed her suitcase inside the front door, she wandered out back with her coffee and found a lovely little nook covered in a vine with pretty pink flowers spilling along the back of the cottage. A small table and chairs were tucked into the sunny corner. She looked around with surprise. For a house that no one lived in, the garden was neat and tidy and the grass was clipped. The roses along the fence needed deadheading, but apart from that, the backyard was pretty.

With a quick brush of the dead leaves off the table, she settled down to a lovely view of the grassy fields. The fragrance of the roses and violets overlaid the aroma of the coffee and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Truly a beautiful place.

Soothing for my soul.

It was much needed and she was so grateful to Beth’s family for letting her stay here for the duration of her visit. And even the Davy Morgan look-alike next door had shown some manners this morning.

Until he slammed the door in my face.

She tipped her head back to the bright morning sun. Nothing seemed as bad as it had last night. A good night’s sleep, despite being filled with bizarre dreams about a rock star with long black curls and deep blue eyes, had left her refreshed and with a strange warmth low in her belly. As she sat out in the fresh clean air, serenity stole over her. The sound of a lone tractor winding up and down around the field between her and the village was the only sound, apart from the birds. Glancing at her watch, she was taken aback to see it was almost noon. She was going to have to walk into Glastonbury to get the power adapter and some food, and find a plumber to sort this lack of water out. Leaning forward, she emptied the now cold coffee into the garden as a movement at the back of the cottage next door caught her attention. A tall dark figure slipped through the fence and walked across the field, with a guitar slung casually over his shoulder. The sun glinted off his jet-black hair and he glanced across but didn’t even acknowledge her with a wave.

Megan looked away and ignored him, and by the time she glanced back through the kitchen window as she put the mug in the sink, he had disappeared.

Fine. He’d kindly given her coffee but she’d ignore him from now on. If he wanted to be as rude and obnoxious as he’d been last night, she wanted nothing more to do with him. She might see him playing at the festival. As soon as she got to a computer, she’d Google him. As far as she knew, she’d never seen a mention of him in the lineup of bands. She knew her music inside out, but she’d never heard of Davy Morgan having a nephew who was well known enough to play at Glastonbury. And as far as she knew, her Davy Morgan, the idol of her teenage years, was still alive and had retired to the Cayman Islands.

##

“Sorry, love. No Wi-Fi, no phone, and cell service is spotty.” The grooves on either side of the woman’s mouth deepened as she frowned. “The magnetics have been on the rise more than usual this year. It’s the summer solstice coming on.”

Megan shook her head, not having a clue of what the crazy woman in the village shop was talking about. Clad in a bright-purple apron and bright-green leggings, with her steel-gray hair scraped back into a severe bun, she had been talking nonstop since Megan stepped into the dingy shop. All she wanted to do was call or e-mail Beth and Tony, and let them know she was settled in the cottage and to find out any more news about her suspension.

“What do you mean, the magnetics?”

The woman shook her arms and a jangle of coloured plastic bracelets clattered together on her wrists.

“The lines? Ye’ve not heard of the lines?” She leaned her arms on the counter of the dark, cluttered store.

Megan shook her head again. “No.”

“The ley lines are the connections between the ancient monuments.” She looked at Megan as though she was the crazy one. “When the summer and winter solstices arrive each year, they play havoc with everything. Phone, Internet, water.”

The shopkeeper wrapped up the packet of coffee, the bottle of milk, and the fruit Megan had brought to the counter. She placed it all in a brown paper bag along with the can of soup Megan had chosen for her dinner.

“Do you sell power adapters here?”

“No, love. You’ll have to go into Taunton for that.” The woman looked curiously at her as she passed her the groceries. “Just here for the festival, are you?” she asked.

“Yes, I am.” Megan handed over some money.

“Are you staying in the pub or camping out at the farm?”

“I’m staying at the McLaren cottage.”

The woman passed the package across the counter. “Say hello to Alice for me if you see her.”

“Alice?” Megan stared at her in confusion. “I thought she’d passed away?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, two winters back. But she loved her little cottage and she’s been seen there a few times since then.”

Megan gripped the bag of groceries and headed through the dim shop towards the door. It looked as though she wasn’t going to get a sensible conversation in here, but the woman kept talking as she came from behind the counter and followed Megan to the door.

“Well, you watch yourself getting to the festival. Make sure you take the road. Don’t go crossing those fields. There are mounds and marker stones scattered all the way from Alice’s cottage to the Pilton farm.” She followed Megan past the crowded shelves. “If you’re not careful, dear, you’re likely to find yourself who knows when. A lot of people have gone missing at this time of the year. God knows where they’ve ended up.”

The woman walked across to the shelf, shaking her head and muttering, as Megan headed for the door, and sunshine, and sanity.

Haunted cottages and ending up in another time? Was the woman demented?

Surely there was a post office in this little village. Or maybe the pub had a Wi-Fi connection?