D.I. Millicent Hampshire and the Witchmoor Edge CID
Copyright 2008 Mike Crowson
Smashwords Edition 2010
The bedroom was to the rear of the house and the view from the window was both tranquil and beguiling. The foreground was a fifty-metre sweep of semi-cultivated garden, down to the reeds at the edge of a very blue lake, placid in the early morning sun. There was a wooden landing stage stretching out into the still water, but the small sailing boat was drawn up onto dry land. The grass between the apple and plum trees and the raspberry canes and redcurrant bushes was in no sense a lawn, kept from growing too wild by a couple of goats old Anders had borrowed from a neighbour and tied with lengths of rope to two of the trees. Across the lake, individually recognisable conifers merged into a sombre dark green tint to the low hills, rolling darkly away towards the more violet-grey of the mountains in the distance. A slight morning mist hovered over the further margins of the lake, and three birds rose from the still water in a flurry of ripples, to join a flight already migrating south.