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The old writing desk had its own story to tell . . .
BY REBECCA HOLMES
GWEN slipped off her pumps and poured herself a cuppa from the brown teapot with its knitted cover. She sighed contentedly as she leaned back in the kitchen chair and picked up her post. It had been a
Nothing much happened in the village DS Dottie Reed was posted to – until a body was found
I LOOKED at my allocated “bed” underneath the back window of the caravan and wondered. Firstly, about my chances of getting a good night since I was already sleeping badly. And secondly, what madness
Iris climbed down from the donkey cart that had given her a lift from Penzance station, being careful not to ladder her best stockings, and walked up the narrow lane to Nantolven Farm. There was no si
HAYLEY grabbed her toolbox from the back of the van and walked up the pathway. Ever since seeing the address on the worksheet, she’d been looking forward to this job. The house was just three doors aw
A hammock? Are you sure?” Harriet would have been amused at the horror on Malcolm’s face if she hadn’t felt mildly insulted. “You asked me what I want for my birthday, and that’s my answer.” “But you’