Read Online Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) by Edwin James - Free Book Online
Authors: Edwin James
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just then - he introduced her as Marlene, and, though her English wasn't a patch on her husband's, it beat Mark's German hands down. "Did you ever see a young woman who was staying here?" he asked, showing the photo of Kay on his phone.
Friedrich examined it closely, before nodding his head. "Ja," he said. "Kay, was it not?"
It was Mark's turn to nod his head. "It is," he said, putting his phone away. "She works for me and I haven't heard from her in a couple of days. I wondered if you'd spoken to her?"
"We had dinner with her," said Friedrich. "Saturday, I think. She was very charming. Are you the writer?"
Mark blushed - it seemed like Kay had been promoting him more than the publicist. "I am," he said. "She seems to have vanished on Monday night."
"Ja," said Friedrich. "We haven't seen her since, now you say it. I wondered if she had checked out."
"She hasn't," said Mark. "Did you see her on Monday?"
Friedrich frowned, as if rigorously searching his memory. "Ja," he finally said. "I think we saw her leave on Monday night."
Mark felt a surge of adrenaline - he was onto something. "Did she say where she was going?" he asked.
Friedrich shook his head. "Nein," he said. "She was going for a walk."
Mark looked at Marlene. She smiled politely, in agreement with her husband. He didn't have any reason to doubt their story - it certainly fitted with everything he knew, except maybe for her car.
Friedrich and Marlene got to their feet. "We will be leaving tomorrow," he said, "but it was charming to have met you."
They left Mark alone in the restaurant. He jotted their sighting of Kay in his notebook. He got the bill added to his room then made a difficult decision - consolidate his notes upstairs or go for a beer.
John Rennie was holding court at the bar with the blacksmith and a couple of older men. Mark ordered a pint of beer and sat in the corner, keeping a safe distance from John and his whisky. All six students were there, in the same seats by the fire.
A football match was just kicking off and Mark found his eyes glued to the screen. He'd been tempted to mess about with his phone, but the lack of reception just gave him the choice of playing a game or watching the TV. The football was so dull, it allowed the events of the day to filter through his mind.
Nobody had any idea of where Kay had gone. It deeply frustrated him - he was here to find her and she just wasn't anywhere. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the interviews - he'd only managed to get the slightest whiff of some tangent to his story so far.
The blacksmith kept looking over at him. He was a strange little character - harmless, Mark decided, but entirely useless as far as the book was concerned. After a few minutes, the blacksmith and the other two men left the bar, leaving John on his own, an impish grin on his face. He slowly wandered over and sat next to Mark.
"Man City, is it?" asked John.
"I've no idea," said Mark. "I think it's a Russian match - that lad with the red face used to play for Arsenal if I'm not mistaken. My wife is a football fan, but I'm not - I'm more of a rugby man."
"I see," said John. "What about tennis? Wimbledon next week. Reckon it'll be Murray's year?"
"If it's not this year then it never will be," said Mark. "Federer's on his way down, Nadal's knee is knackered. It's pretty much just Murray or Djokovic."
John nodded. "It'd be a belter if he won it, though," he said. "Seventy-seven years since the last British winner and it's a Scot. Get it right up ye!"
Mark laughed. "Shame Thatcher didn't get to see it," he said.
"Dinnae start me on her," said John. "Good laugh last night, though, eh? Had a belter of a hangover this morning. Should really have stopped you buying me whisky."
He licked his lips, staring into space then locked eyes with Mark again.
"Thought I was going to get away with a nice quiet snooze this morning but a flock of sheep escaped from their field again on the way to Kinbrace, then I had a bugger of an
Friedrich examined it closely, before nodding his head. "Ja," he said. "Kay, was it not?"
It was Mark's turn to nod his head. "It is," he said, putting his phone away. "She works for me and I haven't heard from her in a couple of days. I wondered if you'd spoken to her?"
"We had dinner with her," said Friedrich. "Saturday, I think. She was very charming. Are you the writer?"
Mark blushed - it seemed like Kay had been promoting him more than the publicist. "I am," he said. "She seems to have vanished on Monday night."
"Ja," said Friedrich. "We haven't seen her since, now you say it. I wondered if she had checked out."
"She hasn't," said Mark. "Did you see her on Monday?"
Friedrich frowned, as if rigorously searching his memory. "Ja," he finally said. "I think we saw her leave on Monday night."
Mark felt a surge of adrenaline - he was onto something. "Did she say where she was going?" he asked.
Friedrich shook his head. "Nein," he said. "She was going for a walk."
Mark looked at Marlene. She smiled politely, in agreement with her husband. He didn't have any reason to doubt their story - it certainly fitted with everything he knew, except maybe for her car.
Friedrich and Marlene got to their feet. "We will be leaving tomorrow," he said, "but it was charming to have met you."
They left Mark alone in the restaurant. He jotted their sighting of Kay in his notebook. He got the bill added to his room then made a difficult decision - consolidate his notes upstairs or go for a beer.
John Rennie was holding court at the bar with the blacksmith and a couple of older men. Mark ordered a pint of beer and sat in the corner, keeping a safe distance from John and his whisky. All six students were there, in the same seats by the fire.
A football match was just kicking off and Mark found his eyes glued to the screen. He'd been tempted to mess about with his phone, but the lack of reception just gave him the choice of playing a game or watching the TV. The football was so dull, it allowed the events of the day to filter through his mind.
Nobody had any idea of where Kay had gone. It deeply frustrated him - he was here to find her and she just wasn't anywhere. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the interviews - he'd only managed to get the slightest whiff of some tangent to his story so far.
The blacksmith kept looking over at him. He was a strange little character - harmless, Mark decided, but entirely useless as far as the book was concerned. After a few minutes, the blacksmith and the other two men left the bar, leaving John on his own, an impish grin on his face. He slowly wandered over and sat next to Mark.
"Man City, is it?" asked John.
"I've no idea," said Mark. "I think it's a Russian match - that lad with the red face used to play for Arsenal if I'm not mistaken. My wife is a football fan, but I'm not - I'm more of a rugby man."
"I see," said John. "What about tennis? Wimbledon next week. Reckon it'll be Murray's year?"
"If it's not this year then it never will be," said Mark. "Federer's on his way down, Nadal's knee is knackered. It's pretty much just Murray or Djokovic."
John nodded. "It'd be a belter if he won it, though," he said. "Seventy-seven years since the last British winner and it's a Scot. Get it right up ye!"
Mark laughed. "Shame Thatcher didn't get to see it," he said.
"Dinnae start me on her," said John. "Good laugh last night, though, eh? Had a belter of a hangover this morning. Should really have stopped you buying me whisky."
He licked his lips, staring into space then locked eyes with Mark again.
"Thought I was going to get away with a nice quiet snooze this morning but a flock of sheep escaped from their field again on the way to Kinbrace, then I had a bugger of an
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