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‘What’s that you two are talking ‘bout?’ Having just come from the kitchen, Granny Greenhill looked from Rowan to Rusty and back again. She placed the basket of toast held in her gnarled hands on the table and pushed it toward the center. ‘Something about a letter . . . for Miz Cela?’ Her bright brown eyes glinted as she considered the snippet of conversation she’d heard.
‘Will, is that you . . . there behind Rusty?’ Granny poked Rowan in the side with her elbow and whispered a few instructions. ‘Here now, Will, you take this nice slice of toast and pile some of those eggs on it. And there,’ she went on, pointing at the basket of toasted bread. ‘Grab yourself another piece and settle it on top.’ She nodded toward Rowan who was making her way toward the kitchen. ‘She’ll just fetch you a nice little flask of tea . . . you like it sweet, dontcha?’
Granny didn’t wait for Will to answer, but instead turned her attention to Rusty. ‘Now I don’t mean to step on your toes, lad,’ she said to the shiriff. ‘I could just see you were thinking of doing this very thing, um hmmm. Bright lad.’
She smiled meaningfully at Will.
‘The sooner we send someone to fetch Hugh, the sooner we might know where the letter came from.’ Her voice trailed off as she offered this conclusion.
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