“Fine. Graham’s just unloading a delivery.”
“Want me to go help?”
“He said two minutes.” I slid onto the stool beside him. “How’s the crossword?”
“Brutal. Seven across is supposedly a Scottish river, eight letters, and I swear they’ve made it up.” He tapped his pen against the paper. “You’re not looking so great, Agnes.”
“I’m fine.” I sighed. That seemed to be a common refrain of late.
“Are you?” Ramsay, a man of few words, asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but something stopped me.
Silence.
The pub was quiet, just the low murmur of a few lunch customers, the clink of glasses, the distant hum of traffic from the street. All of which wasnormal.
But from the back, where Graham was supposed to be unloading kegs, there was nothing. There was no clanging of kegs being unloaded. No clatter of the hand trolley. No voices calling instructions to the driver.
Nothing.
“Bloody hell.” I jumped up. “Why is it dead quiet back there if he’s unloading kegs?”
Ramsay’s face changed. He was off his stool before I’d finished, both of us moving toward the back of the pub at the same time.
The kitchen was empty. The back door stood open, letting in a rectangle of grey afternoon light.
“Graham?” I called.
There was no answer.
Icy dread filled my stomach.
We ran.
The back drive was empty. The delivery truck was gone and a line of kegs were in a neat row at the back door.
And beyond the yard, down the slope toward Loch Mirren?—
“There!” Ramsay shouted.
Graham was in the water.
Not just at the edge, either. He was ten meters out, up to his chest, and still walking deeper. I panicked. White-hot fear flashed inside me, and I pumped my legs harder.
Hitting the water at a dead run, the shock of cold lasered my focus as Graham’s head disappeared beneath the surface.
“Graham!No!”
I dove after him.
The water was dark, far darker than it should have been,an inky blackness surrounding us. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel anything except the iciness pressing in from all sides and the desperate knowledge that Graham was somewhere below me, drowning.
Kicking downward toward where I’d last seen him, I reached out, blindly, desperate to find something to grab.
My hand found fabric.
I almost cried out in relief and then remembered I needed to hold my breath.
