The Lake by Rachel McLean and Joel Hames, book 5 in the Cumbria Crime series - Chapter 1

Terri glanced at her watch. Midday.

They’d only been there half an hour, and she was bored.

She stood on the rocky shore of Ennerdale Water, kicking at the stones, watching her girlfriend crouch down, pick things up, turn them over, then put them down again.

Erica had assured her there would be treasure here. Pots. Bottles. Ashtrays. Old stuff. Terri wasn’t interested in old stuff, but Erica had a way of making boring things fun, so she’d agreed to come along and help search the area for antiques.

So far, they’d found rocks. Rocks, stones, bits of ice, lumps of dog shit that had been here so long they probably were antiques. The fells rose around the lake, dark and foreboding in the weak light, the trees bare, patches of snow scattered here and there, the lake itself the same dull, lifeless grey as the thick bank of clouds above it. They were on the rocky shore of a tiny bay that Erica had described as a beautiful, secluded beach, and Terri had thought that sounded romantic. Maybe, in the right weather, it was.

But not today. It was January, and Terri was freezing on top of being bored. There’d been a pub here, once, Erica had said. The Anglers’ Hotel. They’d demolished it back in the sixties so they could raise the level of the lake, and then they’d decided not to raise the level of the lake after all, but it was too late by then, so this lovely old place that had been there for centuries was now just rock, rubble, and weeds.

And Victorian ashtrays, or whatever it was Erica was desperate to find.

Terri hugged herself, shivered, and kicked at a small sheet of ice by her feet, watching as the cracks formed and the little shards began to sink. Shame the pub wasn’t there anymore. A pint by the fireplace, snuggled up with Erica – that would be just the ticket.

She glanced toward the lake, then back at Erica, who was standing up now, her hands on her hips, staring at something on the shoreline.

Maybe she’d found something. A Victorian bottle, something the Victorians probably didn’t care about or they wouldn’t have dumped it here. If Erica had found something, they could pick it up and go home, maybe find a pub with a fireplace on the way back, and Terri could pretend she’d enjoyed the trip.

“What have you found?” she called.

Erica didn’t move. Terri walked toward her, stepping around the bits of ice. She’d worn the wrong shoes, and she could already feel the damp seeping into her socks. Erica was still staring at whatever had grabbed her attention.

“What is it?” Terri asked. “Found an ashtray or something?”

Erica turned. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a horrified O.

Whatever Erica had seen, it wasn’t an ashtray.

“What?” Terri repeated, then trotted up to her girlfriend. She stood beside her and followed Erica’s gaze to the shoreline, where thicker sheets of ice bobbed in the wind, grinding against each other like miniature icebergs.

“There.” Erica pointed to a spot ahead and to the left.

There was something there. Something long and thin, and grey – or was it blue? Yes. Blue. And beside it, another one. It was…

“Oh my God,” Terri whispered. She reached out and wrapped her arms around Erica. “Oh my God.”

A piece of ice shifted and revealed the point at which the two long things met.

Legs. Two legs in blue jeans, a hip, and yes, something above that, too.

Erica was shaking. Terri wanted to pull her away, back up the path to the car, and home, with the heating on, under the covers, and forget about it all.

She couldn’t do that.

She removed one arm from her girlfriend’s waist, reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and dialled.

“Police,” she said, swallowing. “Police, please. Ennerdale. Where the Anglers’ Hotel used to be. There’s a dead body in the lake.”