Chapter 1
ONE
London
Quinn breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the car doors slam shut and watched the Rover pull out into morning traffic.
She loved Gabe and the children to bits, but she also cherished this time of day, when the chaos of the weekday morning was replaced by blessed silence.
The four of them could drive the sanest person to utter madness when getting ready for school and work.
And no exit was ever final. Someone always came running back to collect a forgotten textbook, their school project or PE kit, or, in Gabe’s case, his phone.
Once the car had disappeared around the corner, Quinn walked into the kitchen, filled Rufus’s bowl, then popped two slices of bread into the toaster, and was about to make a well-deserved cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.
It couldn’t be Gabe or the kids, so most likely an delivery person.
Something was always on order, and parcels big and small showed up almost daily.
Quinn set the mug on the worktop and went to see who was at the door, the dog trotting at her heels.
She was surprised to find Rhys, who carried a cardboard tray that held two coffee cups and a paper bag that gave off a wonderful cinnamony aroma.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” he said as he walked into the foyer and set the bag and the tray on the console table. Rufus didn’t get excited about Rhys anymore, and returned to his breakfast.
Rhys shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the banister with a practiced motion. Even though he technically had a home of his own, he routinely turned up at the Russells’ house, since he’d long since become one of the family.
“Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” Quinn joked.
“Oh, come on,” Rhys said and grinned. “I’m hardly the enemy.”
“No, but the only time you show up with pastries is when you have a proposal and don’t want to ring or text me for fear that I will brush you off.”
“Guilty as charged,” Rhys said and carried the offerings through to the kitchen. “Is that plain toast I see? Looks like I’m just in time.”
He set down the coffees, took out two small plates, and set a frosted cinnamon roll on each. “I tried these while in New York, and I swear I will never be the same,” he proclaimed.
He was obsessed with baked goods, but somehow, despite his love of all things sweet and doughy and his Russian-born wife, who made rich, calorie-laden meals that always seemed to involve sour cream, Rhys was as trim as ever and had hardly aged since Quinn had first met him more than a decade ago.
He’d recently taken up rowing, but he’d have to row to Norway and back to burn off half the calories he consumed on a daily basis.
Rhys sat down at the kitchen table, took a sip of his coffee, and looked at Quinn, who was leaning against the worktop expectantly. “Aren’t you going to join me? This cinnamon roll is not going to eat itself, you know.”
“I’m not sure,” Quinn demurred. “Are you here to badger me about the Christmas special?”
“Darling, you know perfectly well that it’s too late for that. Even if it was all systems go, we’d never get an episode on air by mid-December, but I must warn you that, if we’re going to resurrect Echoes from the Past, it’s now or never.”
Quinn sighed and nodded. She knew precisely what Rhys was referring to and had to acknowledge the truth of his pronouncement.
Several months ago, someone had anonymously outed her psychic ability on X.
The statement had been taken as gospel and the post had taken on a life of its own.
Fans of the program had defended Quinn against allegations of fraud and had argued that her psychic gift combined with her professional experience enhanced her credibility.
But there were those who had called her terrible names, demanded that her degree and grants be revoked, and petitioned the BBC to pull past episodes of Echoes from the Past from iPlayer.
Quinn had been secretly relieved that the truth was finally out and she no longer had to hide her ability to see into the past, but that didn’t mean the comments hadn’t hurt.
She had never expected the degree of vitriol that had been spilled on the internet, and the more people had vented their outrage the longer Quinngate had continued.
Too emotionally overwrought to deal with the fallout, Quinn and Gabe had taken the children on a device-free holiday to get them away from the noise, and then, once the school term ended, they had delivered the children to Quinn’s parents in Marbella and had taken off on a month-long archeological dig in Turkey, which had done wonders for Quinn’s frayed spirit.
The time alone had been like a second honeymoon, and they had come back feeling rejuvenated and reconnected.
But now that they were back, Quinn had to either publicly acknowledge her gift or deny her psychic ability and pretend that the post had been nothing but a malicious attempt at character assassination.
“Go on, then. Tell me what you have in mind,” she said as she sat across from Rhys and reached for the cinnamon roll. She would hate for it to go to waste.
Rhys grinned as if he had already won, and said, “Do you remember Lynn Michaels?”
“The woman who branded herself as a lifestyle guru?”
“The one and only.” He broke off a piece of his own roll, popped it in his mouth, and licked his sticky fingers.
“What about her?”
Quinn had never been a fan and had not given the woman another thought since her program had gone off the air, but her mum used to watch At Home with Lynn religiously.
The show had enjoyed nine series, during which Lynn Michaels had redecorated historic homes, designed holiday cottages, and prepared scrumptious meals with the help of guest chefs.
Every Wednesday Lynn had hosted a popular author, and on Fridays she’d showcased musical guests.
“Lynn rang me this morning.”
“And?” Quinn asked, drawing out the question.
“She is not one to let the grass grow under her feet. After her show was canceled, she moved to the Lake District and opened a manor house hotel. The place was perfect for romantic weekends and intimate weddings. It became a popular destination for holiday makers, so she decided to expand. She purchased another property at the start of the pandemic, when the prices on stately homes took a nosedive, and opened the doors of her new hotel just over a year ago. It’s a gorgeous property on the shores of the Irish Sea. ”
Quinn had a pretty good idea where this was heading but did not interrupt. Rhys would get to the point in his own time.
“Not one to allow empty space to go to waste, Lynn decided to build a yoga studio and spa on the grounds of the hotel. When the workers began to clear away the trees and bracken, they came upon a disused well. Of course, they could hardly leave it. Health and safety and all that,” Rhys said with a dismissive wave of the hand.
“What did they find?”
“A bog body,” he announced triumphantly.
“In a well in the Lake District?”
“Well, it’s not a bog in the literal sense, but the water in the well was so peaty, it preserved the remains. Once the police declared it a historic burial and lost interest in the body, Lynn immediately got in touch.”
“Because an episode of Echoes from the Past set at her hotel wouldn’t do her bookings any harm,” Quinn concluded.
“No, it wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t do you any harm either,” Rhys reminded her. “How do I put this politely?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Quinn said and grinned. She valued Rhys’s honesty and never took offense at anything he said.
“Your reputation is in the toilet, and if you hope to regain some measure of credibility, you need to own your gift and show the viewers what you can do. You need to be loud and proud.”
“And if I don’t want to be either?”
“Then I will accept your decision and never mention Echoes again,” Rhys solemnly vowed.
“Really? You mean it?”
“Not a word of it, but I thought it sounded good and would make you feel guilty enough to consider a trip to the Lake District.”
“What, now? I have to collect the children from school in a few hours.”
“No, you don’t. I already rang Gabe and asked him to get the children. You’re free as a bird.”
“You called Gabe before you spoke to me?” Quinn exclaimed, a little annoyed that Gabe hadn’t told her. But then Rhys had probably asked him not to say anything before he’d had a chance to explain the situation in person. “And what did he have to say about it?”
“He said it was entirely your decision.”
“What did he really say, Rhys?” she demanded.
“He said he was green with envy and wished he had your ability.”
Gabe probably had not said that, but he’d expressed his envy of Quinn’s ability on several occasions.
As an archeologist, there was no greater gift than to be able to see into the past and view things as they really had been and not as historians imagined them.
And to experience the events through someone else’s eyes, and in the case of a nameless victim, to be able to give them their voice back, was an opportunity not to be missed.
“Do we know anything about the deceased?” Quinn asked, her mind already turning to the case.
“We know she was a young woman,” Rhys said. “And she wore a silver ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.”
“How long has the well been sealed?”
“No idea.”
“And I suppose the police have checked missing persons reports going back several decades and no one matched her description? Or is the body older than that?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you. But I’m sure a postmortem and carbon dating would paint a clearer picture.” Rhys raised one eyebrow. “Does this mean you’re officially back?”
Quinn grinned and felt an answering smile in her heart. “I’m back.”