Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(13)

‘Okay, then,’ she says, smiling, and does as he asks.

She’d visited the local shelter the week she moved in, hoping to get one dog, and instead she’d found three. As she strokes Pip, Wolfie hurtles across the lawn to her, looking for attention. Moira sits down on the grass and strokes him too. Marigold brings her a tennis ball and she throws it for her, laughing as the gangly adolescent fetches it and then delightedly capers around the garden with the ball in her mouth, chased by Wolfie. Dogs are so much less demanding than humans.

‘You guys crack me up.’

Moira feels her mobile vibrate in the pocket of her jeans. Pulling it out, she reads the message:

Philip and Rick are due back from community watch soon. Will you come over so we can discuss whatever they find out? Lizzie.

I don’t know, thinks Moira.

She doesn’t want to. Being around Lizzie and Philip, and now this Rick guy, is too risky. They’re all ex-law enforcement. They’ll all have contacts back in the forces and departments they worked in. And that means they each have the ability to check her out – to discover her secret. She can’t let that happen. Her whole reason for moving here was to get away from crime and law enforcement and lies.

She taps out an answer.

Sorry. Not feeling great. M.

Another lie but what’s the alternative?

Lizzie’s reply comes back within a few seconds.

If you don’t want to walk or drive I can ask Philip to pick you up.

Won’t help. I’m still dizzy, Moira replies.

Lizzie replies almost immediately.

You need some proper food, and it’s not right you’re on your own. I’ll make us a meal.

Damn. This is getting awkward. The more she refuses, the more she’s going to make Lizzie curious. And the more curious she gets, the more likely she’ll be to mention Moira’s name to an old colleague and ask them to run a check and find out about her and her old life. And that will be a problem.

She stares at Lizzie’s last message. Not sure how to answer.

Another reply pops up on the screen.

We could really do with your help.

Moira frowns. Help with what? Finding out more about the case, or the victim? Canvassing the neighbourhood to see if other residents saw anything? They should be leaving that to the cops.

Although, if she’s honest with herself, she can feel the lure of working the case, and puzzling out the mysteries of the crime scene, tugging at her consciousness. Maybe it’s because it’s the first crime she’s seen since she retired. Or because the victim is so young, or Detective Golding seemed so preoccupied and uninterested. Or maybe it’s due to more selfish reasons. Because in those moments of finding the body and calling 911 she felt like her old self, her real self; the self with purpose and a point to her. She’d felt like someone who was useful, and it’s been a long time since she felt that way.

It’s been over two hundred and fifty days since her first panic attack, and twenty-two days since her last, the day before she picked the dogs up. She wasn’t triggered when she found the body this morning or when her anger at the detective’s indifference threatened to boil over; surely that has to be a good sign. But then the dizziness and the light-headedness were weird, and she’s been feeling sick for most of the day. Even if she feels okay right now, there’s no way of knowing how long it’ll last.

She shakes her head. Getting more involved in the case and with Lizzie would be pure foolishness – and the panic attacks, when they come, give no warning. One moment she’s feeling fine, the next she’s overwhelmed and unable to breathe. And what if the dizziness she’s been feeling and the light-headed nausea are somehow connected? She thinks they’re linked to her blood-sugar levels, but what if they’re not? If either of these things happens again when she’s with Lizzie, Philip or Rick, how will she explain it? She can’t. And that will only make them more curious about her. And that could put everything in jeopardy.

Marigold drops the ball in her lap.

‘Good girl,’ says Moira, stroking the puppy’s silken head. Picking up the ball, she throws it over the flower bed to the far side of the lawn. Marigold chases after it with Wolfie yapping in hot pursuit.

She wishes she could stay here. Hide out with her dogs. Lead the simple life that she’d hoped for when she’d moved to The Homestead. Anonymous. Incognito. Undisturbed.

Wolfie starts barking. Looking over to him, Moira sees he’s staring into the hedge that shields the garden from the street. Marigold copies him. Her bark is deeper and louder than the older terrier. Moira shakes her head. ‘What are you guys barking at?’

Beside her, Pip sits up; suddenly alert. His hackles are raised.

Wolfie barks louder and launches head first into the hedge. It’s dense and leafy, and Moira knows there’s a wire mesh fence on the other side, so Wolfie can’t get out on to the road, but still her heart thumps in her chest a little faster.

She’s never seen the dogs act this way. What the hell is on the other side of the hedge?

Jumping up, she hurries across to Wolfie and Marigold. The hedge isn’t high – barely four foot – so it’s easy to see over, and she can’t see anything obvious to upset the dogs. But Wolfie’s growling, still focused on the other side. Marigold is standing alongside him with her head cocked. Pip’s hackles remain raised.