Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(18)

Moira waits for Lizzie to continue. It feels as if her heart is going to punch its way out of her chest. She grips on to the arm of the wicker chair. Swallows hard.

‘What you did to me.’ Lizzie shakes her head. Hugs herself. ‘It was really . . . it really . . .’ She glares at Moira. ‘It was really out of order.’

Moira’s confused. Doesn’t get what Lizzie’s talking about. Lizzie wasn’t in London. She didn’t even work for the MET. How could she have been affected by what happened with McCord? She tries to keep her tone level. ‘What I did? I don’t understand—’

‘How dare you.’ Lizzie raises her voice. Points her finger at Moira in a stabbing motion. ‘Don’t you sit there acting all innocent and like you don’t know.’

‘But I—’

‘You ghosted me, Moira, that’s what they call it, isn’t it? When someone acts all friendly and then disappears?’ Lizzie’s voice keeps rising in volume and pitch. Her cheeks flush. ‘You came to a few yoga classes, acted like we were pals. We had coffee, and I thought we’d got on well and might become good friends.’ Lizzie shakes her head. The pink flush across her cheeks deepens and her eyes start looking watery, then she tilts her chin up and Moira can see there’s anger behind the tears. ‘But then you just disappeared.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

Lizzie waves her hands. ‘No, don’t you do that. You played me like a fool. The least you can do is own up to it. That one time when we bumped into each other in the grocery store, you virtually ran away. I felt like a complete idiot. I realised you didn’t want to see me, for whatever reason, and it made me feel like crap.’

As Lizzie draws breath, Moira sees her chance to get a word in. ‘I’m sorry that you—’

‘But I’m not finished yet,’ snaps Lizzie, holding her hand up to silence Moira. ‘After all this, today you show up on my doorstep with my husband like you’re best pals and . . .’ She looks into Moira’s eyes. Narrows her gaze. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what’s going on between the two of you.’

Moira takes a breath. It’s good news, she tells herself. Lizzie doesn’t know her secret; this isn’t about her job, or London, or McCord. It’s not about the problem. But even though she’s relieved that Lizzie isn’t about to expose her for what she really is, she feels bad. She hadn’t expected Lizzie to be feeling like this. They’d only met a couple of times. They hadn’t been friends; were barely acquaintances. She’d never imagined her not staying in touch would hurt Lizzie. ‘You think me and Philip might have a thing?’

‘You tell me.’ It’s clear from Lizzie’s expression that she does think that.

Moira shakes her head. ‘No. Absolutely no way. I don’t do married men. In fact these days I don’t want to do anyone. I’m happy on my own.’

‘Really?’ Lizzie’s tone makes it clear she doesn’t believe her.

‘Look, Philip saw me when I was in the ambulance outside the crime scene and came to see if I was okay. I didn’t have a car with me so he offered me a lift, then when he realised I was feeling rather peculiar he said to come back here.’

Lizzie shakes her head. ‘Yeah, right, I saw the way you were all over each other—’

‘That’s ridiculous. He was propping me up by my arm because I was dizzy. There wasn’t anything going on.’

‘I’m being ridiculous?’ Lizzie’s voice is louder again. She stabs her finger at Moira’s face. ‘You’re messing around with my husband and I’m the one being ridiculous?’

Moira jumps to her feet. Ignores the nausea that comes from the sudden movement. ‘I’m not doing this. I’ve told you, nothing’s going on. If you won’t believe me, then that’s up to you, but I’m not staying here to be insulted.’

‘So if there’s nothing going on between you, why did you suddenly drop me?’

‘I . . . I’m just . . .’ Shaking her head, Moira turns and rushes along the stone path towards the gate at the front of the garden. She can’t stay here. There’s no reasoning with Lizzie, and it’s not like she can tell her the truth anyway.

Grabbing the gate, she yanks it open and hurries out on to the pavement, letting the gate slam behind her. That’s when she sees him.

Her mouth goes dry. Her heart rate accelerates. ‘What the . . . ?’

The blond man is already sprinting away from her, his maroon and gold striped scarf flapping as he runs.

‘Hey,’ yells Moira. ‘You get back here.’

He glances over his shoulder but keeps running. Moira sets off after him.

She sees the silver Beetle is parked at the side of the street a little way ahead, and knows that’s where he’s heading. She has to stop him. She needs to know who he is and why he’s following her.

Moira sprints faster, but she’s too late. He reaches the silver Beetle and jumps inside. As she draws level with the car Moira hears the engine roar into life.

She bangs her fist on the driver’s side window. ‘Who the hell are you?’

The blond guy turns towards her. His eyes are wide, fearful.

‘What do you want from me?’ Moira yells, banging on the glass again. She pulls at the door handle, trying to open the door, but it’s locked from the inside. ‘Tell me what you want. Tell me why you’re following me. Tell me who you are.’