Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(20)

‘I know I’m a bit younger, and had been a CSI for less time but, if I’m honest, I’d had enough.’ Lizzie shakes her head. ‘You see enough bad things, soon it’s hard to see the good in people. I didn’t want that to happen to me.’

‘What made you choose Florida?’

Lizzie smiles. ‘Philip’s always loved Disney. Funny I know, such a serious job and yet you take him to the parks and he’s like a little kid. We used to bring the children here every few years when they were growing up – it has such happy memories for us.’

‘I get that,’ says Moira. She’d learnt the hard way that if your work is all death and destruction you need a release – something that pulls you out of the carnage you see every day and into a more light-hearted place. She thinks of McCord, and the last conversation they’d had. Swallows down the emotions that immediately flare within her – pain, anger, sadness. She knows better than anyone that you need respite to stop you getting sucked into the darkness permanently.

‘When they told Philip he couldn’t go back to work after the heart attack, it hit him hard. They gave him the big send-off – retirement party, commemorative gifts, the works, but that almost made it worse.’ Lizzie starts fiddling with her rings again. ‘It was like he was grieving for the job. So I booked a big holiday for us – we came to Florida as a family and stayed at Disney, my eldest daughter’s little girls loved it. When the others flew home, Philip and I went on a mini-cruise around the Caribbean islands. Afterwards we stayed for a week at a lovely spa resort not far from here. We saw a flyer at the concierge desk for a wine-tasting event here on The Homestead, and decided to go along. When we came here we fell in love with the place.’

Moira’s surprised Lizzie’s revealing this stuff to her after their argument, but maybe the strong reaction from Lizzie about her not following up on their friendship was because she somehow, even in this place surrounded by people, feels a bit lonely. Maybe she saw Moira as a friend to talk to about how she’s feeling, and that’s why it hit her so hard. Moira understands loneliness, she’s felt it herself often enough, and it isn’t like she has many people back in London who’ll be missing her. ‘How did your kids take the move?’

Lizzie’s eyes well up and she blinks rapidly. ‘They understood, but not seeing our family is the hardest thing, especially when Covid started and people weren’t allowed to travel. The UK seemed a really long way away then. But they come and visit when they can, and we’ve gone back to see them a few times, so it’s been manageable. And it’s been worth it, to live here – away from crime, with all the golf Philip can play, and the crafts and activities on our doorstep. It’s like a permanent holiday – or at least it was . . .’ Lizzie chokes up. She looks down at her coffee. Takes a sip. ‘I just really hope the community-watch patrollers have something to help the cops find whoever did this. Then things can go back to the way they were.’

‘I guess once the guys are back we’ll find out,’ says Moira, gently. Lizzie’s being naive if she thinks this won’t change the neighbourhood. Murder changes everything; it always does. But the way Lizzie is looking at her – that mixture of hope and desperation – makes her hold her tongue. Sometimes you need a little hope to get you through.

Collecting up their mugs, Lizzie pushes her chair back and stands. ‘I’ll get us some refills while we wait.’

Sitting alone, Moira listens to Lizzie humming to herself as she pours more coffee. She’s relieved Lizzie seems more relaxed and the awkwardness between them is lessening now she’s got her concerns off her chest, but there’s something that doesn’t quite ring true. Lizzie’s naivety about the murder seems strange in a person who’s worked crime scenes before, and there’s something about the way she looked when she was talking about Philip’s retirement; it was as if just thinking about that time made her feel anxious again. There’s something else going on with Lizzie and Philip, Moira’s sure of it. She just isn’t sure what.

But if there’s one thing she learnt from her job undercover, it’s that people aren’t always what they seem. And Moira knows that better than most.

She certainly isn’t.





11


PHILIP


As Rick pulls out of the Roadhouse parking lot on to Sea Spray Boulevard, Philip dials the police precinct and asks for Detective Golding. The tedious, tinny hold music blares through the phone speaker for almost five minutes before the call handler comes back on the line to say she’s connecting him.

It rings nine times before a gruff voice answers. ‘This is Golding.’

‘Detective Golding, this is Philip Sweetman from Ocean Mist. I’m calling about the murder.’

‘Ocean Mist?’ Golding sounds bored rather than eager.

‘It’s a district of The Homestead retirement community. You caught a suspected homicide here this morning – a young woman found in one of our swimming pools.’

‘Ah yeah, the compound for seniors. You work there?’

‘I’m a resident.’

‘You live there?’ Golding’s tone changes from bored to patronising. ‘Well, sure, go ahead. I’m listening.’

Philip bristles. He glances at Rick who raises an eyebrow. This isn’t how he’d expect a detective in the early stage of an investigation to treat someone offering information – interest, yes; suspicion, perhaps; but not the condescending indifference that’s clear in Golding’s voice. Philip ploughs on anyway. ‘I’ve asked around the neighbourhood and have a sighting of the victim arguing with an unidentified male in a beige station wagon earlier this week. In fact, two people mentioned seeing an unfamiliar beige station wagon with a Chicago Bulls bumper sticker around the Wild Ridge Trail head, and that’s not far from Manatee Recreation Park.’