Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(30)

He flicks through their weekly log that he’s just collected. It’s scant on detail, just the absolute minimum noted against each time slot, even though the area they’ve patrolled this week includes a number of Ocean Mist’s premier restaurants and bars. Rick adds their weekly log to the stack of others inside the buff folder on the passenger seat. He knows Melly and Rory oftentimes patrol on foot, and has heard grumblings from some of the other patrollers that they’ve seen the pair enjoying a nice Merlot at one of the bars during their shift on more than one occasion. He frowns. It’s tough, what with the patrollers being volunteers and all, but he knows they need to tackle the pair’s behaviour. He makes a mental note to tell Philip his concerns when he’s back at the house.

Rick checks the next name on his list – Dorothy – and fires up the jeep. The daylight’s fading into dusk, so he switches on the lights as he moves off and hopes he’s got enough time to make his last few stops before their agreed rendezvous back at Philip’s place. He takes a right at the end of the street and cruises on the speed limit for a couple of blocks over to Dorothy’s place on Sunrise.

He parks up at the kerb outside. Dorothy’s home is a limited-edition Arts and Crafts house. There are less than a hundred of them in Ocean Mist, and less than fifteen hundred across all districts of The Homestead. From the outside it looks smaller than most of the other properties, but its distinctive brickwork and mint-green wooden cladding on the second storey make it stand out.

Climbing out of the jeep, he takes the paved path that divides the neatly mown lawn to the front door. He steps up on to the porch and uses the heavy iron knocker. As he waits, he notes the comfy-looking swing chair on the porch and the yellow flowers blooming in the planters, matching the stripes of the cushions on the swing. Everything is clean and shiny as a new pin.

‘Who is it?’ Dorothy’s voice calls from inside the house.

Rick sees movement behind the stained glass either side of the front door’s centre panel. ‘It’s me, ma’am. Rick Denver, from the community watch.’

He hears the sound of a bolt being drawn back. Moments later the door opens.

‘Rick Denver.’ Dorothy smiles. She’s still wearing the pink twinset and pearls of earlier, but now instead of leather shoes she’s wearing big fluffy slippers. ‘Yes, of course, Philip said you’d be by.’

‘I’m here to collect your weekly log.’

‘And I have it right here waiting.’ She steps away to the hall table and picks up an envelope. ‘Everything should be in order.’

Rick takes the envelope. ‘Thanks, ma’am, I appreciate it.’

Dorothy glances up and down the street before leaning closer to Rick. ‘Any update on what happened to that poor woman?’

‘Not yet.’

Dorothy frowns. ‘Well, that’s just not good enough, now is it?’

‘No, ma’am.’ Rick braces himself for another quizzing on what they know and what they’re doing.

‘Well, don’t be standing here jibber-jabbering.’ Dorothy makes a motion with her hand to shoo him away. ‘Get back to your investigation and catch the bastard.’

Rick smiles. Dorothy’s over eighty but she’s got more gumption than Melly and Rory combined. He touches his forehead in a mock salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

Back in the jeep, Rick consults his list. There are five people he needs logs from. Three he’s tried already this afternoon and knows aren’t around at the moment – Clint, Viola and Marilyn. Two he hasn’t visited yet – Donald and Precious.

He drives back down Sunrise and heads towards Donald’s place. Nothing in Ocean Mist is that far apart, but Donald’s home is pretty much on the opposite side of the district to Dorothy’s. It takes him ten minutes.

Drawing up outside Donald’s two-storey ranch-style home, Rick realises Donald’s truck isn’t parked out front like it usually is. He figures he’ll give the door a knock anyways, now that he’s here.

Getting out of the jeep, Rick moves towards the house. The blinds are up, and through the window he can see a bunch of packing boxes piled up at one side of the room. Donald moved here about six months back and generally keeps himself to himself. He’s a computer guy, always doing stuff with tech, but he joined the watch, so that makes him community-minded enough too. Rick glances down at his Apple watch. He likes new tech as much as the next guy, but he’d rather be outdoors than hunched over a keyboard for sure. Rick guesses that Donald prefers his tech to unpacking boxes.

There’s no knocker or bell, so Rick raps on the door. He waits a moment. But there’s no sound from inside the property, and no sign of Donald.

He tries once more. Knocks a little harder. But there’s still nothing. So he turns and heads back to the jeep. Disappointed.





17


MOIRA


It takes longer than she’d thought it would.

Her legs are starting to ache now. Her breath is coming harder.

She’d told Lizzie what she’d seen; that someone was watching them through binoculars from high on the hill. She’d tried to keep her movements casual, and hadn’t pointed to the place she’d seen the figure, wanting, as far as possible, not to alert them that she was coming. Then she’d set off in pursuit.