Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(42)

‘Yep. For sure,’ says Rick. ‘When.’

Moira likes the grit in Lizzie’s voice, but from the way she’s looking at Philip she can tell she’s worried. Moira’s not surprised. Philip’s cheeks are still flushed and his skin is looking kind of waxy. Not a good sign, especially after what Lizzie told her earlier about him having heart problems. She catches Lizzie’s eye. ‘It’s getting late, time I made a move and left you to—’

‘Stay for dinner, please.’ Lizzie glances from her to Rick. ‘We can talk about our next moves, how we’ll follow up the leads we’ve got.’

‘If you’re sure?’ says Moira.

‘Yes, yes, you must,’ says Philip, gesturing towards their make-do murder board on the patio doors. ‘We’ve still got a lot to work through.’

‘But we’ll eat first,’ says Lizzie, giving Philip a stern look.

‘Of course,’ says Philip. ‘I’ll help you make dinner.’

Moira watches Lizzie and Philip take the evidence they’ve collected inside as they go to make a start on dinner. As they step through into the kitchen she sees Lizzie reach out and give Philip’s hand a squeeze. He puts the phone in the plastic bag wrapper on to the counter, and pulls her to him into a hug. They stand, arms entwined, motionless for a long moment. Moira feels her cheeks colour and looks away. Watching them feels like she’s intruding on their privacy.

‘Good work finding the phone.’

Moira turns to Rick. Suddenly, now it’s just the two of them out here, he seems closer than before. She can smell his aftershave, something with citrus, and feel the warmth that seems to radiate from him. ‘Thanks.’

‘If we can get into it, and it’s the victim’s, it’ll be a game changer.’

‘Let’s hope it’s a yes to both of those things.’

‘True that.’ Rick’s looking at her with real intensity and it makes her feel a little awkward, like a teenager rather than the grown woman she is. She shifts in her seat. Tries to shake off the feeling and keep her mind on the case; on the leads they’ve got and need to chase down. It’s hard though. And she doesn’t get why.

Looking away from Rick, she glances out across the garden. The bug chorus is singing from the lawn and the flower beds. The floodlights keep the patio and the area of garden surrounding it illuminated, but beyond the reach of the lights the darkness is absolute.

Or is it? The more she looks, the more Moira sees gradients of darkness. And movement. Just beyond the neatly clipped low hedge that borders the edge of the garden, flush to the fence. What’s that shape? Is it someone crouching down, watching them? Her breath catches in her throat. Her heart beats faster. Leaning forward, she squints into the gloom.

She flinches as sprinklers pop up from the lawn and there’s a hiss of water as it starts to jet across the grass and the borders. Through the fine mist she can’t see anything clearly. She blinks, trying to refocus, and sits up taller so she can see over the spray, but it’s not enough. Jumping up, she hurries over to the fence line, scanning the ornamental hedge and the pavement and street beyond, but the shape that she thought she saw moments earlier doesn’t seem to be there now.

Moira frowns. Maybe there was nothing there in the first place. Turning, she walks back over to the patio.

‘Hey, you okay?’

Moira looks up to see Rick staring at her, all concerned. Sitting back down on her chair, she forces a smile. ‘Yeah, I’m . . .’

‘You’re looking like you’ve seen a ghost or something.’

‘It’s nothing, just my imagination going crazy.’ She waves his concerns away. Even if the person watching them from the Wild Ridge Trail had worked out who they were and where they lived, would he really come here? If he had been the killer surely he wouldn’t risk it.

She hadn’t got a good look at the person ahead of her on the trail. He was male, she was sure of that, and had been wearing a hoodie. Medium build. It had been hard to gauge his height with the sun in her eyes, but she figured it was around six feet. Lots of people fit that description, and she hadn’t got a look at his face. She doubted she’d even recognise him. She’d recognise the blond guy from earlier in the day though. It bothers her that he’d been following her, and that he’d run when she’d tried to talk to him. She still doesn’t know why he’s spying on her.

Rick looks at her with concern. ‘If you’re—’

‘I am.’ She needs to change the subject. Doesn’t want to dwell on someone being out there. It’s probably just her mind playing tricks – she’s tired, bruised and those codeine painkillers Lizzie gave her could be messing with her head. She forces another smile. ‘How did it go collecting in the weekly logs?’

‘So-so,’ says Rick. ‘Not everyone was home, but I’ve got a big enough batch to start working through them.’

‘Do you think someone’s hiding something?’

‘Nope, I don’t have any suspicions and no one acted weird in the community-watch meeting. Some were self-centred and more worried about their golf game or property prices, and a few were quick to blame the construction workers over on district eleven, but that’s more about them and their prejudices than the murder. You know how it is.’ Rick flicks a bug off his jeans-clad thigh. Looks thoughtful. ‘Still, you never can tell about people. Best to keep an open mind, and follow the evidence to make sure. Everyone’s a suspect until they’re eliminated, best way not to get blind-sided.’