Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(55)
‘Didn’t that strike you as odd?’
‘Not so much at the time, you know, the burglaries were pretty small fry in the grand scheme of things.’ He runs his palm over his jaw. ‘But now, if the murder isn’t on the news, taking the two together, it does seem weird.’ Rick shrugs. ‘Or could be, like I said, they’d just rather use their column inches and news segments for the stuff going on in Miami and Orlando.’
Moira’s not so sure. It feels wrong to her. With both the burglaries and the murder not getting reported it seems like there’s a news blackout on crime from The Homestead, and that can’t be a good thing. She needs to know what’s going on.
She adds it to her list of things to look into.
28
PHILIP
Rick’s eight minutes late. Philip drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the Honda and looks across the street towards Betty Graften’s place. It’s a pretty house with its weatherboard cladding painted pale grey, glossy black front door, plant pots on the porch and along either side of the steps. Immaculate. Just as The Homestead likes its residents to keep their homes.
He checks his watch again. Rick’s ten minutes late now. Ridiculous. Pulling his mobile from his shirt pocket, he taps out a message: You’re late?
He’s just about to press send when a jeep pulls up behind him, and a few seconds later Rick jumps out. Shaking his head, Philip deletes the message.
‘I’ve been waiting ten minutes. You said you’d be here.’
‘Sorry,’ Rick says, striding towards him with his hands open in apology. ‘I saw Moira on the way over, she was limping pretty bad, so I took a detour to the CCTV office to drop her off before I came on. I’m here now.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose,’ says Philip, unable to shift the begrudging tone from his voice. ‘Any progress update from Moira?’
‘Yeah, she found out the station wagon entered Ocean Mist for what seems to be the first time, if the gatehouse log is to be believed, two days before the first house got burglarised.’
Philip feels a tingle in his palms. The one he always gets when a piece of the puzzle drops into place. ‘That’s interesting. Fits with the theory that the thief isn’t a resident of The Homestead.’
‘Or wasn’t until recently,’ says Rick, gesturing towards Betty Graften’s house.
‘True,’ says Philip. ‘We need to get in there and ask Betty a few questions.’
‘Lead on,’ says Rick.
Philip heads towards the Graften house, pleased that Rick recognises he’s the one in charge of their investigative group. He’s not sure about Moira, having got the distinct impression yesterday that she felt she should be their leader. He frowns. He still doesn’t understand why she’d not said something about her police career before last night. It’d been a bit of a bombshell, especially for Lizzie. Moira seems pleasant enough, he supposes, but she’s a bit too secretive for his liking. He’ll have to keep an eye on her.
They step up on to the front porch and Rick rings the bell. They move a pace away from the door, so as not to be too close when Betty Graften answers. Even when questioning someone who might be linked to a suspect, Philip likes to show respect.
The door is painted black and solid wood, so there’s no way to see what’s going on inside. Philip waits for what seems like an eternity, but there’s still no answer. He glances at Rick, who shrugs, and he’s about to knock again when he hears the latch being twisted and the door opens.
‘Can I help you?’
The person standing in the doorway isn’t at all what Philip expected. She’s too young for a start, at least fifty years too young. ‘Isn’t this Betty Graften’s place?’
‘Sure it is.’ The young woman smiles. ‘I’m Martha, Miss Betty’s help. I’m new, started just last week, so I don’t know many people around here yet. Are you friends of hers?’
‘I’m Rick, an old friend of Miss Betty’s,’ says Rick, smiling as he removes his shades and props them on the top of his head. He gestures to Philip. ‘And this is my friend Philip. It’s been a while since I last visited with Miss Betty, a month at least. Is she free for visitors this morning?’
Martha nods. ‘I’m sure that’ll be no problem. Why don’t the pair of you come on into the great room and take a seat. Then I’ll go find Miss Betty.’ Martha leans towards Rick, lowering her voice. ‘She’s in the backyard, tending her roses. Can’t have a single one that’s gone at all brown or wilted, and with this heat, well . . .’ Martha shakes her head. ‘She won’t let me help out, you know how she can be.’
Rick laughs. ‘That I do.’
Philip follows behind Rick as Martha leads them to the great room. Now he’s had a chance to have a proper look at her, he realises he should have guessed she worked rather than lived here – her outfit is a loose-fitting pink tunic and trousers, like nurses wear, and she has one of those little upside-down watches attached to her tunic so she can see the time when she looks down.
‘Here you go,’ says Martha, opening the door to a large, light lounge. ‘Here’s the great room, please take a seat and I’ll go fetch Miss Betty for y’all.’
Philip thanks her and steps into the room. It’s huge; you could fit half of his and Lizzie’s home in this room alone. ‘Blimey,’ he says under his breath.