No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(54)

‘She gave me a key!’

‘We have five minutes to get to the Arts Centre or they won’t let us in once the play has started.’

‘Will you shut up about the stupid play?’

‘You’re the one that wanted to see it.’

‘Come here. Look at this,’ Gilly said.

He followed her into the tiny kitchen. ‘Doesn’t like washing up after herself.’

‘Everything’s exactly as it was last night. She hasn’t been here since yesterday morning.’

‘She works in Dublin, you say?’

‘Yes. And I’m going to ring her office tomorrow morning to find out what the hell is up.’

‘Do that. Now, can we leave?’

Before she followed him out, Gilly tried Mollie’s phone once more. It was dead.

‘This is not like Mollie at all.’

She was talking to fresh air.



* * *



Lottie left Katie arguing with Chloe over the ownership of a pair of jeans. Turning the key in the door of Rose’s house she said, ‘Mother, I brought you dinner.’

‘You’re stretching that description a little,’ Rose said. She was sitting on a chair by the stove. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

‘I do, and I’ve been busy.’

‘You’re always busy.’ Rose sniffed. ‘Hope it’s not that spicy stuff again.’

‘Mince and pasta, sorry. I’ve been helping Katie to pack.’

‘Why didn’t you ask me to help?’

‘You haven’t been well.’ Lottie put the plate on the table and removed the tea towel. The food looked pretty miserable. She knew criticism would follow. She began making tea.

‘I’m not dead. Yet.’ Rose shuffled over to the table. ‘I could have given my granddaughter a hand if any of you had bothered to ask. And when is she getting that child baptised? He’s still in a state of sin until that is done, and it’s dangerous to be flying off with sin on your soul.’

The last three and a half months had turned Rose from a raging matriarch into a bitter tyrant. At times, it felt like four years since she had confessed to a lifetime of lies.

Lottie made a cup of tea, battling to keep her temper under control and her tongue silent. No matter what she said, it wouldn’t be the right thing.

‘Put in three sugars. I think my levels are low.’

‘Too much sugar will keep you awake at night.’

‘That’s my problem, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’ She put the mug on the table.

‘You should have used a teapot. It stews better that way. In my day, we didn’t have tea bags.’

‘Are you going to eat that or offer it up?’ Lottie stood with her back to the stove.

‘Hard to do it with an audience, even if it was edible.’ Rose put down her knife and fork and sipped the tea. ‘You only put in one sugar.’

‘That’s enough for you.’

Rose turned in her chair, facing Lottie. ‘Don’t tell me what’s enough for me in my own house. I live here, not you.’ She pushed the plate into the centre of the table and folded her arms.

Lottie placed her hands on the table and leaned down towards her mother. She could have sworn she heard something physically snap in her brain.

‘And I’m glad I don’t live here, because you know what? My life was a misery when I did, and I hope I never have to live here ever again.’

She picked up her jacket and ran from the house. Definitely the wrong thing to say. But now that it was said, she couldn’t take it back.





Forty-Four





Finn O’Donnell could smell the whiskey on her breath from where she sat eyeing him over the rim of the glass. He was too close, but the room was so small he had nowhere else to go.

‘Good day at work, was it?’ she said.

‘It was fine.’ He shook out the newspaper and raised it to his face to keep her out of his line of vision. She was nattering on about someone or other. Doing his head in. He folded the paper and stood up.

‘I’m going out.’

‘Where?’

‘I think I’ll pop over to Dad’s. See how he’s doing.’

‘You haven’t visited him in ages. Not since the day of your mother’s funeral, in fact.’

‘All the more reason to go now, isn’t it?’

‘Do you know what time it is? I don’t see why you can’t—’

Did he heck know what time it was. Every fifteen minutes she reminded him. He didn’t wait for the end of her stupid lecture. He was out the door, down the steps and walking.



* * *



Cillian looked up as his wife announced that dinner was ready.

‘Saoirse, put your toys away,’ he said, and closed the cover on his iPad.

‘In a minute, Daddy.’ The little girl dug into the page with her red crayon.

‘I told you to put that stuff away,’ he snapped. He didn’t enjoy it when he was like this with his daughter. But he couldn’t help himself this evening.

‘Hey, that’s enough. She’s okay for a minute or two.’ Keelan stood in the doorway. ‘Why don’t you help me set the table?’