‘I was going to warn you she was on the warpath,’ said Zippy Doodah in I-told-you-so tones. ‘She collared me as I was setting off tonight.’
Liz nodded, more worried about the jerky manoeuvres of the black car. How would she explain to Derek a large black scrape on the side of the white Fiat?
‘What are these messages she was going on about?’
‘They appeared on the village Facebook page,’ said Zippy. ‘Saying all this stuff like “where was she the night Nev died” and “she knows more than she’s letting on”.’
They both took an involuntary step back as the black four-by-four revved, shot forward two feet, narrowly missing their feet and a crash barrier before returning to its tortuous manoeuvring.
‘So, they didn’t actually say she’d killed Nev?’ asked Liz. ‘These messages?’
Zippy shook her head. ‘They didn’t need to,’ she said. ‘Folk are more than capable of taking two and two and making fifty-six.’
Liz nodded. This was all reminding her of something – those vague rumours someone was spreading about Neville Hilton when he joined Lodestone. No specific accusations but plenty for people to make fifty-six out of.
‘I thought,’ said Zippy Doodah, ‘that she’d eat you for breakfast. But I was wrong.’ There was a grudging tone of respect in her voice that for whatever reason gave Liz a faint gleam of pride.
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said.
At last the thousand-point turn was complete – no scrape but it was a pretty close call. However instead of finally squealing off, the black car paused and with an expensive whine the driver’s window slid down.
‘You need to stop coming into my house! I said before I’d call the police and I wasn’t lying!’
Then she drove off with a dramatic squeal of tyres.
‘Areyou going into her house?’ asked Zippy Doodah looking after the retreating black 4 x 4.
‘Only that one time,’ said Liz.
‘It sounds like it’s happened more than once,’ said Zippy.
‘Yes,’ said Liz thoughtfully. ‘Yes, it did.’
She’d finally worked out what that strange tone in Ffion’s voice was.
Ffion Hilton was afraid.
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday 23rd July
From the Carlton Miniot Allotments Facebook Page:
Could ALL allotment holders please note the current hosepipe ban and also try and be mindful of the number of times they fill watering cans from the central tap. Your cooperation in this matter is appreciated.
As the heatwave persisted (‘it’s with us awhile yet, folks!’ theLook Northweatherman had cheerily announced that teatime) the people of Thirsk and Ripon had grown accustomed to snatching at their outdoor jobs in the mid- to late evening. It was between the hours of seven and ten that dogs were walked, gardens watered, strolls taken, albeit at a slower pace through the lengthening shadows and pungent smells of baked grass and pollen.
This evening, sometime before eight found Pat and Rod sitting on their teak love seat, watching the sun just beginning its dawdling descent over the distant Pennines. Between them stood the remnants of a bottle of a particularly fruity Merlot. Normallythis was one of Pat’s favourite summertime things, feeling the sun-warmed teak against her back, savouring sips of red as she and Rod gently chit-chatted the day to rights, or just sat in a companionable silence.
Normally.
She glanced up uneasily at the window to the guest bedroom. It had been eleven minutes since the shouting had stopped and the curtains had been tightly pulled.
When they’d returned from Ingleby Barwick library around six, her son had been out in the drive, oblivious of the heat, waiting for them.
‘Hey up,’ Pat had said. ‘We’ve a welcoming committee.’ She hadn’t felt especially alarmed, but Tiffany’s face had become set and tense, hands gripping the steering wheel as she negotiated the red Mini into the space between Pat’s Yeti and Rod’s pickup truck. Justin had strode over, feet angrily scrunching on the gravel, face set behind his mirrored shades.
‘Where have you been?’ he said, eyes wide with unaccustomed anxiety.
