The festival is well underway, and the torchlit procession through the village is approaching my house just as we leave. It’squite something to see and we join the crowd, weaving our way through a sea of people in fancy dress. As is tradition, the majority are wearing skeleton costumes with elaborate face paint or masks, but there are a few smugglers, and a couple of mermaids too. Most festivalgoers look like they’ve had a drink or three already, and with almost all of them carrying a flaming torch, it looks like a scene from a horror film. When we pass The Smuggler’s Inn I’m surprised to see the pub is in darkness. It’s normally the busiest night of the year.
“Why is the pub closed so early?” Bird asks, shouting to be heard above the merry mob making their way along the street.
“Not sure. Might text Maddy, check she’s okay,” I reply, before sending a quick message to my sister.
“Maybe she’s in the crowd, you’d never know,” Bird says.
She’s right—everyone is in costume and most people are wearing masks. When the rest of the procession snakes around the street toward the coast path, the two of us take the lane that leads up the hill to Spyglass instead. I feel anxious for so many reasons when we reach Harrison’s house, and I stop on the lane a short distance away before going in. The lights are on. I’m sure he’s inside.
“What’s wrong?” Bird asks.
“That’s Mary’s car,” I tell her, staring at the red Mini parked on the driveway.
“You’re sure?”
“She almost ran me over with it earlier, so yes.”
But now that we’re here I’m feeling unsure about everything. What if my theories about all of this are as crazy as they sound?
Why would a man pretend that a woman was his wife if she wasn’t?
“And seeing her carhere, parked outside Spyglass…” I say.
“What? Spit it out.”
“Well, your grandmother’s carer—the one nobody ever saw—always parked a red Mini outside this house. That’s how I knew someone was here taking care of old Mrs. Bird.”
“You think Mary used to be my grandmother’s live-in carer and now works at The Manor looking after the new owner of Spyglass’s daughter? That would be a bit of a mad coincidence.”
“There’s no such thing. You taught me that.”
Before she can answer, the front door swings open and Diana Harris from the art gallery strolls out. The door closes behind her, and she smiles to herself as she walks toward us. We’re standing in the shadows and she doesn’t see us straight away.
“Oh my goodness, you scared me!” she says when she does. “Why are you here?”
“We could ask you the same question,” I say.
“Have they confirmed the body was Eden? That poor man. I just dropped off one of my special homemade casseroles. Perhaps I should stay? Be on hand to offer him some comfort after you have broken the news? A man like that shouldn’t be on his own at a time like this.”
“That’s verythoughtful, but we don’t know for sure that the body is Eden yet.”
Mrs. Harris barely hides her disappointment.
“That lovely man has been through so much. I just wanted to let him know that I—we—are all here for him if there is anything he needs. Anything at all.”
“We’ve got this, Mrs. Harris, but thank you,” Bird says. “You have a good night now.” She waits until Diana takes the hint and has waddled away down the lane and out of earshot before adding, “That’s right, off you fuck.”
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I whisper when we reach the front door with its fox-head knocker. I used to hate the fact that nothing ever happened in Hope Falls, now I wish it never had. I miss the quiet life. “What if I’m wrong? Harrison Woolf is a powerful man. He already tried to have me fired—”
“Tried and failed and poppycock. You can’t be afraid of people like him. Nobody is above the law, I don’t care how rich or successfulthey are. After what you’ve shown me tonight, I think we can safely say that Harrison has been lying from the start. Why a person lies is almost always more interesting than the lie itself. That’s what we need to find out now.Why.This is the right thing to do and you did good, I’m proud of you,” she says.
It feels like my favorite teacher gave me a gold star. It’s also the first kind thing she has said to me, which might be why it sounds strange. Like when people take the time to learn a foreign language but mess up the accent.
“Thank you, DCI Bird. That means a lot to me.”
“Call me Birdy, for god’s sake, and don’t start getting sentimental. Let’s get the job done and arrest this fucker,” she says, sounding far more like herself.
The door opens almost as soon as she knocks on it.
