‘Yeah, it was gross. Anyway, have you settled back in?’ She sat at the breakfast bar whilst Cleo set about making the coffees.
‘Yes, I salvaged something of that picture.’ She pointed to a small canvas on the wall. Regan tilted her head and she could see it was part of the canvas that Elvis had stuck his head through, but minus the torn section. It made for quite a tasteful picture.
‘Nice job,’ said Regan, giving a nod of approval.
‘I’ve not done much else because I’ve been so busy sorting out the …’ There was a dramatic pause and Regan smiled at the twinkle in Cleo’s eyes, ‘… Cleo Marchant Art Scholarship and Mentoring Programme.’ She followed it with a tiny squeal of delight.
‘That’s fantastic! Well done, you.’ Regan gave her a tight hug. She was really proud of her, but also so pleased to see her looking bright and happy.
They chatted over coffees while Elvis snoozed next to his new love – the sheepskin. Cleo talked a lot about how Penny had inspired her to extend her original idea to underprivileged kids. In fact, Penny came up a lot in the conversation.
Cleo checked her watch and Regan took it as a cue toleave. ‘Right, I’d better get back. Charlie’s making a curry tonight.’
‘You two have got domestic bliss sussed, haven’t you?’
‘Oh, we’re exactly like an old married couple, all right. Meals together, but we sleep apart.’ She tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t quite hit the mark.
‘I’m seeing someone …’ Cleo was biting the inside of her mouth.
‘Ooooh,’ said Regan, with childish excitement. ‘Out with all the details.’ Cleo had been single for such a long time. It made Regan happy that she was dating again.
Cleo’s cheeks flushed with colour and she suddenly looked very nervous.
‘What would you say if I said I think I might be … gay?’ Cleo slowly raised her head and made eye contact. She looked so afraid.
Regan smiled. ‘I’d say: I’ve known for ages.’
Cleo’s eyebrows danced something akin to the tango. ‘How can you have known? I’ve only recently worked it out for myself.’ She looked indignant.
‘Painting giant tits was a bit of a giveaway.’ Regan pointed at the painting on the wall and they both began to laugh.
Bernice returned to work the next day and intercepted Regan as soon as she started setting up. ‘The police are investigating that CCTV footage you handed in,’ she said, her voice chipper, although she herself looked drawn and weary.
‘That’s good,’ said Regan, trying to sound upbeat but falling a little short.
‘Could you see who it was?’
‘I’m so sorry, Bernice. The footage wasn’t great. It’s asmall, two-door car in a light colour – possibly grey or silver – but that was all.’
Bernice’s expectant expression expired. ‘You sound like you’re already resigned to not catching them. You’re not giving up, are you?’
Regan straightened up. ‘Goodness, no. Never. It’s just really hard. But we’ll keep going.’
Bernice bent down to give Elvis a fuss, but Regan had brought the sheepskin so he was otherwise engaged. ‘The car was heading towards town, right?’ asked Bernice.
‘Yep.’
‘Then it must come up on other shops’ CCTV. There must be other cameras on whatever route the killer took.’
‘But once it gets too far away from the scene it’s less and less likely that it’s the same car.’ Regan didn’t like the despondent air in her own voice.
Bernice stood up quickly like a jack-in-the-box. ‘Youaregiving up.’ Her voice was getting louder.
‘No. I’m only repeating what the police said.’
Bernice mumbled something else and went to shout at Jag who had left a load of empty crates by his stall.
‘You okay?’ asked Malcolm, appearing from behind a pile of crusty bloomers. ‘I see Boadicea’s not got any mellower.’
