She stared down at the bed, her eyes focusing on the solid outline indented into the soil. Footprints. Right in front of the window. A hand squeezed her heart.
‘Don’t be daft, Hannah.’ She said the words out loud to emphasis her stupidity, as if saying them made them true. She was being over dramatic and neurotic.
‘Talking to yourself.’
She jumped, throwing her cup up in the air, and hot tea slopped over her wrist.
‘Bloody hell, Conor! What are you doing here?’ She shook her arm and rubbed at it before wiping it on her jeans.
‘I’m on my way down to the beach, if that’s all right with you.’ He indicated the surfboard under his arm.
‘Well, you shouldn’t have crept up on me.’
‘I wasn’t creeping. You seem a bit jumpy this morning. Besides, you were absorbed in communing with nature. My mother’s teaching is obviously rubbing off already.’ There was a slightly sarcastic tone to his voice. He looked down at the battered crocosmia and frowned. ‘Didn’t you like the flowers?’
‘It wasn’t me! Someone stood here.’ She hadn’t planned on making a fuss about it because she was still trying to convince herself that there was a sensible explanation, but the accusation in his words made her blurt out, ‘I saw someone looking in my window last night.’
Conor raised an eyebrow, put down his board and came over.
Now she felt a bit foolish. To justify herself, she pointed to the footprints and said a little belligerently, ‘See.’
Conor studied the scene in silence for a few seconds and then bent down to touch the damp soil before turning and looking up at her. ‘You saw someone looking in through the window?’
‘Yes. Just a face. Only a glimpse, but there was definitely someone there, and then this morning I thought I was being silly but then…’ She waved a hand at the flowers, her stomach turning over with the realisation that there really had been someone there. She couldn’t help an involuntary shiver.
‘When was this?’
‘Last night at about half-ten. At the time, I thought maybe it was… I don’t know, someone larking about coming back from the pub or something.’
‘We were all at home last night. Family dinner celebrating Mairead and Eamon’s wedding anniversary.’
‘Maybe someone was out locking up the animals or something.’
Conor’s eyes narrowed as he rose to his feet still studying the trampled flowers and the clear footprints. ‘Maybe.’ Even he didn’t sound convinced.
It didn’t take a detective to see that whoever had stood here had been right up against the window. That wasn’t just someone walking past.
Hannah took a hasty gulp of what was left of her tea, her hand shaking. Then another thought struck her.
‘The flowers. They were like this the day before.’
‘One of the pigs got out. Porker. It might have been him.’
‘I suppose, but does he wear size-ten boots?’
Conor huffed out a sigh. ‘No.’
Together they stood staring down at the untidy flower bed with the torn petals and squashed flower heads.
‘Let me have a think. We can move you somewhere else, although I’m not sure where. I’m mid-renovation on the other two cottages we have. There’ll be a room in the hotel, I think.’
Hannah pinched her lips together. ‘Don’t be silly. It was probably a one-off. I’ll draw the curtains at night.’ The cottage was so lovely she was loathe to leave it and now, on such a gorgeous day, it felt as if she were overreacting. ‘I’ve read too many thrillers. I’m sure you don’t have that many serial killers round here.’
‘None that I’m aware of. There are very few strangers round here. We know everyone and tourists don’t tend to stray this way. Do you get a phone signal here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let me give you my mobile number so at least you can call if you’re worried. You all right?’
