Death on the Lake Jo Allen (the ebook reader .TXT) 📖

angry but at least she couldn’t have accused Ashleigh of behaving inappropriately. ‘This has to be from my ex-girlfriend.’

‘Oh, very tricky for you, then.’ Lorraine’s delight was obvious.

‘There’s nothing tricky about it. She found her uncle dying and Ashleigh and I were around so we went to help.’

‘Right. So she’ll be able to back up what you say.’

‘No. Because Becca — my ex — was upset so I took her home. That’s when she got mad with me and attacked me. I held her off, that was all. ’

‘Uh-huh. Hence the bruising she claims to have sustained on the wrists.’ At least Lorraine sounded a little more sympathetic about that. She should be. She must have been in situations where sudden grief manifested itself in fury at the nearest person, and that person was often a police officer. ‘What about the inappropriate contact?’

‘That was her, not me. She apologised and gave me a hug and that was it. Or I thought it was.’

‘She gave you a hug. Okay. That doesn’t sound great, either, if I’m honest.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ It didn’t matter whether it was Lorraine’s smugness or Becca’s contempt for him that made him angry, but something did. ‘I’ve known her since she was a kid. We were neighbours. I thought we were friends. And I wasn’t even on duty.’

‘And that makes everything okay?’ Lorraine shook her head at him. ‘You don’t need me to tell you the trust-me-I’m-a-policeman line is no excuse. I’m sure you meant well, but hey. Sometimes you have to learn to let your exes go. You know?’

‘I’ve let her go. I was being neighbourly, Next time she calls me for help — and she did call me — she can just keep calling. I’ll walk away.’

‘Maybe you should have walked away this time, too.’ Lorraine turned towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you with that, but we won’t pursue it. We can’t, unless our complainant gets back to us with their contact details. It’ll stay on file. So in the meantime, think yourself lucky.’ She paused. ‘Just as well we can’t act on it, eh? But you might want to watch your step with ex-girlfriends in future.’

Fifteen

‘The police called me again this afternoon.’

Aida’s little red hire car had barely left the driveway of Waterside Lodge, the day’s work done, before Miranda appeared in the hall beside Robert. ‘Oh?’ He turned to her, his thin face sharp with suspicion.

‘Yes.’ She lifted a hand to calm him. ‘It’s nothing serious. It was just something they were checking up on, a tiny detail. But it bothered me and now…’ She steeled herself to do something she should have done years before. ‘Now I feel I should make a confession.’

One of the most comforting things about Robert was that he never jumped to a conclusion and therefore rarely reached the wrong one, and though he was notoriously tough in business, he was anything but at home. Even his bouts of fury with Ollie and Will were nothing more than a game he felt he had to play out, a curb chain on their rush to manhood, a constant check on their wilder impulses. ‘Intriguing. Shall we go and get a drink?’

‘Don’t you have any work to finish?’

‘No. I sent Aida away early because I’m tired of her company and far more interested in spending some time with you. I haven’t forgotten you were the one who had to pick up the pieces those boys left behind and that I wasn’t there to help you. I owe you a lot for that, and my time and a sympathetic ear are the least I can give you in return.’

Ollie and Will were playing some loud video game in the family room, where at least there were limited opportunities for mischief, so Robert and Miranda drifted by mutual agreement into the dining room. From there, armed with a gin and tonic apiece, they went out onto the terrace and settled side by side in two wicker chairs. The warmth had gone from the sun and the lights had come on on the other side of the lake, streaming out towards them from the houses and hotels. A few birds rode the rollercoaster wind for one last time before settling down to roost in the rustling trees. With a shiver, Miranda pulled her cardigan around her.

‘So,’ Robert prompted her, shifting his chair a few inches closer to hers so he could reach out to her hand if he needed to. She knew that was what he was planning because he stretched out his hand a fraction as if to judge the distance and then he let it rest. But that was Robert. He planned everything, even his apparently spontaneous gestures, in the most minute detail and as a result everything was always perfect. ‘Your confession.’

‘Yes.’ She placed her hand exactly where his eye had rested, to see how long it would take him to follow up. The sooner he did it the more sympathetic he would be. In the slipping sun, her diamond engagement ring picked up the sunlight and flung it back up into the air with the sparkle of a mighty star. ‘Summer Raine texted me on the morning of the day she died. She said she wanted to talk to me.’

‘What about?’ His expression gave nothing away.

‘She didn’t say, and I didn’t open the message until after she’d…after she must have died. But when she — the policewoman who called me. Ashleigh O’Halloran, a detective.’ She was stumbling over her words now, even without the gin and tonic. ‘She called me as a matter of routine, she said. Because they’d found the text on Summer’s phone.’

Robert’s sympathy unfolded sooner than she’d ever imagined. His warm hand over hers indicated that he’d help her. ‘Go on.’

‘Of course, I told them. I have nothing to hide. They said Summer was interested in feminist politics and they think she wanted to talk to me about someone I once knew.’ She sipped her