Philip and Lizzie stand and raise their glasses too. Rick raises his glass, but stays sitting.
‘To justice,’ they chorus.
As they sit back down, Rick raises his glass again and says, ‘And to good friends.’
They toast again, and as Moira takes a sip of her champagne she tries not to think about the added dangers her newfound friends could cause her, and that she could cause them.
As Rick and Philip chat about the meal, Moira turns to Lizzie. ‘How are things?’
Lizzie shakes her head and leans closer to Moira. ‘It’s as if he thinks if he says nothing about it I’ll forget.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
Lizzie exhales hard. ‘How can I forget? We need to talk about it, but every time I try to start the conversation he walks away.’ She sighs. ‘I just don’t understand it. I don’t think he’ll ever tell me the truth.’
Moira takes a quick glance at Philip. He looks younger than his seventy-one years and has no deep worry lines or bloodshot eyes. There’s no sign of guilt or stress. Moira doesn’t understand either. ‘So what are you going to do?’
Lizzie shrugs. ‘I don’t know yet. I just—’
‘Hey Moira, I bet you’d have loved to have seen Golding’s face when he read that piece in the Lake County News about us,’ says Philip, setting his champagne back on the table and picking up his buttered roll. ‘All that talk of us seniors uncovering the killer before the police – I bet he blew his top.’
Moira nods. ‘No doubt.’
‘That wasn’t why we did it though, was it?’ Lizzie says. There’s a smile on her face as she looks at Philip, but it looks brittle rather than warm, and Moira can see the tension in her friend’s body language. Until Lizzie gets some kind of resolution, she doubts that will change.
‘Yes, yes, very true,’ says Philip, stuffing the roll into his mouth. ‘It was about justice.’
Moira smiles at Lizzie. ‘I bet the management here at The Homestead went crazy too. They might have got the media to report Donald as having been from a different state and just staying here at Ocean Mist, but those of us living here know that’s not the real truth. There’s a rising swell of frustration on the community Facebook page about them only allowing positive news stories designed to keep up a perfect image of The Homestead. They’re not going to be able to keep a lid on it very much longer.’
‘For sure,’ says Rick, wincing as he straightens himself up. ‘And that’s no bad thing.’
‘Amen to that,’ says Moira, taking another sip of champagne. She gazes out past the boats bobbing in the marina, and across the water. She might have handed in her warrant card, but she’s not ready to stop investigating yet; these past couple of weeks have taught her that. Besides the neat lawns, pickleball tournaments and line-dancing parties there’s something lurking in The Homestead that’s a lot less wholesome. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about how the management seem to be able to control the way the media report incidents here. And I get they could pay the local outlets, or there’s some quid pro quo thing going on. But I wonder if it goes further than that.’
‘Further?’ says Philip. ‘Like the cops?’
‘Maybe,’ says Moira.
‘You know, my guy – Hawk – said his source in the homicide department implied something odd was going on,’ says Rick. ‘Could be there’s someone dirty there.’
‘You think they’re getting paid off?’ says Lizzie.
Philip’s nodding. ‘That’d be one reason for Golding to be so keen on burying the case.’