Philip and Rick are due back from community watch soon. Will you come over so we can discuss whatever they find out? Lizzie.
I don’t know, thinks Moira.
She doesn’t want to. Being around Lizzie and Philip, and now this Rick guy, is too risky. They’re all ex-law enforcement. They’ll all have contacts back in the forces and departments they worked in. And that means they each have the ability to check her out – to discover her secret. She can’t let that happen. Her whole reason for moving here was to get away from crime and law enforcement and lies.
She taps out an answer.
Sorry. Not feeling great. M.
Another lie but what’s the alternative?
Lizzie’s reply comes back within a few seconds.
If you don’t want to walk or drive I can ask Philip to pick you up.
Won’t help. I’m still dizzy, Moira replies.
Lizzie replies almost immediately.
You need some proper food, and it’s not right you’re on your own. I’ll make us a meal.
Damn. This is getting awkward. The more she refuses, the more she’s going to make Lizzie curious. And the more curious she gets, the more likely she’ll be to mention Moira’s name to an old colleague and ask them to run a check and find out about her and her old life. And that will be a problem.
She stares at Lizzie’s last message. Not sure how to answer.
Another reply pops up on the screen.
We could really do with your help.
Moira frowns. Help with what? Finding out more about the case, or the victim? Canvassing the neighbourhood to see if other residents saw anything? They should be leaving that to the cops.
Although, if she’s honest with herself, she can feel the lure of working the case, and puzzling out the mysteries of the crime scene, tugging at her consciousness. Maybe it’s because it’s the first crime she’s seen since she retired. Or because the victim is so young, or Detective Golding seemed so preoccupied and uninterested. Or maybe it’s due to more selfish reasons. Because in those moments of finding the body and calling 911 she felt like her old self, her real self; the self with purpose and a point to her. She’d felt like someone who was useful, and it’s been a long time since she felt that way.
It’s been over two hundred and fifty days since her first panic attack, and twenty-two days since her last, the day before she picked the dogs up. She wasn’t triggered when she found the body this morning or when her anger at the detective’s indifference threatened to boil over; surely that has to be a good sign. But then the dizziness and the light-headedness were weird, and she’s been feeling sick for most of the day. Even if she feels okay right now, there’s no way of knowing how long it’ll last.
She shakes her head. Getting more involved in the case and with Lizzie would be pure foolishness – and the panic attacks, when they come, give no warning. One moment she’s feeling fine, the next she’s overwhelmed and unable to breathe. And what if the dizziness she’s been feeling and the light-headed nausea are somehow connected? She thinks they’re linked to her blood-sugar levels, but what if they’re not? If either of these things happens again when she’s with Lizzie, Philip or Rick, how will she explain it? She can’t. And that will only make them more curious about her. And that could put everything in jeopardy.
Marigold drops the ball in her lap.
‘Good girl,’ says Moira, stroking the puppy’s silken head. Picking up the ball, she throws it over the flower bed to the far side of the lawn. Marigold chases after it with Wolfie yapping in hot pursuit.
She wishes she could stay here. Hide out with her dogs. Lead the simple life that she’d hoped for when she’d moved to The Homestead. Anonymous. Incognito. Undisturbed.