‘Okay,’ says Moira.
It’s still hot out, and humid. Moira scans the area around them again, looking for the athletic blond man. There’s no sign of him. Instead she watches as the older woman on the bench opposite feeds her little dog frozen yoghurt. He’s a cute, fluffy kind of dog. Moira smiles as she watches him chasing the now-empty paper cup around, trying to get every last taste from it. She wishes she had some frozen yoghurt.
The dog’s owner – a round-faced seventy-something lady with a mane of grey-flecked brown curls – looks up and notices her watching. She smiles back at Moira. ‘He just loves the yoghurt here.’
‘I can see that,’ says Moira. ‘Lucky pup.’
‘He’s worth it.’ The woman ruffles the fur on her little dog’s head, then glances towards the park entrance and police cordon. Her smile drops. ‘Jeez it’s just awful isn’t it? I come here every day so that Teddy here can have his yoghurt and to think that someone died just inside the park there, I . . .’ She clutches her hand to her chest. ‘It just doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Moira nods. Philip said earlier that word travels fast in a community like this. It’d be useful to know what’s being said. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘I heard it was some kind of accident. My friend, Imani, told me that’s what they’d said when she’d called the security hut around lunchtime to ask why the police were cordoning off the park.’ She leans closer towards Moira, and lowers her voice. ‘But then this afternoon, Donna, who lives a little ways along my street, said she’d heard from someone at the golf club that it was a murder, that the victim was all cut up and . . . and I just . . .’ The woman blinks rapidly. Dabs at her eyes with a tissue. ‘It’s all so terrible. Things like that, they just don’t happen here.’
The woman’s obviously shaken. Moira knows the truth won’t help. ‘Whatever happened, I’m sure the police have it under control.’
‘Do you think? I sure hope so. I just don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight.’ The woman picks up Teddy the dog and hugs him to her. ‘I’m a light sleeper usually and every noise makes me wake up, and now this . . .’ She grimaces, hugging Teddy closer. ‘How do we know any of us are safe? If it wasn’t an accident, for all we know the murderer could be watching us. What do I do if . . .’
‘Just make sure you double-lock your doors tonight,’ says Lizzie. ‘And have your cell phone next to your bed. If you’re worried about anything, call security or alert the community-watch patrol.’
The lady’s eyes widen. ‘So you do think it was murder and not an accident?’
Lizzie glances at Moira.
‘We don’t know,’ says Moira. ‘But if we let the police do their job, I’m sure they’ll find the answer.’
The woman shakes her head. ‘It just doesn’t seem right something like that happening here. This is a safe place – a happy place. Someone dying in the park – it’s not right at all.’
Moira says nothing. The woman really seems to believe the hype of The Homestead marketing – that it’s a perfect neighbourhood and that somehow it’s immune to crime. It’s a naive view, but then maybe it’s not an uncommon belief here. After all, earlier Lizzie had said something fairly similar – as if saying bad things never happen could somehow make it true. Moira knows better though. Bad things happen everywhere. Everywhere there are people, anyway.
Putting Teddy back on the ground, the woman gathers up the frozen-yoghurt carton and puts it in the trash. She turns back to Moira and Lizzie and gives them a little wave, then glances towards the park. ‘Stay safe.’
‘You too,’ says Moira.
They’re alone on the benches now. Moira watches as the server inside Karlie’s yoghurt hut rolls down the serving hatch. Afternoon is giving way to evening. She looks over at Lizzie. Raises an eyebrow.