‘And that’s what happened the night the station wagon entered Ocean Mist?’
‘Yeah. The automatic plate reader logged the registration in the system, but the fields for driver name and who they were visiting were empty.’
Rick brakes hard as a small tabby cat makes a run for it across the road. He waits until the animal is safely across the lawn and on to the front porch of its house before continuing. Glances at Moira as he steps on the gas. ‘And when the plate was registered in the system around a month ago, what date was that?’
Moira tells him.
‘Well, damn.’ Rick runs his hand through his hair. ‘That there’s a whole lot of interesting. Seems the first time we’ve got a record of him arriving in the neighbourhood is two days before the first home got burglarised.’
Moira pulls her hoodie around her. It’s warm outside now, but inside the jeep it’s freezing. The air conditioning is cranked up to the max, and even though Rick’s got the windows open she’s feeling cold. ‘Coincidence?’
Rick shrugs. ‘Perhaps.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidence, not when crime’s involved.’
‘Me neither, which means talking to Miss Betty, and finding out if she’s had any visitors recently, is my number one priority this morning.’
They drive in silence along Wave Street. The houses here are similar to Moira’s own Country Classic, but as they make a left turn on to Sweetwater Drive the buildings change. Along this road they’re more Boston colonial style – strong, square silhouettes with impressive front porches and weatherboard cladding. Each one is painted a slightly different shade: greys and beiges, pale pinks, blues and greens.
‘Good real estate along here,’ says Rick, as if reading her mind. ‘Top dollar.’
She remembers seeing a couple of homes like this for sale on The Homestead website before she’d picked out her house. They’d been more than double what she’d paid. ‘Out of my price range.’
‘Just as well,’ says Rick. ‘The houses are big, but the yards are real small. No good for your dogs.’
Moira sneaks a glance at Rick while he’s concentrating on pulling out on to Sandcastle Street. He’s pretty hot really – strong jawline, attractive face. Jesus. She pushes the thought away. She’s so not wanting anything like that. Yesterday she’d told Lizzie she was happy alone, that she didn’t want a man in her life, and she’d meant it. A relationship needs trust to work and she’s all out of that. She doubts she’ll fully trust anyone again. And, given the situation, how could they trust her if they knew the truth? She shakes her head. No. It’s a non-starter. Anything romantic would be doomed.
‘You doing okay?’
She turns and meets Rick’s gaze. ‘Why’d you ask?’
‘Looked like you were doing some serious soul-searching then.’
Moira doesn’t answer straight away. She can’t tell him what she was thinking about, obviously. Needs to get her mind back on the investigation. ‘You know the murder hasn’t been reported in the media yet?’
Rick raises an eyebrow. ‘I did not know that, but then I guess I don’t look at the news so much these days.’
‘It’s not on the local news channel or the news app, national or local.’
‘Well, I guess they focus more on Miami and Orlando – the main hotspots and places those on vacation are most interested in.’
‘Maybe, but it’s a murder in a retirement community. Surely that warrants some attention, especially in a place like this that markets itself on being super-safe?’
‘Yeah, you’d think.’ Rick indicates and pulls over beside a squat-looking one-storey red brick. He parks up the jeep. Looks thoughtful.