LITMIR.BIZ

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like a suicide.’

      ‘The police have it down as an open and shut case, at least unless the coroner disagrees at the inquest.’ He shook his head. ‘Frankly, if no one does anything, she'll be a statistic: just another girl who grew too rich and famous and couldn't handle it. I don't want to let that happen.’

      ‘What is it you know?’

      The man blinked and looked away. ‘Not here. We need to talk somewhere more private. Can I take you to dinner tonight? There's a restaurant near Taunton where they know me. They'll let us have a quiet table.’

      Libby bit her lip. ‘All right.’ She stood up. ‘I've got to get back to the shop. Pick me up at seven?’

      7

      Dinner

      Libby changed her dress three times before seven o'clock. It was stupid to feel so nervous. I'm behaving like a teenager. She hadn't been out alone with a man since Trevor died. The last thing she wanted was an entanglement. Not now, as she started to build the life she'd always wanted.

      The linen shift dress was elegant, and a shade of pale rose that brought colour to her cheeks, but it wouldn't keep her warm, it creased too much, and the neckline was too low. She tossed it on the bed. This wasn't a date, after all. The man had only asked her to dinner to discuss Susie. Maybe she was an old girlfriend.

      Libby tried a silk dress with a high waist and flared skirt that made her look girly. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb.’ she told Fuzzy, who rolled on the linen dress, covering it with ginger and white hairs.

      Libby shooed the cat away and pulled out a pair of black evening trousers, matching them with a white shirt. There, that didn't give out any awkward signals. It was neat and business-like, but the trousers were well cut and the subtle embroidery, like damask, made them chic enough for evening. A silver chain round her neck, a heavy silver cuff on her wrist, and a squirt of scent completed her preparation, just in time. The bell rang as she left the room.

      He was early. Libby ran downstairs, stomach fluttering, took a breath and opened the door. Mandy, hair wildly back combed into an unruly bird's nest, rested a foot on the doorstep as if poised for retreat. In one hand, she hefted an unwieldy backpack with a black t-shirt spilling out of the top. The other hand was at her mouth, teeth tearing at a black-painted fingernail. She dropped the hand long enough to whisper, ‘Did you mean it? Can I really come to stay?’

      ‘Of course you can stay.’ Mandy staggered into the hallway and Libby took the bag. ‘I don't think it's safe for you to go home, if you're frightened of your father.’ She took the bag. ‘Good heavens, whatever have you got in there?’

      Mandy made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sniff. ‘My laptop. And some books.’

      Books? Mandy? That was a surprise. ‘Well, you're welcome to stay. I could use a lodger, here. There's a spare room. Does your Mum know you're here?’

      ‘I didn't tell her.’ Mandy's fingernail was back in her mouth. She looked like a frightened child.

      ‘You should let her know. Won't she worry?’

      ‘I'll ring her later. Dad won't be back tonight. He's going out drinking with his old mates and staying over at the Watson's place.’ Maybe Samantha would keep an eye on Mandy's father: help him stay out of trouble. Libby would ask Max Ramshore about Mandy's dad this evening. He'd know what to do. His son was a police officer.

      Mandy, gaining confidence once the front door closed, perched on a stool in the kitchen, gazing around the room, eyes wide. ‘Wow. What a place, Mrs Forest.’

      ‘Call me Libby. Now, I must go out this evening, but the bed's made up in the spare room. I won't be late. Make yourself at home and help yourself to anything you can find.’

      Mandy was scooping walnut brownies from a tin when Max Ramshore arrived. ‘Don't worry about me.’ She looked from one to the other, the hint of a smile on her face. She'd be on Facebook before they were out of the drive. By tomorrow, everyone in town would know they'd been out for dinner.

      Libby's companion drove a comfortable, well-used Range Rover. Bear lay in the back, greeting Libby with a bark. ‘Hello to you, too,’ she said, tugging his ears.

      Max Ramshore raised his eyebrows. ‘Hope you don't mind if Bear comes too. He likes the White House.’

      The restaurant was by the river, a string of tables lining the bank. There was an autumn chill in the air, but the wind had dropped. Still, it was a good job she'd brought a warm jacket. Libby rejected the polite invitation to eat inside. She liked the dark of the evening, and lights illuminated the scene. Bear made himself at home, disappearing into the reeds on the riverbank, searching for a succession of sticks for Max to throw.

      ‘If you grew up in Exham, Mr Ramshore, you must know just about everybody in town.’ Libby had spent all her life, until now, in West London. ‘I meet a new person one day, like Mandy at the bakery, and the next day I drop into the newsagent and find her mother works there. It's like a spider's web.’

      ‘I wish you'd call me Max,’ he said. ‘You're right. We're a small community. If you need a job done, you can always find a friend or relative of someone you know, who can help.’

      ‘I'm asking Ned Watson to renovate my bathroom. What do you think?’

      He tapped his fingers on the table. ‘He's probably the best option. There's always Bert, Mandy’s dad, if you want it done for cash with no questions asked. But I wouldn't advise that. A bit crooked, is Bert. Ned Watson's better. He undertakes building and plumbing. Tell him you know me, and he'll give you a decent price.’

      ‘Tell me more about Mandy's father. Bert, you said?’

      Max grimaced. ‘The man's a bully. He was like it at school. No one's lunch money was safe.’

      Libby peeked at Max's shoulders, broad as a boxer's. Her lips twitched. ‘I bet yours was.’

      He smiled. ‘I can look after myself. Since school, Bert's been on the dole most of the time, though he makes plenty by cleaning windows: cash payments only, of course.’

      ‘Is Mandy's mother safe? Won't he hurt her?’

      Max took a sip of Beck's Blue non-alcoholic beer. ‘I'm not sure. Bert goes down the pub with a bunch of his loser pals, gets drunk and takes it out on Elaine. The police are called round there from time to time.’ He shrugged. ‘Usual story. Wife takes him back every time. Refuses to press charges. She's had a black eye or two.’

      Max's own eyes glinted, cold as ice. ‘I try to keep an eye out for Elaine. Bert listens to me, so long as he's sober. We go back a long way, but I'm not always successful. One day, he'll go too far.’

      Libby swallowed. ‘Well, she'll be OK tonight. He's staying with the Watsons.’

      Max laughed. ‘Samantha would never have let Bert stay if she was at home. She ruled Ned with a rod of iron until they split up.’

      ‘Anyway, Mandy's safe with me. Her father won't even know she's there.’

      ‘He'll hear soon enough: you can't keep secrets in Exham on Sea, you know.’ Max topped up her glass. ‘Don't worry about Mandy. She's eighteen, old enough to make her own decisions.’

      He swished beer around his glass. ‘What about you? How did you get here?’

      ‘My husband died.’

      ‘I'm sorry.’

      She met his eye. ‘Don't be. I'm not.’ His eyebrows shot up and Libby laughed. ‘Sounds dreadful, I know, but he was my big mistake. My parents warned me.’ She hadn't listened, and she'd never told them they were right. ‘He turned out to be one of those controlling husbands. Another bully, like Mandy's father. That's why I was keen to get her away from their house. I know what it's like.’

      ‘I'm so sorry.’ Max's eyes were dark with sympathy, and Libby's stomach gave a little

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