‘Archie saved me,’ Dorothy said, looking out of the window.

Bruntsfield Links was putting its spring show on, the trees filling out and dancing in the breeze, a few souls sitting on the grass, happy to be through another winter. The ancient dead buried below were pushing up new grass, her dad’s ashes down there too amongst the plants and flowers, worms and bugs.

Jenny looked from the window to the two large whiteboards on the other wall. One for funerals, the other for PI cases. The funeral one was busy, half a dozen jobs on the slate, bodies in the fridges downstairs or waiting to be collected, or already embalmed and waiting for the final send-off. The PI work had been steady recently too, mostly marital stuff, which Jenny found she had a knack for since Liam.

Jenny turned to Dorothy. ‘He said there was a police car chase?’

Dorothy exhaled. ‘That’s right.’

‘In the graveyard?’

‘Yes.’

‘What the hell?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, Archie pulled me out of the way. No one in the Blackie party was injured, including the deceased. But we’ve had to postpone the funeral, the grave is a crime scene.’

‘What were they thinking, chasing him into a cemetery?’

Dorothy took a drink. She never used to touch whisky before Jim died, it was always his drink, but she’d claimed it as her own since he was gone, maybe the taste was a memory.

‘The man in the car died,’ Dorothy said.

Jenny shook her head. ‘Why were they after him?’

‘Car was stolen, that’s all.’ She drank. ‘I think he was homeless. The car had a sleeping bag and an old backpack in it.’ Dorothy nodded at the collie. ‘And this guy.’

‘Why is he here?’

‘Where else could he go?’

‘The police should deal with him.’

Dorothy smiled. ‘The police officer was just a baby, poor thing. He was in shock. I had to make him do breathing exercises. Then I got the dog out of the car, put him in the hearse. The police don’t want to deal with a dog.’

‘But the dog might belong to someone.’

Dorothy nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to Thomas about it.’

This was her friend, a police inspector over at St Leonards. She’d helped him bury his wife a few years back, he’d helped her with PI cases since.

Dorothy drank again. ‘I’ll look after him until we find his home, if he has one.’

There was a hiss from the doorway and Jenny saw Schrödinger there, back arched, staring at the collie. The ginger cat was another of Dorothy’s strays, she attracted those who didn’t have anywhere else.

Hannah appeared in the doorway and scooped the cat into her arms. Schrödinger stayed alert, eyes on the intruder.

‘Gran, are you OK?’

Dorothy sighed. ‘I don’t need any fuss.’