‘That’s why she don’t like you,’ Ricky went on, ‘that dark-haired one. Cruella! She’s got a thing about her boss.’

‘Has she?’ I was astonished. For one thing, the inspector was probably old enough to be her father.

‘Haven’t you noticed the way she looks at him?’

‘Well, no,’ I admitted. I hadn’t noticed how she looked at the inspector. I’d only noticed how she looked at me – with varying degrees of smug malevolence. I must pay more attention if there was ever a next time.

‘Pretty girl,’ Morris ventured, putting a paper bag on the table and carefully tearing it open to reveal the three Danish.

‘Pity about the mouth.’ Ricky took a deep drag and then squashed his cigarette out in the sink.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ I agreed spitefully, sitting at the table.

‘Well, not everyone can have a bleeding great gobhole like yours, Juno,’ he told me pleasantly. ‘Now, choose your weapon − lemon curd, apricot or custard?’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Next morning, I took the Tribe across the fields and sat on a stile while they raced around joyfully, tails wagging, ears flapping in the wind. It had rained in the night, and the grass glistened, the ferns in the hedgerows dripped, the wooden stile on which I sat was damp. I didn’t care. I’d been awake most of the night, trying to decide what to do. The day before, after we’d devoured the Danish pastries, Ricky and Morris had stopped talking nonsense and spent a long time trying to persuade me to the sell the shop. I would be getting rid of a big problem and liberating myself from poverty at the same time.

I had to agree it was the sensible option. But I wanted to try to make a go of it, for Nick’s sake as much as my own. Although, how I was going to run it and keep my existing business going, I didn’t know. I wasn’t prepared to abandon Maisie and my other clients, and couldn’t afford to anyway, until the shop started bringing in some money – if it ever did. And nagging at me all the time was the thought that somewhere in that place was the clue to Nick’s murder and if I sold the place that clue would be lost for ever. Sally the Labrador flopped down at my feet, panting. She looked up at me from wise brown eyes and I asked her what she thought, but whatever it was she was keeping to herself.