After winding through the tables and greeting those she knew, Andee pushed open the kitchen door and continued on past the cooks to the large room beyond, where Fliss’s desk, computer, and file cabinets fought for space among bulk packs of toilet rolls, coffee, flour, cooking oil, and any number of culinary products.

Sitting on a spindle-backed chair in front of the desk and hunched in against a shelf of paper napkins was a tiny scrap of a woman whom Andee recognized, but struggled to place.

“This is Maria,” Fliss reminded her. “She used to work here.”

Andee nodded, recalling now how this nervy little woman, had slammed out of the café sometime last summer, following an altercation in the kitchen. “Hello, Maria,” she said kindly, sitting on the chair Fliss put behind her. “Fliss tells me you’re upset about something. Is it anything I can help with?”

The woman’s ruddy, pixyish face twitched slightly as she looked first at Andee, then at Fliss.

“Nothing bad’s going to happen to you,” Fliss assured her. “Just tell Andee what you told me.”

Maria’s frightened eyes returned to Andee and a moment later, in words altered by a strong speech impediment, she said, “I ’ad t’come. I couldn’t go on . . . Is wrong and my duty to speak up.”

“About what?” Andee prompted.

“About th’ lady. Th’ one who nearly die in that fy-ah.”

Realizing she meant “fire,” Andee became very still. “What do you know about that?” she asked carefully.

“I know who do it,” Maria cried wretchedly, “and they goin’ to get him for not doing it right.”

Andee said, “Who are we talking about, Maria?”

“My boy. My Archie. He set ligh’ to the ’ouse, but he dinnow she in there. I swear. They made him do it. They say bad things happen to me if he don’. They always do that to him. He a good boy. He care for his mum, but he shouldn’t set fy-ah to that house. Those who made him do it comin’ after him. They’re goin’ to kill him, my boy, and I can’t let ’em do that.”

Andee glanced at Fliss before saying, “I need to be sure about this, Maria. Your son Archie is responsible for the fire at the coach house on Westleigh Heights?”

“Thass wha’ I say. Is him who do it, ’cos they made him.”

“Who are they?”

Maria recoiled. “No tell tha’,” she cried, her poor tongue mangling the words so badly they were almost impossible to understand. “I juss want keep ma boy way from them.”

Realizing that she must have decided he’d be safer in custody than out on the streets, Andee said, “Where is he now?”

“At ’ome. He there when I leff.”

“Does he know you were coming to talk to Fliss?”