“Have you asked Huxley-Browne where they are?” someone shouted after him. “Is it true their personal devices have been found inside the house?”

The police team walked away and a dark-haired young man appeared on the screen, fiddling with his earpiece as he said, “So, the mystery of Mrs. Huxley-Browne and her daughter’s disappearance continues to grow. As you know, Paula, it was thought at first that they’d probably gone to stay with friends or relatives to escape the press. Then came suggestions that Mrs. Huxley-Browne had cooperated with investigators to secure her husband’s conviction, so was that the reason for going into hiding? Now that the police are asking for information on their whereabouts, we can more or less rule out the possibility that she’s been working with them.”

“What about the rumors concerning further arrests?” he was asked. “Can you tell us anything about them?”

“Not at this stage, I’m afraid. The police are playing this very close to the chest. So, a lot of questions, and as yet no answers. Back to you in the studio.”

“Thanks, Damon, and if anyone does have any information regarding Mrs. Huxley-Browne and her daughter you can call the number at the bottom of the screen.”

As a shot of the missing pair flashed up, Andee said, reflectively, “That picture is so blurred the police have to know they won’t get much of a response to it. I wonder if they chose it deliberately, or is it all they could find?”

To Dan, Graeme remarked dryly, “It doesn’t take much to get the ex-detective mind up and running. Me, I’m guessing the missing pair have taken off to deposit a tidy sum into an offshore bank somewhere. A nice little nest egg for when he comes out?”

“I could go for that,” Dan agreed. “They’re in it together and he’s decided a stretch at Her Majesty’s pleasure is a price worth paying for the millions they’ve managed to stash in some tax haven.”

Andee wrinkled her nose. “Maybe,” she conceded. “I suppose we’ll find out at some point—or not. But what I do know, my darling, is that smoke is billowing out of the oven behind you.”

Graeme swung around quickly, before remembering gazpacho didn’t even go in the oven, much less burn. Andee laughed and led Dan out of the wide-open French doors to the small, lavishly planted walled garden where a table had already been set for dinner.

“I’m embarrassed,” Dan confessed as she offered him a plate of freshly made canapés. “When I said I wanted to pop round for a chat I wasn’t expecting anything like this. I’d have at least brought some wine if I’d known.”

“We have plenty,” she assured him, “and Graeme loves to show off his culinary skills.”

“I heard that,” he shouted from inside.