She’d certainly made Vera Stanhope happy. The woman had cleared her plate in minutes and beamed. ‘I’m supposed to be watching what I eat these days, but no harm in a treat once in a while, eh?’ There’d been no more questions about Margaret. No mention at all of the murder. The inspector had paid her bill in cash and, when Kate had offered her a receipt, she’d waved it away. ‘Not the police service’s fault that I live out in the wilds. Can’t really get this one on expenses.’ Then she was out of the door with a little wave, and Kate had felt inexplicably bereft. A repeat of the sensation that had overcome her when she’d realized that Margaret was dead.

George Enderby arrived in the dining room at eight on the dot. He might like to come across as a free spirit, but Kate had noticed that he was a great one for routine. A pot of coffee and poached eggs on brown toast. The order was always the same. She was clearing his dishes when the kids left the house for school. Through the window she watched Ryan idling up the street, his heavy bag weighing down one shoulder. No hurry to get to his lessons. He seemed more eager to help Malcolm Kerr out in the yard these days than to get to class. Chloe left a few minutes later. Further up the street she was joined by a lad Kate didn’t recognize.

‘Where are you off to today, George?’ She turned her attention back to the room. His wheelie suitcase of books was already sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Into Newcastle.’ He smiled a little sadly. ‘A challenge. It’s hard to get booksellers interested in our titles for spring when everyone’s mind is on Christmas.’

‘That police inspector stayed last night. She couldn’t get home because of the weather.’

‘Oh?’ He was suddenly interested. She thought, now that the shock had worn off, they were all interested in Margaret’s death. It was like a television drama. Even the kids, who had been pleasant and careful with each other the evening before, seemed back to normal, sniping and bickering.

‘She left an hour ago. She didn’t say anything about the investigation, of course. I suppose they have to be discreet.’ Kate wiped crumbs from a neighbouring table with a napkin into her cupped hand.

‘Yes,’ George said. ‘I suppose they do.’