A chuckle escaped my throat. She was warm, cheerful, and impossibly down-to-earth, the last person you’d expect to get into any sort of feud with anyone. I walked to the kitchen. ‘You can just set the bags on the counter.’

Dutifully, she did, and I followed her back out to the main room.

She spun on her heel. ‘Watson, I think I’ve spotted something I left behind.’ She walked toward the bedroom, and I pictured her opening the dresser drawer, pulling out the photos, tucking them into one of her dress’s oversize pockets.

She stopped at the doorway instead. ‘The quilt,’ she said, turning back to me. ‘Please don’t tell Maggie I abandoned it. Not sure if you’ve met her yet – older woman who lives next door. She gave it to me for Christmas. Got it at some antiques fair or something.’

‘I met her yesterday, actually,’ I said. ‘Er, do you want it back?’

She grimaced. ‘Not really. I’m going for a minimalist thing in my new place – turns out, I got the Eames chair after all – and that quilt looks much better here. I’m afraid it’s your cross to bear now.’

I stifled a laugh, then took a deep breath. I should tell her about the photos, hand them over, I thought. I had the perfect opening. Only something stopped me. The way Vera kept looking to John every time she said Rachel’s name, practically poisoning the air between them …

‘Mind if we trade numbers?’ Rachel asked. ‘Just in case any more of my important mail comes here? Not the junk, of course.’

‘Sure,’ I said, pulling out my phone. She rattled off her digits, and as I keyed them in, a text from Vera popped up on my screen.

So much fun last night, I hope you’re feeling okay today!

I swiped it away quickly, like a child caught doing something naughty, then saved Rachel into my contacts.

When I looked up, her face was momentarily unreadable, but quickly broke into a grin. ‘I should get out of your hair,’ she said, walking briskly back to the living room. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Anytime,’ I said, turning to follow her. A thought occurred to me then, quick as a flash. ‘Oh, and Rachel?’

She flipped around. ‘Yeah?’

‘This is kind of weird to ask, but I was just in town, and I went by the gallery, the one that John and Vera own. There was this awful graffiti on the window – kind of, well, calling one of them a pervert – do you know what that’s about?’

Rachel’s eyes widened, then returned to normal so quickly I half thought I hadn’t seen a thing.

‘Sorry, I –’

‘No, it’s fine,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s just teenagers, I’m sure.’

‘Okay,’ I said, forcing a grin to ease the tension. ‘That’s what I thought, but I just wanted to ask.’