For a moment Zara didn’t know what to say. When she’d made the decision to come back home, she really hadn’t factored in that people would remember her and know about Will’s illness. Laughable, really; she of all people should know how country towns worked. Everyone knew everyone and they all knew each other’s business. She was sure her mum would’ve told her friends that she was coming home to stay for a while, and so it would’ve got around. What was confronting were the references to Will being sick. It wasn’t like she needed a reminder.

Summoning her professional smile, she answered, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name, but your face is certainly familiar. And, yes, I’m back here for a bit.’

‘I’m Joan and I certainly wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I used to help out at the school, listening to you kids reading and the like.’ Joan gave her a motherly smile. ‘Now, how can I help you? I hope you’re not here to report a crime; you’ve only been here such a short time!’

Zara shook her head. ‘Nope, just here with my reporter’s hat on. I’m still working while I’m here, so I wanted to introduce myself to the station. Let everyone know I’m around. I met Dave yesterday. His house is next to mine.’ She paused. ‘Are there any other police officers working here?’

‘There’s a lovely young man by the name of Jack. I’ll get him for you. Dave is our detective. Really great bloke. Couldn’t get anyone nicer. We were lucky when he fell in love with Kim and decided to stay here in sleepy old Barker. Of course, Kim, well, she’s the salt of the earth, would help anyone. Really top couple.’ Joan stood up. ‘I’ll get Jack for you.’

Zara nodded her thanks and fished out her mobile phone to check her emails while she was waiting for the apparently young and lovely Jack.

She scrolled through and opened the one from Lachy.

Feeling better today?

She tapped out: I’m on the beat, so yes. She’d just hit send when she heard a voice behind her.

‘How can I help you? I’m Senior Constable Jack Higgins.’

Zara turned around and put her hand out. Jack was a tall, slim man, in his late twenties or maybe early thirties. His hair was cut short and his uniform looked like it had been ironed to within an inch of its life. She wouldn’t have called him classically handsome, but he was good-looking enough. Not that she was looking.

‘Hi, Jack, I’m Zara Ellison from the Farming Telegraph. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m going to be here for a while, so if you’ve got anything that you need to get into the media …’

‘Thanks for introducing yourself, Zara,’ Jack said pleasantly.

Zara braced herself.

‘We’ll certainly get in contact if we need to get anything out but, as I’m sure you’re aware, we don’t usually talk to journalists unless we have a reason.’