I closed my front door with a sigh of relief, made a pot of tea and sat at my kitchen table with Guinness curled up on my lap, grateful for his company. It was 5.30 a.m. but I was wide awake, nerves jangling. I couldn’t tell if it was jet lag or shock. What an ending to the charity cycle, I thought. Postponed twice because of the weather and then the organizer is, what? Killed? Murdered?

A post-mortem was obviously needed, but it had to be delayed until the pathologist could get here, so Hal McKinney, the undertaker, was to collect the body and take it to the morgue at Glendara Community Hospital. McFadden was to accompany it back into town after he’d left me home while Molloy stayed to take photographs and carry out a cursory search of the area. He was anxious to do it before it started to rain again, and evidence was lost.

As Maeve’s jeep was evidence, it had to be impounded for examination whenever the Garda tech bureau managed to get here, so a tow truck was coming to move it. In the meantime, she’d have to use her husband’s car to do calls, though she was relieved to be allowed to take essential drugs and equipment out of the jeep. I’d offered her a bed, but Harry wanted to speak to her so McFadden said he’d drop her home too. Poor Andy would be on the road for the rest of the night.

As I poured myself a second cup of tea, the memory of Harry paying such close attention to the dead man’s hand refused to shift and I wondered if it would come up in his conversation with Maeve. I checked my phone but there was nothing. There had been nothing from Molloy since I’d got home. I presumed I wouldn’t see him again tonight.

I rubbed the top of Guinness’s head and he purred, showing I was finally forgiven, which was something, I supposed. He stretched luxuriously on my lap and I finally felt a wave of tiredness wash over me. Maybe I’d be able to sleep now. I put the cat into his bed in the back kitchen and wearily climbed the stairs to my unmade bed. The last thing I registered before I drifted off was the rain pelting off the roof.

The following morning it was pouring again, the gutters dripping loudly outside my window. Guinness stretched again when I opened the door to the back kitchen, wrapping himself repeatedly around my legs as I tried to make some breakfast. All was back to normal in one area of my life, at least.