As I stood there, it was difficult to reconcile that I was standing in front of the mysterious Chandler’s house. My stomach gave a flip.

I glanced down at Harley who blinked her hazel eyes back up at me. “Well, here goes.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

A twinkle-eyed lady wearing loose-fitting white shirt and flared trousers emerged at the door. Her short hair, although well-cut, was brassy toned.

I felt like I was in prison, talking to her through the wrought-iron teeth of the closed gate.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mr Flynn Talbot.”

She must be his housekeeper, I surmised. Mrs Oates, was it?

Her navy eyes narrowed. “Can I ask who you are?”

I knew that revealing I was a journalist would likely would kill off any chance of me being able to speak to him, but I wasn’t prepared to lie. Flynn’s previous words echoed in my head. There seemed to have been enough deception swirling around the Talbot family as it was.

And what if what Flynn had told me about his grandfather being the cult artist Chandler was true? I had no reason to doubt him. If Flynn Talbot senior did decide in the future to tell all, what an exclusive that would be!

“I’m a journalist with Goddess magazine.”

Mrs Oates eyes narrowed further.

“My name is Leonie Baxter. But I’m not here because I’m a reporter. I’m a friend of a Mrs Lily Cruickshank?”

Mrs Oates’s mouth popped open in surprise. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Did you just say Lily Cruickshank?”

Her attention zoomed from me to Harley and back again.

Mrs Oates pushed her hands into the pockets of her charcoal trousers. “Is she alright? Lily, that is?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Some days are better than others,” I commented diplomatically.

Mrs Oates considered this and gave a nod. “I hope she’s ok.”

I clutched at Harley’s lead. “Me too. That’s why I’m here. I found a letter addressed to Lily from 1973. It was written by Mr Talbot.”

Mrs Oates eyes widened. “Well, I never.” She glanced back over her shoulder and into the polished hallway, her expression now tinged with alarm. Then she tapped down the steps and approached me at the gate. She dropped her voice. “Where did you find this letter, Ms Baxter?”

“Please call me Leonie.”

“Leonie,” she repeated with an awkward smile.

Harley gazed up at me from the pavement, giving Mrs Oates a regular thump of her tail.

“I came across the letter by accident in a house called Merry Wood.”

Mrs Oates hand fluttered to her chest. “Are you sure? No. That can’t be right. Merry Wood was sold years ago.”