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Back The Lucky Eight
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Five Years Later
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Fifty-four
  59. Fifty-five
  60. Epilogue
  61. Acknowledgements
  62. Canelo Crime
  63. About the Author
  64. Also by Sheila Bugler

‘Meet me outside,’ Rachel said, reading the message. ‘Any idea what he wanted to speak to you about?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Positive.’

But Clodagh’s eyes slid to the side and Rachel knew she was lying. The problem was, she didn’t know which bit Clodagh was lying about – not finding Nick when she’d gone looking for him, or not knowing what he’d wanted to speak to her about.

‘Which one of you wasn’t here yesterday?’ As she asked the question, Rachel wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her until now.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are – were – eight of you,’ Rachel said. ‘Two survivors living in Greece, who chose not to fly over for the anniversary. Which leaves six. But according to the hotel manager, only five of you were here yesterday. Who’s the missing person?’

‘Robbie Fuson.’

Rachel ran back through what she’d read about the survivors. Robbie Fuson. Thirty-eight years old, living in Winchester at the time of the plane crash. He was one of the trustees of the Vivienne Kinsella Foundation set up to support those whose lives had been destroyed by the tragedy.

‘Why wasn’t he here?’ Rachel asked.

‘He’s disappeared.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘He stepped down from his role as a trustee three months ago,’ Clodagh said. ‘None of us have seen or heard from him since.’

A spike of panic as Rachel absorbed this new information. The investigation had just stepped up a notch. Eight survivors. One dead. Another one missing. She’d been hoping the case would be closed quickly. But she knew, already, that wasn’t going to happen. This case was going to be messy and complex and drawn out. All of it conducted beneath the unforgiving glare of the tabloid press.

Six

Clodagh walked barefoot across the perfect lawn to the wild garden. This, down here, was where she liked to come when she wanted to be alone. Out of sight from the house, she could sit here for hours, listening to the hum of honeybees and breathing in the perfume from the flowers that bloomed in glorious abundance at this time of the year. Evenings were the best time to be here. Dappled dots of light and shade where the sun flowed between the gaps in the leaves and branches of the tall trees that bordered the garden. Seagulls screaming, dashes of white against the clear blue sky. A row of blue and lilac delphiniums, bobbing and swaying to their own private music. All of it exactly what she needed after the emotional rollercoaster of today. She was drained and exhausted, every remaining bit of her energy focused on not falling apart.