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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

Again, she went through the list of people who’d been at the villa at the weekend. It was three days now since his body had been found on the beach. So far, the police didn’t seem to have got any closer to finding out who’d killed him. Tara was sick of sitting around waiting for them to do their job properly. She had to do something to push the investigation along. The problem was, she didn’t know what else she could do. She’d already told the police about Adam and Nick arguing. And she’d made it clear that Simon, too, had a motive for killing his brother. Simon had a short fuse at the best of times. Tara had noticed how annoyed he’d got on Saturday night when Nick was drunk. It wouldn’t have taken much to tip him over the edge.

She picked up her phone, scrolling through her call log and reading the names of the people she’d called earlier. Not one of them had phoned her back yet. Bastards. She hovered over Adam’s name, considering whether or not to try him again before eventually deciding there was no point.

Moving away from the call log, she looked at the names of the three people she hadn’t called yet: Shelly, Robbie, Clodagh. Her eyes hovered over that final name, remembering what Nick had told her last week. He’d made Tara promise not to tell anyone. Once she’d got over her annoyance at him for never having said anything until now, Tara had sworn – on the memory of her dead friends – that she wouldn’t tell a soul. But that was before Nick had been murdered. Clodagh was probably glad he was dead, Tara realised. With Nick out of the way, she would think her sordid little secret was safe.

Her glass was empty. When she lifted the bottle out of the wine cooler, she saw that was empty too. She stood up to get some more wine. The balcony swayed, triggering a fluttery panic in her chest. Until she realised it was her, not the balcony, that was swaying.

On her way inside to get a new bottle, she stopped at the mirror in the living room to look at her reflection. Even now, drunk and grief-ravaged, she had to admit she didn’t look too bad. It baffled Tara that some women chose to ignore what age did to their faces and bodies. There was no excuse for it. Especially these days when a simple procedure could knock a decade off your face. Another reason to get her hands on some money, so she’d be able to afford whatever work she’d need to get done when the time came.