“Yep, right from when they started it up, on and off. I don’t think it’s great pay, but she loves working with horses. When she heard I used to ride a bit, she invited me.” The pasta has made it to the plates now; she ladles the spicy tomato sauce and prawns on top. “God, I can’t actually remember the last time I was on a horse,” she says reflectively, standing momentarily still. Her expression is uncharacteristically anxious. “I’ll probably make a complete fool of myself. And it sounds like Fiona was practically born in the saddle.”

“Isn’t it like riding a bike?”

“Oh, sure, absolutely, if the bike has a mind of its own and is stronger than you to boot.” She grins ruefully, and the anxiety is gone from her face. “Oh! I almost forgot the garlic bread.”

We eat in silence for a while. It’s not quite companionable silence; it’s more that each of us is lost in her own thoughts. I’m thinking about the newspaper, and the bin bag, and Jonathan, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts, and what Glen McCue might or might not be able to tell me; I’m thinking about the Manse and how it feels without Carrie and whether or not I saw an intruder in the box room. I realize I don’t have the slightest idea what Carrie is thinking about, but for once her gray eyes are unfocused, without their usual forensic bent.

Carrie’s pasta is delicious, but I’m eating mechanically. I put down my fork. “You know, I was thinking perhaps I should talk to Glen McCue myself. Maybe you could ask Fiona if she could give him my number.” It feels like asking for a favor, and the last thing, the absolute last thing that I want to be is beholden to Fiona. But the destination of my train has changed, and I can’t seem to climb off it. “If he’s happy to speak with me, that is.”

She looks over the table at me, and the focus has returned to her gaze. “Are you sure you want to—”

“No.” It comes out a little harsher than I’d intended. I try again. “No. But it seems like I’m going to.”

“Dad was a bit worried this might happen.”

“Really.” For once she can’t hold my gaze. They’ve talked about me, Carrie and Pete. I bet she told him about my “delusions” of last night. I wonder if she also mentioned the lights I keep leaving on. If she knew about me also checking the rooms and the locks, too, then they’d really have something to chew on together.