Sylvia appears round the corner, barely to our right. She stops in the arch of the doorway and scrutinizes us; I try to read her face in return but I can’t tell what she’s heard – if anything. She doesn’t seem surprised enough to see me. ‘Hi, sweetie,’ she says coolly. ‘How’ve your first couple of days been?’

‘Really good, thanks.’

‘Are you all right?’ She’s asking about my chin.

‘Small tumble.’

‘Listen,’ she continues, arms crossed at her waist, ‘I’m thrilled you and Ellis are getting along and that you’re comfortable here, but please don’t come by during work hours, OK? We’re very busy.’

I glance at the registration desk to see what Ellis was reading; it’s a women’s health magazine. ‘Right. I’m really sorry – I’ll get going.’ I turn on my heels.

‘Do still let me know if you need anything, all right?’

‘Bye, Mona,’ Ellis tries behind me.

Outside, the red heat greets me, already an old friend.

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 13

WEDNESDAY 2 JUNE

After the scene at the Willowwood, Ellis informs me via text that Sylvia is understandably suspicious; we agree to take it easy in the meantime. But I’m floundering, feeling useless. Roxy’s alleged note didn’t offer as much of a lead as I’d thought.

We need to speak to whoever Lenore is. I’m wondering if Lenore moving up to headline the Indigo in Roxy’s absence would be enough of a motive to make somebody go missing to ensure she keeps the gig.

And I still need to figure out how to broach the subject with Mary Anne while evading the very real possibility of her wringing my neck.

During the day I realize the low hum of the diner, clattering of cutlery, whirring from the kitchen is actually kind of pleasant – it’ll be nice to use as an ambient track for the podcast, I decide, and I record a bit of it on my phone, placing it into my pocket, microphone-side up. Later I ring up an order but there’s no more receipt paper left in the usual spot; Mary Anne’s in her office and I go to ask her where she keeps the rolls.

I open the door to her office and she’s there, huddled over one of her radios, some sort of beeping sound alongside – she leaps out of her seat when she sees me, moves to the door and ushers me out. ‘Knock,’ she hisses, and she’s right, I should have.

‘Whoops. I’m sorry,’ I say, a little startled by the intensity of the back and forth; that’s the only odd thing that happens, but I curse myself for giving Mary Anne yet another reason to be put off by me.