‘I’ve just been on the phone to the officer in charge of the case,’ Naomi continued, studying Dawn’s face. ‘The bones they recovered from the graveyard have been identified as those of Susan and Martin Harper. They’re doing more tests, but it looks like none of them belong to Grace.’

‘Really?’ Dawn picked up her denim jacket from the bed. ‘Best I shoot off. We’re not meant to talk about this stuff.’

‘But we should, shouldn’t we?’ Naomi blocked the doorway. ‘Given you were there.’

‘What’s going on?’ Morgan looked to her stepmother for answers. Why was she turning on Dawn now?

‘You know, it’s always bugged me,’ Naomi continued, ‘why a whole village would cover up for Lloyd. Then when I was on the phone to the police, something clicked. Not every piece of gossip in Nighbrook is true. Petunia was fed a bullshit story to take the focus off Grace. All this time, they’ve been protecting their golden child.’ Naomi stared at Dawn intently. ‘Do you miss them? Your mum and dad. Do you feel close to them in Nighbrook? How did being back in Ivy Cottage make you feel?’

Her mum and dad? Morgan chewed on a fingernail as she tried to work it out. Was she talking about the Harper family? Grace didn’t have a sister. But yet . . . her blonde hair, her perfect teeth. Too perfect. She recalled the home video Naomi had shown her. The face of the child who blew the candles from her cake.

No. She couldn’t be.

‘Dawn was born a year after Grace,’ Morgan said, doing the maths.

‘Or at least that’s what her birth certificate says,’ Naomi responded. ‘I imagine Lloyd had a lot of contacts from his days in the Met. It made sense to alter her date of birth when he was getting the fake documents made.’ She looked at Dawn. ‘Even your name, Dawn – the birth of a new day. It was one way of getting the vicar on side. Mike Humphries and his wife couldn’t have children, could they? Then you mysteriously appeared. A niece they adopted and passed off as their own. At least, that’s what Petunia told me. But your history doesn’t check out. The police want to speak to you, Grace.’

‘This is nuts. I need to go.’ Dawn’s gaze flicked from the window to the door as panic filled her face.

‘You’re Grace Harper?’ Morgan stared at her. ‘But . . . Grace is dead. How? Why . . . ?’

The look on Naomi’s face relayed that she had her theories about that, too.

‘Dawn, wait!’ Morgan cried, as Dawn made a run for the door. But by the time Morgan pulled on her trainers, she had already left.

‘Let her go,’ Naomi said, as Morgan reached the door. ‘Her dad’s waiting outside. Give her time.’