‘There’s more,’ Dawn piped up, her cheeks flushed. ‘Naomi’s famous for reporting cold crime cases. Morgan said she’s obsessed with the Harper case.’

‘Shit,’ Lloyd grumbled beneath his breath. This was all news to him. He’d come home to the meeting straight from work, having ignored Joanne’s calls to his mobile. ‘How did this happen? Why didn’t anyone know?’ He glanced around the room. All eyes were on him. His throat tightened as he tried to swallow. Another glance at the drinks cabinet. He knew where Joanne kept the key.

‘Her baking is a cover,’ Dawn added. ‘And Morgan only told me because . . . well . . .’ Her lips parted in a smile. ‘She’s got a bit of a crush on me.’

‘Now can you see?’ Joanne’s features were pinched as she met her husband’s gaze. ‘They can’t be trusted. They need to go.’ She pursed her lips as Lloyd glared in return. Nobody told him what to do when it came to the occupants of Ivy Cottage, least of all his wife.

Heads returned to Lloyd for guidance, but he was interrupted by Reverend Humphries talking to Dawn. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You need to tread carefully there.’

Dawn rolled her eyes. ‘Dad, you’re a vicar – how do you expect me to talk about this stuff? Anyway, it’s not as if I feel the same.’

As the drama unfolded, Rose, a neighbour, spoke. ‘Morgan’s just a teenager. And her mum is bound to be curious, given they’re living in their house.’ Rose’s daughter was the local estate agent who had dealt with the sale of the cottage. Rose had her own mind, and she didn’t always agree, but she would be sure to say her piece. ‘We knew it would be a challenge, accepting new blood. But if we all calm down and act normally . . .’ She gave Joanne a pointed look. ‘Then it will blow over. They won’t find anything. No more than they found anything ten years ago. I say, let them be.’

‘It’s more than curiosity.’ Joanne sniffed. ‘With her being a journalist. She’s been down the library, hunting through all the local newspapers.’ Her cup rattled in its saucer as she laid it on the coffee table, her jangling nerves obvious. ‘She’s been asking about the Harpers’ relatives, and who the last people were to speak to them. I know her type. She won’t let go of it, not until she’s uncovered something.’

‘A journalist!’ one of the men from the back wailed theatrically. It was Ronnie, the man who had been sitting in JoJo’s Café with Wilfred, the village doctor, the day Naomi and her daughter walked in. ‘All this guff about bringing in new blood,’ he continued, directing his words at Rose. ‘Your daughter has brought a journalist and a movie producer into our village. Are you happy now?’