She was dreading another night alone with Morgan in a cottage that felt like someone else’s home. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this. She’d been waiting to get her teeth into the investigation into the Harper family’s disappearance, starting with searching the loft. But she could not shake off feeling like an intruder. As if someone could walk in at any second and ask what she was doing in their house. Her eyes wandered around the room, to the corners of the ceiling. Perhaps they were already here. But there was no way Naomi could share her concerns with Ed. He’d had his hands full trying to track down his flighty ex-wife. She tuned back into his narrative, keeping her worries at bay.

‘I figured you could do with a wee bit of adult company . . .’ Ed’s words ended with a yawn.

‘Oh God,’ Naomi interrupted, feeling a rising sense of dread. ‘Who have you invited over?’ She ran her hand over the clean kitchen surfaces, capable of accommodating so many cakes.

‘John, the handyman,’ Ed replied gleefully. ‘Should be knocking on your door any minute now.’

‘What?’ Naomi shrieked. ‘I don’t even know him!’

‘I thought you’d welcome a visit from such a handsome chap. He has a look of Jude Law about him, don’t you think?’

‘Tell me you’re joking,’ Naomi urged, as her husband teased.

‘I’m kidding . . .’ Ed was belly-laughing now. ‘I gave Connie a call. She’s on her way.’

‘You sod.’ Naomi felt a sudden wave of relief. A reunion with her sister was welcome. ‘And before you ask,’ she continued, ‘Morgan and I are getting on great.’ She began toying with the chain around her neck. ‘She’s even made a new friend – Dawn.’

Naomi relayed their trip to the village, and how friendly everyone had been. Their conversation ended on a positive note as Ed promised to come home soon. She had barely slid her phone into her pocket before it rang again.

‘You must miss me,’ she chuckled, not bothering to check the display.

‘Oh, hello dear, erm . . . I just wanted a word.’

Inhaling a quick breath, Naomi composed herself.

‘Joanne, sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were my husband.’ Her thoughts raced forward to the cakes Joanne would ask her to bake. She opened a cupboard, her phone resting between chin and shoulder as she pulled out a bag of flour from the back. ‘Would you like to place an order? I’ve got most of the ingredients I need . . .’

‘Heavens no, we won’t be ordering any cakes.’

‘Oh,’ Naomi said, dropping the bag of flour on the side with a thump. ‘If you don’t like the flavour—’

‘It’s not the flavour,’ Joanne interrupted, her voice cold. ‘It’s the ingredients.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you.’ Naomi’s brow furrowed. ‘I use only the best organic ingredients and I—’