‘She was looking at me when she said settle,’ Abby said. ‘I’m not the only one who saw that, right?’

Lori folded her arms across her chest and said, ‘I just don’t understand why you need to go out of your way to make him feel like an idiot.’

‘I don’t understand why you need to go out of your way to act like an arse,’ Abby said.

‘It’s not that far out of her way,’ Eddie offered.

‘Ding, ding, ding,’ Ray said. ‘Round one over. Fighters return to your corners.’

Lori tugged a Post-it Note down from the fridge and handed it to Ray. ‘Eileen Betchkie called for you. She didn’t say why but she took a long time saying it. I couldn’t get her off the phone.’

‘Eileen?’ Abby said. ‘Weren’t you working on her property today?’

Ray nodded. ‘I probably missed a blade of grass and she wants me to come back and fix it. I’ll call her back tomorrow.’

Island Care was primarily a caretaking business, focused on maintaining unoccupied holiday houses across the island, but while Ray was always busy in the colder months, he still never earned enough to keep them going once the tourists returned. To help make ends meet, he took yard maintenance and lawn-mowing work where he could find it. He hated working for locals. Abby would have thought it easier to work for people you knew, but Ray found it quietly humiliating. Still, they weren’t in a position to turn it down.

‘She’s probably just lonely,’ Abby said.

‘Or she has a crush on Dad,’ Lori suggested.

‘Sadly, I think you’re both right,’ Ray said.

He sat down at the table and stared at an intimidating stack of bills, as if looking hard enough might change the due dates. ‘Any chance of you picking up an extra shift at the Buy & Bye?’ he asked Abby.

‘At this time of year, it’s unlikely,’ she said. Then, seeing the concern in Ray’s eyes, added, ‘But I can ask. But we’ll be okay, right?’

‘Always,’ he said. ‘If there’s one thing this family knows, it’s how to survive.’

3

THE WIDOW

‘John Paul Getty the Third was the grandson of an American oil tycoon,’ Fisher Keddie said, marching back and forth across the brightly lit interview room, somewhere on the second floor of the Brighton Police Station. ‘He was abducted in 1973, and when his grandfather refused to pay the ransom, his kidnappers sent him John Paul’s ear in the mail. His ear.’

John’s father had insisted on meeting Kate at the police station. He was a short, bulky man, with receding hair and a pair of glasses that looked too small for his face. His eyes, usually deep and thoughtful, looked crazed.