Kate didn’t stop to think about what she was doing. If she had, she might have realised how reckless she was being, spun on one foot and hightailed it back to the car. Instead, she crept around to the side of the garage, searching for a window she might be able to spy through.

‘Are you lost?’ a voice drifted down from the verandah.

It was screened, so all Kate could see was the red tip of a glowing cigarette. From somewhere behind the screen, a wind chime clinked and clattered. Kate then heard what might have been a can snapping open.

A compact woman in her early sixties stepped out onto the steps, holding a beer in her left hand and a paperback in her right. She was dressed in a loose-fitting wool cardigan and pyjama bottoms with a faded pattern of stars and crescent moons. Her face was round and warm, framed by messy, stark-white hair. Her eyes were deep and dark, like Ed’s.

‘No, I’m not lost,’ Kate said. ‘I’m looking for Ed.’

‘That’s my son,’ the woman said. ‘Are you a friend of his?’

‘No, not exactly. I…’ She hesitated. ‘… I have a holiday house over on Neef Street and I’m looking for a winter caretaker. I saw the sign on the front lawn.’

It wasn’t a perfect lie, but it was all she could come up with in the heat of the moment. She couldn’t exactly say she was here to question Ed about her husband’s murder.

‘Ed will be with you in a minute,’ the woman said. ‘He has to wash down his truck and lay out his tools for tomorrow. You can wait for him inside if you like?

‘Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.’

‘Oh please, I only came out here to smoke and it’s colder than a fairy penguin’s pocket. If you come in, I’ll have an excuse to light up inside. I’m Abby, by the way.’

‘Kate.’

They shook hands. The woman’s fingers were dry and dusty, like moth’s wings. She led Kate through the front door.

Inside, a fox mounted on polished oak stared at Kate from a side table, its face caught mid-snarl, tail up and out in the defensive position. On each of its four paws was a baby-sized Converse All Star. Behind the fox stood three blind (and dead) mice, each with its own pair of tiny sunglasses. Next to them were two dead rabbits serving as bookends to a stack of takeaway menus. A toad leaned back on its hind legs, its front hands up, webbed fingers outstretched, holding a small bowl with loose change and a set of car keys inside.

Kate gaped at them.

‘Stuffed them myself,’ Abby said. ‘What do you think?’

‘They’re very … striking.’