Several officers milled about, chatting to locals. A baby-faced constable stood with Mario Brumniach, who ran fishing tours in the on-season. They were standing over a map of the island. Mario was jabbing his finger against the map over and over. Nearby, old Nancy Malerman, who by now must have been pushing ninety, leaned against her walking frame, talking the ear off a heavy-set sergeant.

Abby watched all this as she drove past at a snail’s pace. She had to drive slowly, partly because the streets were full of locals who were apparently too excited to look both ways, and partly because she was curious.

No, it wasn’t curiosity anymore. It had started off that way – a murder in Belport had been a break in the monotony of island life. It had scratched the same itch taxidermy did, and true crime, and easing off the pedal when passing a car crash on the highway. But she was discovering that true crime was best experienced at a distance, in a safe, warm place, by an open fire or poolside at a resort.

Now everything seemed too close, too real, like going to a zoo without any cages. This – and she still wasn’t entirely sure what this was – had come into her house. Ray had brought it inside.

Back the fuck off, he’d said. Right now, that didn’t seem like terrible advice.

All the spaces in the Buy & Bye were taken, and in the end, she had to park in the Uniting Church lot across the street.

The Buy & Bye was bustling. It wasn’t quite summer business, but it was close. There was only one open check-out and it had a line of people snaking all the way back to the meat counter.

Biller stood at the check-out, scanning, sweating and smiling in equal measure. If he were a cartoon, there would have been dollar signs over his eyes.

‘There’s my girl,’ he bellowed when he saw Abby. ‘Check-out three is loaded and ready when you are.’

She slipped behind her register, peeled off her coat and rolled up her sleeves. Half the line rushed up to meet her. The next hour was spent endlessly serving. It was mostly small purchases: snacks, drinks and cigarettes. Nobody was there for their weekly grocery shop. If The Sweet Drop Chocolate Shop was open this time of year – or Love Bite’s Bakery or Muffins ‘n Stuff or, hell, even The Dreamy Ice-Creamery – Abby guessed most of her customers would have gone there.

Everyone wanted to talk about murder, but Abby chose not to engage. It would only make her feel anxious – or worse, lead her to reveal her worries. Instead, she focused on scanning and bagging, on next please and have a nice day. If she lost focus, even for a second, Bobbi’s words were waiting for her like a pile of dirty dishes.

Someone knows something. Was she that someone?