Daisy hooted and whistled with everyone else. A singing group burst into a spirited rendition of ‘O Christmas Tree’ while villagers chatted and the mince pie stand did a brisk trade. Daisy’s smile became pensive. ‘Shame Mum couldn’t come.’

Laurel slipped an arm around her niece. ‘Yes, it is. But I’m here until she feels she can cope a bit better.’

Unfortunately, she knew both Daisy and Rea would be missing out on a lot until then.

Chapter Three

In the chill atmosphere of his spray shop, Grady tried to concentrate on masking up the bonnet of a 1996 Bentley Continental. The client wanted a spacescape – was that a word? The moon and stars, anyway. A Bentley wasn’t a typical subject for airbrush art and he thought the owner, Les Preedy, eccentric.

When he’d first sought Grady out he’d been dressed in an enormous green woolly cardigan that clashed with his florid face. ‘Inherited the car from an uncle and want you to give it a crazy look. Christopher Carlysle said he thought there was a chap here could help me. Going to give rides at car shows.’

Grady hadn’t been particularly impressed by the mention of the local bigwig landowner, as Carlysle was known for trying to get something for nothing. Les had had to stump up fifty per cent upfront for the work on his car, like anyone else.

The design, preparation, painstaking airbrush painting and sealing would take Grady about ten days but then the Bentley would look sensational, a crater-filled moon and a burst of stars glowing from the power-bulge bonnet, and comets trailing along the bodywork from the four headlights and grinning grill. The conservative grey bodywork would pop with silver, blue and every shade of fire.

Taking a minute to warm his hands up inside the sleeves of his coat, he gazed at the Bentley absently. Sunday wasn’t really a working day but he was too antsy today to veg out with a movie or a book.

He was unsettled by the reappearance of Laurel Hill.

How weird was that?

How weird was she, these days?

Daisy and Rea were great, so what had happened to Laurel? A personality transplant? The sweet, sunny teen he remembered might never have existed. This morning Laurel had shown understanding one minute and been rude the next. Mac had shrugged it off but Grady had been outraged on his behalf over the way she’d embarrassed him. He believed in people taking care of their safety, but he did not appreciate the blunt way she’d refused a private conversation. And she’d practically hit them on the arse with the door on the way out. So far as he was concerned, this snooty, snotty Laurel Hill could piss off back to wherever she’d come from.

As if hearing his name in his brother’s thoughts, Mac chose that moment to call Grady’s phone. ‘OK?’ Grady answered, economically.