Kitabı oku: «Banksia Bay», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE afternoon was interminable. The case was boring—financial evidence that was as dry as dust.

The courtroom was as dry as dust.

She couldn’t think of a way to tell Philip.

All afternoon she was aware of Raff on the opposite side of the courtroom. He was here this afternoon to present the police case. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be here for the rest of the week. He was called away twice, for which she was also thankful, but he wasn’t called away for long enough.

He was watching her.

He was waiting for her to tell Philip?

He was laughing at her. She knew he was. The man spelled trouble and he’d just got her into more.

Trouble? One small dog, easily contained in a secure backyard. How hard could this be?

So tell Philip.

There was lots of time. The police case went on for most of the afternoon—tedious financial details. She and Philip both knew it back to front. There were gaps while documents were given to the jury. She had time to tell him.

Philip would be civilised about it. He’d never raise his voice to her, especially not in a courtroom. But still …

She couldn’t.

Across the court, Raff still watched her.

Finally the court rose. Raff crossed the courtroom and Abby panicked. Don’t say anything.

‘You guys okay?’ he asked, and anyone who didn’t know him would think it was simply a courtesy question. They wouldn’t see that lurking laughter. Trouble.

‘Why wouldn’t we be?’ Philip demanded, irritated. He disliked Raff—of course he did. He showed no outright aggression—simply cool, professional interaction and nothing more.

‘It’s getting close to your wedding,’ Raff said. ‘No last minute nerves? No last minute hitches?’

‘We need to go,’ Abby said, feeling close to hysterics. ‘I have a meeting with the caterers in half an hour.’

‘I bet there’s lots of stuff you need to do.’ Raff’s voice was sympathy itself. ‘Messy things, weddings.’

‘Not ours,’ Philip snapped. ‘Everything’s under control. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?’

‘I … yes.’ Just go away, Raff. Get out of our lives. ‘Are you coming to the caterers with me, Philip?’

‘I can’t.’ Philip turned a shoulder on Raff, excluding him completely. ‘My dad and my uncles are taking me out to dinner and bowling. A boys only night. I thought I told you.’

He had.

‘That sounds exciting,’ Raff said, mildly interested. ‘Bowling, huh. I guess I won’t be untying you naked from in front of the Country Women’s Association clubrooms at dawn, then.’

‘My friends …’

‘Don’t do wild buck’s nights,’ Raff said approvingly. ‘I guessed that. You’ll probably be home in bed by eight. So you’re alone tonight, Abby? Organising caterers on your lonesome. And anything else you need to do.’

‘Could you please …’ she started and then stopped, the impossibility of asking another favour—asking him to bring Kleppy home—overwhelming her.

‘Nope,’ Raff said. ‘Not if you’re about to ask me anything that involves the wedding. Me and weddings keep far away from each other.’

‘We’re not asking you to be involved,’ Philip snapped. ‘Abby can cope with the caterers herself. Ready to go, sweetheart?’

‘Yes,’ she managed and allowed Philip to usher her out of the court.

She should have told Philip then. She had ten minutes while Philip went over the results of the day, what they needed to do to strengthen their case the next morning, a few wedding details he’d forgotten to cover.

Philip was a man at ease with himself. It was only when Raff was around that he got prickly and maybe … well, that did have to do with their past. Raff had messed with Philip’s life as well as hers.

Philip was a good man. He was looking forward to his wedding. His father and his uncles were taking him out for a pre-wedding night with the boys and he’d enjoy it.

She didn’t want to mess with that until she must, even if it did mean delaying telling him about Kleppy; even if it meant going to Raff’s alone. Maybe it’d be better going alone. Going with Philip. It could make things worse.

‘Come round tonight after bowling,’ she told him, kissing him lightly on the lips. Her fiancé. Her husband in nine days. She loved him.

And if he was a bit dull … He’d had his days of being wild, they all had, before life had taught them that caution was good.

‘We should get a good night’s sleep,’ he said.

‘Yes, but there are things we need to discuss.’ He’d like Kleppy when he saw him, she decided. Kleppy of the limpid eyes, wide and brown and innocent.

She should change his name. To Rover? Rover was a Philipish name for a dog.

But Kleppy suited him.

‘What do we need to discuss?’ he was asking.

Say it.

No. Introduce him to Kleppy as a done deal.

‘Just … caterers and things. I don’t want to make too many decisions on my own.’

He smiled and kissed her and she had to stop herself from thinking dry and dusty. ‘You need to have more self-confidence. Make your own decisions. You’re a big girl now.’

‘I … yes.’

‘Anything you decide is fine by me.’

‘But you will drop by?’

‘I’ll drop by. Night, sweetheart.’ And off he went for his night with the boys. His dad and his uncles. Bowling. Yeeha!

And that was the type of thinking that was getting her into trouble, she decided. So cut it out.

Philip was a lovely man. He was handsome. He was beautifully groomed. They’d had a very nice holiday last year—they’d gone to Italy and Philip had had four suits made there. They were lovely suits. He’d also had two briefcases made—matching ones, magnificent leather, discreetly initialled and fitted out to Philip’s specifications. She’d only been mildly irritated when he’d decreed—for the sake of the briefcases—her surname would be his.

What was the issue, after all? She was to be his wife.

But buying suits and briefcases had taken almost half of their holiday.

Cut it out!

It was just … Raff had unsettled her. This whole day had unsettled her.

‘So go home and organise your house for one small dog, then go organise caterers,’ she told herself. ‘Oh, and pay for Kleppy’s stolen goods. Just do what has to be done, one step at a time.’

And then go out to Raff’s?

Aargh.

She could do this.

She could visit Rafferty Finn.

She could do it. One step at a time.

The rest of the afternoon was full, but Abby and her dog were front and centre of his thoughts. He shouldn’t have offered to bring Kleppy home. Not this afternoon. Not ever.

He didn’t want her coming here.

After dinner, Raff washed and Sarah wiped, while Sarah told him about her day, the highlight of which had been minding Kleppy.

‘He’s a sweetheart,’ his sister told him, her face softening at the thought of the little dog. ‘He’s so cuddly. Why does he love his bra?’

‘He’s a thief. He likes stealing things. He’s a bad dog.’ He found himself smiling at the thought of strait-laced Abigail Callahan having to front up and pay for stolen goods.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to keep thinking of Abby. Not like this.

She was Philip’s fiancée. Anything between them was a distant memory. It had to be.

But Sarah was looking doubtful. She looked down at Kleppy, snoozing by the fire, his bra tucked underneath him. ‘He doesn’t look bad. He’s really cute and Abby’s very busy. Are you sure Abby wants him?’

Raff hardened his heart. ‘I’m sure.’

‘And Abby’s coming tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘Abby’s my friend.’

She was. The tension of the day lessened a little at that. No matter what lay between Raff and Abby, no matter how much she hated seeing him, Abby had always been Sarah’s friend.

They’d all been best friends at the time of the accident. Ben and Raff. Abby and Sarah. Two big brothers, two little sisters. Philip had been in there, too. A gang of five.

But one car crash and friendship had been blown to bits.

In the months that followed, no matter that Abby had loathed Raff so much that seeing him made her cry, she’d stuck by Sarah. She’d visited her in Sydney, despite her parents’ disapproval, taking the train week after week to Sydney Central Hospital and then later to the rehabilitation unit on North Shore.

Back home, Sarah’s friends had fallen away. Acquired brain injury was a hard thing for friends to handle. Sarah was still

Sarah, and yet not. She’d struggled with everything—relearning speaking, walking, the simplest of survival skills.

They’d come so far. She could now almost live independently—almost, but not quite. She had her animals and their little farm Raff kept for her. She worked in the local sheltered workshop three days a week, and twice a week Abby met her after work for drinks.

Drinks being milkshakes. Two friends, catching up on their news.

Raff would pick Sarah up and she’d be happy, bubbly about going out with her friend—but Abby would always have slipped away from the café just before Raff was due. Since the accident, Abby had never come back to their farm. She’d never talked to Raff unless she absolutely must, but she’d never taken that anger out on Sarah.

‘I’m glad Abby’s coming tonight,’ Sarah said simply. ‘And I’m glad she’s getting a dog. Abby’s lonely.’

Lonely? Sarah rarely had insights. This one was startling. ‘No, she’s not. She’s getting married to Philip.’

‘I don’t like Philip,’ Sarah said.

That was unusual, too. Sarah liked everyone. When Philip met her—as of course he did because this wasn’t a big town—he was unfailingly friendly. But still … In the times when Raff had been with her and they’d met Philip, Sarah’s hand had crept to his and she’d clung.

Was that from memories of the accident?

The accident. Don’t go there.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Philip,’ he told Sarah.

‘I want Abby to come,’ Sarah said, wiping her last pot with a fierceness unusual for her. ‘But I don’t want Philip. He makes me scared.’

Scared?

‘The man’s boring,’ Raff said. ‘There’s nothing to be scared about.’

‘I just don’t like him,’ Sarah said and, logical or not, Raff felt exactly the same.

She didn’t want to go.

She must.

She gazed round her little house with a carefully appraising eye. She’d hung her wedding dress in the spare room and she’d packed away everything else she thought a dog might hurt.

She’d bought a dog kennel for outside and a basket for inside.

She’d bought a chain for emergencies but she didn’t intend using it. Her back garden was enclosed with a four-foot brick fence, and she’d checked and rechecked for gaps.

She had dog food, dog shampoo, flea powder, worm pills, a dog brush, padding for his kennel and a book on training your dog. She’d had a quick browse through the book. There was nothing about kleptomania, but confinement would fix that.

She’d take him for a long walk every day. Kleppy might sometimes be lonely, she conceded, but surely loneliness was better than the fate that had been waiting for him.

And if he was lonely … She might sneak him into the office occasionally.

That, though, was for the future. For now, she was ready to fetch him. From Raff.

So fetch him. There’s not a lot of use staring at preparations, she told herself. It’s time to go claim your dog.

It was eight o’clock. Philip’s night out would be over by ten and she had to be back here by then.

Of course she’d be back. Ten minutes drive out. Two minutes to collect Kleppy and say hi to Sarah. Ten minutes back.

Just go.

She hadn’t been out there since …

Just go.

‘When will she be here?’

‘Any time soon.’

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even be here. There was bound to be something cop-like that needed his attention at the station—only that might look like he was running, and Rafferty Finn wasn’t a man who ran.

‘She never comes here.’

‘She likes going to cafés with you too much.’

Sarah giggled, hugging Kleppy close. This place was pretty relaxed for a dog. The screen door stayed permanently open and the dogs wandered in and out at will. The gate to the back garden was closed, but Kleppy seemed content to be hugged by Sarah, to watch television and to occasionally eat popcorn.

Raff watched television, too. Or sort of. It was hard to watch when every sense was tuned to a car arriving.

The Finn place hadn’t changed.

The moon was full but she hardly needed to see. She’d come here so often, to the base of Black Mountain, that she knew every bend. As kids, she and Ben had ridden their bikes here almost every day.

This had been their magic place.

Her parents had disapproved. ‘The Finns,’ her mother had told them over and over, ‘are not our sort of people.’ By that she meant they didn’t fit into her social mould.

Abby and Ben didn’t care.

Old Mrs Finn—everybody called her Gran—had been the family’s stability. Gran’s husband had died long before Abby had known her, and it was rumoured that his death had been a relief, for the town as well as for Gran. After his death, Gran had quietly got on with life. She ran a few sheep, a few pigs, a lot of poultry. Her garden was amazing. She seemed to spend her life in the kitchen and her baking was wonderful.

Abby barely remembered Raff and Sarah’s mother, but there had been disapproving whispers about her as well. She’d run away from home at fifteen, then come home unwed with two small children.

She’d worked in the local supermarket for a time. Abby had vague memories of a silent woman with haunted eyes, with none of the life and laughter of her mother or her children.

She’d died when Abby was about seven. Abby remembered little fuss, just a family who’d got on with it. Gran had taken over her grandchildren’s care. Life had gone on and the Finns were still disapproved of.

Abby and Ben had loved it here. They had always been welcome.

And now? She turned into the drive but her foot eased from the accelerator.

‘You’re always welcome.’ She could remember Gran saying it to her, over and over. She remembered Gran saying it to her after Ben’s death. As if she could come back here …

She had come back. Tonight.

This is only about a dog, she told herself, breathing deeply. Nothing else. The past is gone. There’s no use regretting—no use even thinking about it. Go get your dog from Raff Finn and then get off his land.

Raff never meant …

I know he didn’t, she told herself. Of course he didn’t. Accidents happened and it was only stupidity. Could she forgive stupidity? Ben was dead. Why would she want to?

He saw her stop at the gate. It was after eight—would Philip have finished his wild night out? Would she have him with her?

Maybe that was why they’d stopped. Philip would be doing his utmost to stop her keeping Kleppy.

Would she defy him? She’d need strength if she was going to stay married to Philip. She’d need strength not to be Philip’s doormat.

But the thought of Abby as a doormat made him smile. She’d never been a doormat. Abby Callahan was smart, sexy, sassy—and so much more. Or … she had been.

She’d followed him round like a shadow for years. He and Ben had scoffed at Abby and Sarah, the little sisters. They’d teased them, and had given them such a hard time. They’d loved them both. Until …

Until one stupid night. One stupid moment.

He closed his eyes as he’d done so many times. Searching for a memory.

Summer. Nineteen years old. Home from Police Training College. Ben home from university. They’d spent weekend after weekend tinkering with a car they were trying to restore. Finally they’d got it started, towards dusk on the day they were both due to go back to the city. They were pumped with excitement. Aching to see it go.

They couldn’t take it on the road—it wasn’t registered—but up on Black Mountain, just behind Isaac Abrahams place, there was a cleared firebreak, smoothed for access for fire trucks.

If they could get it out there, they could put it through its paces.

He remembered loading the car on the trailer behind Gran’s ancient truck, Ben’s dad watching them in disapproval. ‘You should be home tonight, Ben. Your mother’s expecting you.’

‘We need to see this working,’ Ben had told him and Mr Callahan had left in a huff.

Sarah was watching them, wistful. ‘Can I come?’

‘There’s not enough room in the truck.’

‘What if Philip brings me?’

‘Sure. Bring Abby.’

‘You know Abby’s mad at you—and she’s not talking to Philip, either.’

But neither Ben nor Raff were interested. They were only interested in getting their car going.

And it worked. Up on the mountain, he remembered Ben driving, yahooing, both of them high as kites. Months of work paying off.

He remembered getting out. Swapping drivers. Thinking it was too dark to be on this track, and it was starting to rain. Plus Ben had to get back to have dinner with his parents.

But Ben saying, ‘We have lights. If I can cope with Mum being fed up, you can cope with a bit of rain. Just do one turn to see for yourself how well she handles.’

Then … nothing. He’d woken in hospital. Concussion. Multiple lacerations. Broken wrist and broken ankle.

All he knew of the accident was what was written in the official reports.

Philip had driven Sarah onto the track to find them. He’d turned off the main road onto the firebreak, and ventured just far enough down the break to reach the crest …

Philip had been the only one uninjured. His recall was perfect, stark and bleak.

Raff had burst over the crest on the wrong side of the road, driving so fast he was almost airborne. Philip had nowhere to go. Both drivers swerved, but not fast enough.

Both cars had ended up in the trees. The rain and the mess from the emergency vehicles had washed the tracks away before the authorities could corroborate Philip’s story. Raff couldn’t be prosecuted—but he had punishment enough. He’d killed his best mate and he’d destroyed his sister. He missed Ben like he’d miss a twin—an aching, gut-destroying loss. He’d lost a part of Sarah that could never be restored.

His grandmother had died six months later.

And Abby?

Facing Abby had been the hardest thing he’d had to do in his life. The first time he’d seen her … she’d looked at him and it was as if he was some sort of black hole where her heart used to be.

‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said and she’d simply turned away. She’d stayed away for ten years.

Her brother was dead and sometimes Raff wished it could have been him.

Which was dumb. Who’d take care of Sarah, then?

Let it go.

Go greet Abby. And Philip?

Abby and Philip. Banksia Bay’s perfect couple.

CHAPTER FOUR

RAFF was waiting on the veranda and Abby felt her breath catch in her throat. She came close to heading straight back down the mountain.

What was it with this man? She was well over her childhood crush. She’d decided today that it was the uniform making him sexy, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform now.

He was in faded jeans and an old T-shirt, stretched a bit tight.

He looked good enough to …

To get away from fast.

He was leaning idly against the veranda post, big, loose-limbed, absurdly good-looking. He was standing with crossed arms, watching her walk towards him. Simply watching.

His eyes said caution.

She didn’t need the message. Caution? She had it in spades.

‘Where’s Kleppy?’ she asked, and she knew she sounded snappy but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

‘Phil’s still on his wild night out?’

‘Cut it out, Raff.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. Then he hesitated and his eyes narrowed. ‘Nope. Come to think of it, I’m not sorry. Why are you marrying that stuffed shirt?’

‘Don’t be insulting.’

‘He’s wealthy,’ Raff conceded. ‘Parents own half Banksia Bay. He’s making a nice little income himself. Or a big income. He’s already bought the dream home. He’s starting to look almost as wealthy as Baxter. You guys will be set for life.’

‘Stop it,’ she snapped. ‘Just because he’s a responsible citizen …’

‘I’m responsible now. Maybe even more responsible than you. What have you got on Baxter that I don’t know about?’

‘You think Philip and I would ever do anything illegal?’

‘Maybe not you. Philip, though …’

‘I don’t believe this. Of all the … I could sue. Give me my dog.’

‘Sarah has your dog,’ he said and stood aside, giving her no choice but to enter a house she’d vowed never to set foot in again.

He was standing on the top step of the veranda. He didn’t move.

She would not let him make her feel like this. Like she’d felt as a kid.

But her arm brushed his as she passed him, so slightly that with anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed.

She noticed. Her arm jerked as if she’d been burned. She glowered and stomped past and still he didn’t move.

She pushed the screen door wide and let it bang behind her. She always had. It banged like it always banged and she got the same effect … From the depths of the house came the sound of hysterical barking. She braced.

When she’d been a kid and she’d come here, the Finns’ dog pack would knock her over. She’d loved it. She’d be lying in the hall being licked all over, squirming and wriggling, a tadpole in a dog pond, giggling and giggling until Raff hauled the dogs off.

When she didn’t end up knocked over she’d felt almost disappointed.

She was bigger now, she conceded. Not so likely to be knocked over by a pack of dogs.

But there weren’t as many dogs, anyway. There was an ancient black Labrador, almost grey with age. There was a pug, and there was Kleppy bringing up the rear. Wagging his tail. Greeting her?

She knelt and hugged Kleppy. He licked her face. So did the old Labrador. The pug was young but this one … she even remembered the feel of his tongue. ‘Boris!’

‘Abby!’ Sarah burst out of the kitchen, her beam wide enough to split her face. She dived down onto the floor and hugged her friend with total lack of self-consciousness. ‘Abby, you’re here. I’ve made you honey jumbles.’

‘I … great.’ Maybe she should get up. Lawyer on floor hugging dog …

Boris was licking her chin.

‘Boris?’ she said tentatively and she included him in the hug she was giving Kleppy.

‘He is Boris,’ Raff said and she twisted and found Raff was watching them all from the doorway. ‘How old was he when you were last here, Abby?’

‘I … Three?’

‘He’s fourteen now. Old for a Labrador. You’ve missed out on his whole life.’

‘That’s not all I’ve missed out on,’ she whispered. ‘How could I ever come back?’ She shook her head and hauled herself to her feet. Raff made an instinctive move to help, but then pulled away. Shook his head. Closed down.

‘But you will stay for a bit,’ Sarah said, grabbing Abby’s hand to pull herself up. Movement was still awkward for Sarah; it always would be. ‘I’ve told the dogs they can have a honey jumble each,’ she told Abby. ‘But they need to wait until they’ve cooled down. You can’t take Kleppy home before he’s had his.’

‘I could take it with me.’

‘Abby,’ Sarah said in a term of such reproach that Abby knew she was stuck.

How long did honey jumbles take to cool?

Apparently a while because, ‘I’ve just put them in the oven,’ Sarah said happily. ‘I made a lot after tea but Raff forgot to tell me to take them out. They went black. Even the dogs didn’t want them. Raff never forgets,’ she said, heading back to the kitchen. ‘But he’s funny tonight. Do you think it’s because you’re here?’

‘I expect that’s it,’ Abby said, trying desperately to find something to say. Babbling because of it? ‘Maybe it’s because I’m a lawyer. Sometimes police don’t like lawyers ‘cos they ask too many questions.’

‘And sometimes they don’t ask enough,’ Raff growled.

‘Meaning …’

‘Baxter …’

Oh, for heaven’s sake … ‘Leave it, Raff,’ she said. ‘Just butt out of my life.’

‘I did that years ago.’

‘Well, don’t stop now.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sarah, love, I’m in a rush.’

‘I know you are,’ Sarah said and pushed her into a kitchen chair. ‘You sit down. Raff will make you a nice cup of tea and we’ll talk until the honey jumbles are ready. But don’t yell at Raff,’ she said disapprovingly. ‘Raff’s nice.’

Raff was nice? Okay, maybe a part of him was nice. She might want to hate Raff Finn—and a part of her couldn’t help but hate him—but she had to concede he was caring for Sarah beautifully.

The twelve months after the crash had been appalling. Even her grief for Ben hadn’t stopped Abby seeing the tragedy that was Sarah.

She’d lain unconscious for three weeks and everyone had mourned her as dead. At one time rumour had it that Raff and Gran were asked to stop life support.

At three weeks she’d woken, but it was a different Sarah.

She’d had to relearn everything. Her memory of childhood was patchy. Her recent memory was lost completely.

She’d learned to walk again, to talk. She coped now but her speech was slow, as was her movement. Gran and Raff had brought her home and worked with her, loved her, massaged, exercised, pleaded, cajoled, bullied …

When Gran died Raff had taken it on himself to keep on going. For over a year he hadn’t been able to work. They’d lived on the smell of an oily rag, because, ‘She’s not going into care.’

With anyone else the community would have rallied, but not with the Finns. Not when Raff was seen as being the cause of so much tragedy.

How he’d managed …

If the accident happened now the community would help, she thought. Somehow, in the last years, Raff had redeemed himself. He was a fine cop. He’d cared for Sarah with such love and compassion that the worst of the nay-sayers had been silenced. She’d even thought … it was time she moved on. Time she learned to forgive.

But over and over … He’d killed Ben.

How could she ever be friends with him again?

She didn’t need to be. She simply chose to be distant. So she sat in Raff’s kitchen while Sarah chatted happily, showing her the guinea pigs, explaining they’d had too many babies and that Raff had told her they had to sell some but how could she choose?

Smelling honey jumbles in a kitchen she loved.

Knowing Raff was watching her.

She found her fingers were clenched on her knees. They were hidden by the table. She could clench them as much as she wanted.

It didn’t help. This place was almost claustrophobic, the memories it evoked.

But Raff was watching her and how Raff was making her feel wasn’t a memory. This was no childhood crush. It was like a wave of testosterone blasting across the table, assaulting her from every angle.

Sarah was laughing.

Raff wasn’t laughing. He was simply watchful.

Judgemental? Because she was marrying Philip?

Why shouldn’t she marry Philip? He was kind, thoughtful, clever.

Her fallback?

Um … no. He was her careful choice.

She’d gone out with Philip before Ben had died, just for a bit, when the boys had left home, Raff to the Police Training College, Ben to university.

Philip had left for university, too, but he’d caught glandular fever and come home for a term.

She’d needed a date for her debutante ball and was fed up with Raff being away, with the boys being obsessed with their junk-pile car when they did come home.

Philip had the most wonderful set of wheels. He had money even then. But he wasn’t Raff.

She’d made her debut and she’d found an excuse to break up. The decision wasn’t met with regret. Philip had immediately asked Sarah out.

Maybe if the accident hadn’t happened … Maybe Sarah and Philip …

Where was she going? Don’t even think it, she decided. They were different people now.

Philip especially was different. After the crash … he was so caring. Whenever she needed him, he was there. He’d encouraged her to take up law as well. ‘You can do it,’ he’d said. ‘You’re bright, organised, meticulous. Do law and we’ll set up the best law firm Banksia Bay’s ever seen. We can care for our parents that way, Abby. Your parents miss Ben so much. We can be there for them.’

And so they were. It was all working out. All she needed to do was avoid the judgement on Raff’s face. And avoid the way Raff made her … feel.

How could he bear her here?

One night, one car crash.

And it stood between him and this woman for ever.

How could she marry Philip?

But he knew. It was even reasonable, he conceded.

Philip was okay. Once he’d even been a friend. Yes, the man made money and Raff did wonder how, but that was just his nasty cop mind. Yes, he took on cases Raff wouldn’t touch with a bargepole. If he got Baxter off …

He would get him off, but Raff also knew a portion of Philip’s fee would end up as a cheque to the pensioners Baxter had ripped off. Not all of it—Philip was careful, not stupid with his charity—but the town might end up being grateful. Baxter would think he was great as well.

It was only Raff who’d feel ill, and maybe that was part of ancient history as well. If Philip hadn’t been there that night …

How unfair was that?

‘Tell us about your wedding dress,’ he said, and Abby shot him a look that was both suspicious and angry.

‘You want to know—why?’

‘Sarah would like to know.’

‘I’m going to the wedding,’ Sarah said and pointed to the invitation stuck to the fridge. ‘You should come, too. Did you get an invitation? Where did you put it? Raff’s coming, too, isn’t he, Abby?’

‘I’m on duty that day,’ Raff told her before Abby was forced to answer. ‘We talked about it, remember? Mrs Henderson’s taking you.’

‘It’d be more fun if you were there.’

No, it wouldn’t, Raff thought, but he didn’t say so. He glanced at his watch. ‘I reckon they’ll be cooked, Sares.’

‘Ooh,’ Sarah said, happily distracted. ‘My honey jumbles. I could make you some more for your wedding present, Abby. Does Philip like honey jumbles?’