Murder with the Lot by Sue Williams Page B

some fruitcake and a cuppa. On a normal Monday. Today he knocked on the shop door instead of coming around to the house. So not a tea and fruitcake visit. I shoved the briefcase into the kitchen cupboard and headed into the shop.
    Sure enough, Dean didn’t want a cuppa. No fruitcake either. ‘Where have you been? I tried to call. There’s been a couple of break-ins,’ he said.
    He didn’t think I’d done them, surely? Stop, I told myself, this is just paranoia. It was that hidden briefcase weighing on my mind. ‘I was visiting Ernie, of course.’
    â€˜Two house robberies. People around here really need to learn to lock their doors.’ He flicked through his notebook. ‘Cash and jewellery taken. I thought I’d better warn you, in case you’re next. They seem to be targeting old ladies.’
    Old? ‘I’m in my prime.’
    A moody look from those brown–black eyes.
    I considered telling him about the briefcase. Maybe I’d be in trouble for tampering with important evidence. Although, technically, it wasn’t me who’d opened the case. That part was Ernie, and his fingerprints would be all over it. I opened my mouth to tell him, but Dean spoke before I had the chance.
    â€˜Mum. About all that silly business yesterday.’ He took off his hat, put it on the table.
    I gave him a relieved smile, Dean’s not a bad lad, he’d thought it over and he was ready to apologise. Maybe Sergeant Monaghan had been up to see him and set him straight on a few facts.
    â€˜We all know you’ve got an active imagination.’ He took my hand. His was dry and warm. ‘Nothing wrong with an imagination.’ He smiled as if I was six years old. ‘And around here, it’s important to be able to keep yourself entertained. Especially now so many people have moved away. I’d worry less about you if you had more social life. You could always join the Hustle CWA. Or get involved in that new historical society.’
    I tried a casual laugh. ‘Don’t you worry, Dean. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. There’s Brad. And Ernie. And the shop, of course.’
    He continued. ‘And I know business is slow. It can’t be easy managing. If you need my help, you’ll ask, won’t you? Financial, anything.’ He paused. ‘The thing is…’ He took his hand away and wiped some sweat from his forehead, put his hand back on mine, a little stickier this time. ‘It’s…’
    â€˜Yes?’ I smiled encouragingly. It’s never been easy for Dean to dismount and apologise.
    â€˜Well, I have to warn you. If you do anything like that again…’ He let go of my hand.
    I suddenly didn’t like where we were headed. ‘Well, what?’
    â€˜I’ll have to arrest you for wasting police time.’
    â€˜Dean. Son.’ I held up my hand to stop him interrupting. ‘Listen. You’re missing important data. That poor dead Mona is out there somewhere, and, more importantly, so’s her killer.’
    â€˜Mum!’ He spat out the word, as though he didn’t like how it felt against his tongue. ‘I’m not taking any more of your bullshit.’ He stood up and stamped over to the doorway. ‘I bloody will, I’m telling you. Next time I’ll arrest you.’ And he left, slamming the door.
    Brad met me at the kitchen door. ‘I’m off to Madison’s. She needs emergency dim sims for the ferrets. Thérèse has been unwell.’
    â€˜The ferrets? But I thought you said those animals are a menace?’ Irreconcilable differences is what split up Brad and Madison. He’s into banners, native wildlife, birds; she’s into introduced predators.
    â€˜I haven’t actually declared a formal policy position on ferrets, Mum.’
    â€˜So…you and Madison?’
    He shrugged.
    â€˜But what about Claire?’
    â€˜Claire’s resting