On Thursday morning, I woke, stretched, threw the quilt aside, sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed and plonked my feet squarely on the furry rug. The rug yelped, leapt up, and dived across the room while I screeched, flung myself back onto the bed, and lay panting like an asthmatic walrus. “Jeez - that’s taken ten years off my life.”

I rose once more, placated Elvis, showered and dressed and went downstairs. Then I instigated my new morning routine: open the back door slowly, so the Kray pigeons see Elvis and fly onto the roof, let my dog out, put him back in and feed my murderous gangland visitors. Oh, yes. The Mad Bird/Dog Woman has got it sussed.

After breakfast, I gathered poo bags and treats and took Elvis out to the pavement. “Sod Paul Felix. Let’s go down to the seafront.” We walked to the bottom of Hill Street, started towards the shops, and then spotted Emma, Bernie and Sue heading towards us. We met in front of the newsagents. “You two found each other, then.”

“Ten minutes ago,” Sue said. “Colin wants a newspaper, so I escaped.”

“How are you?” Emma asked.

“Good question,” I said, and then Mr Simpkins’ voice boomed out from the shop:

“That’s the type of thing you should be reporting, young man.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.” Mark Cooper charged out onto the pavement and stopped among us, smirking at me. “Hello, again.”

“I’m telling you – oh, good morning Mrs Hope, Mrs Pearce. Er, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…?”

“This is Emma Turnbull, who’s moved into Elder Lane,” I said quickly before Emma tried a jokey reply. “This is Mr Simpkins, my neighbour.”

They shook hands, and then he was off again:

“I was simply stating why I believe the newspaper should investigate a disturbing occurrence.”

“Oh? What’s that, then?” Sue asked.

“Yesterday afternoon, a young woman appeared at Mrs Darrow’s house and then mine, talking about sleepers and handlers, and I don’t know what else. All nonsense – she was casing the properties.” He gave a bark of laughter. “She even pretended to faint, so I would invite her inside, but I’m not that stupid.”

I looked away before Sue clocked my expression.

“That does sound strange,” she said, shooting side-long looks in my direction.

“Indeed.” Mr Simpkins nodded. “And that’s not the only odd thing to happen. Someone posted a pair of socks through my letterbox.”

“Ah,” I said. “That was me.”

All eyes swivelled in my direction. Then, embarrassment turned to reckless abandon. “And that woman was looking for me. Turns out she’s my husband’s girlfriend.” I looked at Mr Simpkins. “You were right, after all - he’s left me.”

“Oh, I say.” My neighbour was, unusually, lost for words. “I’ll, er, just….” He sidled away, turned and marched off towards Hill Street.

“This is fascinating,” Mark Cooper said. “But not exactly newsworthy. Ciao.” He darted across the road towards Sea Brew.

“Give me two minutes.” Sue backed into the newsagents. “Stay right there.”

“Is your life always this exciting?” Emma asked.

“Only since Jeff disappeared. Before that, it was rather boring.” I stopped Elvis from jumping on Bertie and stood by the shop window. Locals passed by, nodding to me and staring openly at Emma, and a few early tourists wandered along the pavement, loaded with bags and towels.

Sue reappeared, carrying the Guardian, and we all walked towards the car park. “So, Marnie…what the heck?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit…mad.” I repeated most of Nicola X’s conversation from the day before and added, “Plus, she’s pregnant.”

“Oh, God.” Sue looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

“You seem remarkably calm,” Emma said.

“I know.” I shrugged. “It was a shock at first, but it doesn’t matter, and I don’t think I care.”

“And Jeff told her you were his spymaster?” Sue grinned. “Or should that be spymistress?”

“Oh, no,” Emma said. “Equal opportunities and all that. Spy Head Person.”

“She hasn’t seen Jeff,” I said. “He’s been texting from different numbers and giving her instructions.”

“Does she know the CIA is American?” Emma asked.

“They’d have to be desperate to recruit Jeff.” Sue spluttered with laughter. “How did you keep a straight face?”

“With difficulty.”

“But why did he send her there?” Emma frowned.

“I told you; he’s been sending her on missions as part of his recruitment drive.”

“Yes, but why send her to his house to meet you? Is he taunting you, d’you think?”

“If he is, it hasn’t worked,” I said. “I’m not upset.”

“You didn’t let on that you’re his wife?”

“The moment passed, and I thought it was safer to humour her. She might be deranged for all I know, and she’s fallen for Jeff’s lies, at any rate.” I fell silent for a few moments, then said, “So did I, once upon a time.”

We turned up Moor Road. “I think her mission was to find the house,” I said. “That’s why she tried the neighbours first.”

“Still, he was taking a risk,” Emma said. “He obviously hasn’t told her he’s married. If she knew the truth about you, she might finish with him.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants.” We paused at Sue’s gate, and she turned to me. “Get rid of the girlfriend without having to actually tell her.”

“He doesn’t know about the baby,” I said. “And she doesn’t know about the money.”

“Coming in for a coffee?” Sue asked.

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Emma shook her head. “I’m due at work; I have a client in thirty minutes. I’ll catch up with you both again soon.”

“Okay. Bye, Bertie.” I let Elvis and Emma’s dog boop noses, then she carried on home, and I followed Sue inside her house. “Hi, Colin.” I waved to Sue’s husband, then unleashed Elvis.

“Marnie.” Colin took the newspaper from Sue and held it away from Elvis as he tried to grab it. “Mugged any good vicars lately?”

“Not since Tuesday. I’m cutting back.”

“Sensible. You making coffee, Sue?”

“I’ll bring you some.” Sue gestured to me, and we crossed the hall to the kitchen where she made coffee, and I sat at the old wooden table.

“Colin seems brighter. Less doolally.”

“Yeah, not quite so irritating, but I’m not cut out for nursing.” Sue banged the coffee pot on the cooker. “He’s lying there asking for things all the time.”

I handed Sue some dog treats. “Take these and scatter them on the floor. That’ll distract Elvis, and Colin can read his paper in peace.” Sue took the treats, a mug of coffee and a plate of homemade oat cookies through to the living room, then returned to sit opposite me. We sipped coffee, crunched biscuits, and looked at each other.

“You’re really okay about this Nicola person and the baby?”

I nodded. “I feel relieved. I’ve had enough, Sue. Elvis and I will track Jeff down, tell him I want a divorce and trade the house versus the lottery money. Or I’ll set Emma and Bertie on him.”

“So, you’re going after the best man and his wife?”

“Ollie and Cheryl. We’ll rock up when they get in from work.”

“What do they do?”

“He’s an accountant, and she works as a classroom assistant. They live on the outskirts of some small town near Salisbury; I’ve got the address somewhere.”

“You’ve never visited?”

“Not seen them since the wedding. Jeff phones Colin regularly and meets up with him, but I steered clear.” I shrugged at Sue. “Nothing in common with either of them and they have five-year-old twins. Boys, I think.”

“Jeff’s parents are dead, aren’t they?”

“Died when he was twelve, and he doesn’t like to talk about it.” I sighed. “He’s an only child, like me, but he’s got no other relations.”

“So, he was put into care, then?” Sue frowned. “After his parents died, he was a minor.”

“All he told me was he felt abandoned, and he got a part-time job and put himself through university.” I matched Sue’s frown. “But he couldn’t do that aged twelve. Y’know, I thought he was brave and resourceful, but now…I think that’s a load of cobblers.”

“Agreed.” Sue munched an oat cookie. “You and Elvis are going on a road trip. I wish I could join you.”

An anguished cry rang out from the living room.

“Oh, God, what now?” I drained my coffee, and we hurried across the hall to find the plate upside down on the carpet, no cookies, and Colin’s newspaper looking like a magician had tried a paper-tearing trick and failed miserably. “The treats didn’t work, then.”

Colin looked like a man emerging from a coma. Elvis bounced around the back of the settee, and I clipped his leash back on. “Time to go.”

Sue accompanied us to the front door. “Have fun in your new job.” When I looked quizzically at her, she laughed and added, “Private eye.”

Elvis and I walked back to Lilac Cottage. “We could be Morse and Lewis, or I could be Miss Marple, and…I’m talking out loud again.”

Back home, I fed Elvis, made myself a sandwich, and looked for my address book, finding it in the middle drawer of the sideboard. I carried my lunch upstairs and switched on the computer. “Here we go.”

Elvis joined me minutes later and stared at my sandwich, trying to hypnotise it.

I opened Google maps and typed in Ollie and Cheryl’s address. “Wow.” I was looking at a development of 1970s detached houses, each one different from its neighbour, but all boasting huge gardens and, in one case, a swimming pool. I switched to street view, scrolled to their home, and my jaw dropped. “It’s bloody Southfork.”

By all accounts, Ollie was a much better accountant than Jeff, but then that wouldn’t be hard. “You’d make a better accountant than my husband,” I told Elvis. He ignored me and continued ogling my lunch. I studied Ollie and Cheryl’s ranch-style house with its massive lawn and double garage and suddenly felt something was wrong. The address? I double-checked my book and discovered it was correct, but I still felt uneasy. “We’ll go and see if this is right.”

My car doesn’t have any satnav, so I went old-school and drew a map, noting a park close by and deciding to hit that first. I organised myself, gathered Elvis’s paraphernalia, and took him out to the car. Once more, he sat in the back seat like he was being chauffeured, and I realised that he was. I started the Golf with a sigh, headed down to the promenade, and took the road out of Dexter Bay.

We reached the park two hours later after a few wrong turns and an altercation with a lively tractor. Elvis sniffed trees, benches, and litter bins and tried to play with every dog we met while I channelled my inner Sherlock Holmes and worked out what to ask Jeff’s best man and his wife. Then we went back to the car; I consulted my map and, ten minutes later, parked the Golf outside Ollie and Cheryl’s home.

I stared at the sleek Mercedes nestling beside a shiny BMW in their driveway. “Looks like JR and Sue-Ellen are home, so let’s go get ‘em.”