Friday brought a bit of sun and a surge of confidence. I ate toast and drank coffee, gazing at Tim’s flowers on the kitchen window ledge, and my mobile rang.

“Sue, hey, how are things?”

“Much better. Don’s here, so I can escape. Do I sound desperate?”

“Yeah. Fancy a beano to Bournemouth?”

“You’re on. I’ll be down at yours in ten.”

I finished breakfast, let Elvis out into the garden, and followed him around the edge of the lawn. Mr Simpkins lurked by his petunias, looking puzzled. I sang out, “Morning.”

“Oh, er, good morning Mrs Hope.” He continued to frown.

“Is everything alright?”

“No, it’s not. I had some beautiful delphiniums right here, and they’re gone, along with several other blooms - someone has stolen them.”

“Oh?” I shuffled over to stand on a spot I hoped would block the incriminating evidence on my windowsill. “Maybe it was…er…birds?”

“In all my years as a gardener, I have never seen birds picking bunches of flowers and carrying them away. Not even those mangy pigeons you feed.”

He glanced my way, straightened his shoulders, approached the dividing wall and cleared his throat. I braced myself. “I’m very sorry to hear about your husband leaving. That’s disgraceful behaviour, absolutely appalling. I read about your, er, near-death experience in the café, too. Terrible bad luck.”

He cleared his throat again. My buttocks clenched.

“I’d like to add that I am here if you need any help with household matters. Or the garden.” Mr Simpkins turned bright red, nodded, spun around and marched indoors.

I called Elvis, hurried into my own house and unclenched my nether regions. “Hell’s teeth. I think I preferred it when he was rude to me.” I locked the back door, moved the vase from the windowsill to the table, and then gathered my jacket, bag, and Elvis’s paraphernalia. “C’mon, let’s wait for Sue in the living room.”

We walked down the hall, entered the front room, and my mind flashed back to Nicola X sitting there talking cobblers. Something still felt off-kilter. Apart from the CIA recruitment scheme and her carrying my husband’s…no, wait. That was cobblers, too. She couldn’t get pregnant with someone who’d had a vasectomy decades before. Did she know? Maybe she was as big a liar as Jeff.

“Marnie, you’re a gullible idiot. How many more people will lie to your face, and you’ll accept it?”

Elvis whined softly, and I turned to find him looking at me, tail thumping slowly on the carpet.

“I’m fine,” I said brightly. “Tickety-boo. Don’t worry about me.”

Elvis grinned. I looked at the bookcase, and the unsettled feeling intensified. My gaze travelled around the room, alighting briefly on the drinks cabinet Jeff must have described to his mistress in great detail. I turned to the sideboard. Something prickled at the base of my scalp.

And then the doorbell rang.

I crossed the hall, fought with Elvis to be first out when the door opened and lost. My dog launched himself at Tim Benedict and pinned him to the porch wall for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Oof, not again.” Tim brandished a large bouquet wrapped in cellophane. “These are for you as an extra apology for the tactlessness and the shoddy flowers last night.”

I took the bouquet. “You didn’t nick this from the cemetery?”

“I’m not that cheap.”

“Good to know.” I looked into the blue eyes and felt suddenly awkward and tongue-tied. “Well, thanks. Again.”

“You’re welcome.” Tim glanced nervously towards Elvis, tearing around the lawn, then back at me. “I can see you’re on your way out, so I’ll let you get on.” He stepped onto the path and then hesitated. “D’you think…would you come out for a drink?”

“What?” I was sure I’d misheard.

“A drink. Or coffee. With me…sometime. If you fancy.” He held out a business card. “That’s my number, anyway.”

“Thanks.” My voice came out like I smoked forty a day. I cleared my throat, stepped forward and took the card. Tim backed away, flinched at Elvis galloping past, and then darted for the gate as Sue came in from the path. They tussled briefly before Tim slipped out and got into the Land Rover I’d seen the evening before. It started with a throaty gurgle, and he waved then took off down the hill.

“Who was that I almost snogged?” Sue tried to advance while Elvis pogoed around her. “I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crackers. Get down.” She reached me and clocked the flowers. “Whoa. Big ass bouquet. Are they from him?”

“Tim Benedict. Yeah…long story. Come inside.” We all made our way to the kitchen. “I’ll need to find a bigger vase now.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Who gave you these?” Sue examined my neighbour’s purloined flowers. “Are they wild?”

“No, but Mr Simpkins is.” I found one of my gran’s crystal vases, filled it with water and began arranging Tim’s flowers. “Tim gave me those last night, then these just now as an apology for those last night.”

“Eh? He gave you flowers to say sorry for giving you flowers?”

“Kind of. I’ll explain in the car.”

Sue pounced on Tim’s business card. “Actor and model.”

“What?” I almost dropped the vase.

“That’s what it says here. Tim Benedict, actor and model, and his mobile number.” Sue turned the card over. “Acting credits…oooh, he’s been on Midsomer Murders.”

“You’re kidding.” I snatched the card and read it. “You’re not kidding.” I set it down beside the flowers. Then I picked it back up, dug my phone out of my bag and added Tim to my contacts. “He asked me out.”

“He what?” Sue goggled at me then made a face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound so amazed.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m amazed myself.”

“Well, he’s good-looking, but is he single? Unlike the other hottie stalking you this week.”

“Paul hasn’t stalked me.”

“But he brought you cakes to apologize. So why are all these attractive men saying sorry and giving you things? And why didn’t you save any cakes for me?”

“It’s been a strange week, and it’s about to get stranger.” I placed the new vase on the table beside the first one. “I’ll barely manage room to eat here.”

“Take me to Bournemouth and tell me everything.” Sue clipped on Elvis’s lead and led the way back outside, and I followed, feeling woolly-headed and not quite myself. Five minutes later, we drove out of Dexter Bay, and she turned to me. “Is there a reason for this trip?”

“Yes.” I paused. “To meet Jeff’s parents.”

I felt Sue’s eyes bore into me.

“Are we going to a séance?”

“We’re going to a hotel.”

“So…they’re not dead, then?”

“Far from it.” I told Sue everything I’d learned from Ollie and Cheryl. When I finished, there was a long silence.

“Well, bugger me.” Sue puffed out her cheeks. “I can’t get my head around half of that, so god knows how you’re managing. A vasectomy?”

“I was upset last night, that’s when I saw Tim, and he made me feel worse.” I brought Sue up to date on my romantic complications. “He’s nice and funny, but I can’t get my head around what Jeff’s done, and I need to sort everything out before anything else.”

“Still…Midsomer Murders. Actor and model Tim could give you tips on detecting Jeff.”

I rolled my eyes and carried on into Bournemouth, found a car park in Durley Chine, and we walked down to the promenade. “I looked up the address last night; it’s further along here, but I thought we’d walk Elvis first and hopefully tire him out.”

“Good luck with that.”

We bounced along behind my dog for fifteen minutes while he dodged pedestrians, greeted passing dogs and lunged for the sand every chance he got. Just when I thought I might dislocate a shoulder holding him back, I glanced across the street and saw the Majestic. “Bloody hell.”

“Is that it?” Sue stopped beside me. “Wow. Did you expect anything like this?”

“No.” The hotel was huge, white-stuccoed Georgian elegance boasting pillars, wrought-iron railings, hanging baskets, and more window boxes than you could shake a stick at. “Given Jeff’s history, I thought it would be a dive, but it’s, well….”

“Majestic?” Sue grinned, took Elvis’s leash and led the way across the road. “I’ll keep hold of the boy while you interrogate the zombie parents.”

“You do know they weren’t really dead?”

We climbed to the heavy glass doors and entered a marble foyer with gleaming wood and enormous leafy plants. Elvis’s claws clicked on the floor as we crossed to the reception desk, and a young woman looked up and smiled.

“Good morning, welcome to the Majestic. How may I help you?” Her smile faltered when Elvis jumped onto his hind legs and stretched a paw towards her laptop. “Oh, sorry, we’re not dog-friendly.”

“That’s ok. We are.” Sue gave her a thumbs up.

“We’re not staying,” I said. “I’d like to see Bill and Ben.”

The receptionist blinked several times. Sue frowned. Elvis stopped chewing a pen holder to turn and stare at me. I replayed what I’d just said. “I mean, Irene and Ben.”

“Oh, the Hopes.” The receptionist's face cleared. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we don’t.” I read the name badge pinned to her smart blue uniform. “Look, Audrey, it’s important. Would you let them know I’m here?”

Audrey picked up a telephone. “Which name shall I give?”

“Tell them it’s their daughter-in-law.”

The receptionist faltered, recovered, and punched in some numbers. We waited, watching her face. “Oh, hello, Mrs Hope, sorry to disturb your morning walk. I have someone in reception asking to see you both. Yes, I know, but it’s your…daughter-in-law.” There was a moment’s silence, and then Audrey grimaced and held the receiver away from her ear. We heard an angry, shrieking voice from the other side of the mahogany desk. Audrey resumed listening when the shrieks faded and said, “Of course.”

She smiled at us. “The Hopes will be back shortly. Perhaps you’d like to wait in the visitor’s lounge?”

“Thanks.”

Audrey stuck out an arm to point the way, and Elvis high-fived her. We left the receptionist yanking wet wipes from a container and swabbing everything in sight.

The visitor’s lounge was all potted palms and bamboo furniture. “Nice.” Sue looked around. “Chuck in some coconuts, and we’d be Hawaii Five-O.” She pointed an imaginary gun at Elvis. “Book ‘em, Danno.”

I flopped onto a flowery settee, stopped my dog climbing up beside me, and urged Sue to occupy the other half. My nerves were beginning to fray. “I hope they hurry up.”

“Don’t lose your nerve. Ask Mummy and Daddy if Jeff’s here and watch how they react; we’ll know if they’re telling porkies. Hey, a huge telly – with the sound off. That’s annoying. Oh, wait, it’s your man!”

“What? Where?” I spun around, looking for Jeff among the palm leaves.

“No, you pillock, on the TV.” Sue pointed to a sleek flat-screen on the wall. “It’s him, isn’t it? Your latest squeeze.”

“Blimey.” I watched Tim Benedict wielding a pressure washer and grinning like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. “This is surreal.”

“Are you going to call him and go for a drink?”

“Sue, no-one’s asked me out for fourteen years. I’ve forgotten what you do.”

“You go to a pub, drink gin, and talk cobblers.” The advert finished, and Sue turned to me. “You were a lot more enthusiastic about Paul, and he was only flirting.”

I felt a pang of something that might have been heartache. Or indigestion after my breakfast of burnt and scraped toast. What was wrong with me? Tim was pleasant, and he appeared to be single. Not to mention gorgeous and an actor and model. I struggled for something to say. “Maybe I felt safe with Paul because he has a girlfriend.”

“But you didn’t know that.”

Damn. “Okay, well…I don’t know.” I turned away, suddenly afraid I might cry. “Oh, is this them?”

A middle-aged couple approached our settee. The woman had hair like Margaret Thatcher, offset incongruously by a dayglo pink tracksuit and gleaming white trainers, while the man looked tanned but nervous beneath a luxuriant mane. Ben Hope’s tracksuit was a more sober shade of blue, although his trainers could also induce snow blindness. I began to feel dowdy and unkempt.

“Hello.” I stood, held out my hand, and no one took it. I wavered, embarrassed, and then ran it through my hair instead. I looked at Jeff’s parents, saw suspicion and hostility, and remembered Mrs Hope’s reaction on the phone. I bit the bullet. “I’m Jeff’s wife.”