“Win – Wendy. Hello.”

“I love to go for a tramp up here,” Wendy Miller said.

I wanted to ask if the tramp minded, but knowing Wendy’s sense of humour was slim to non-existent, I resisted the temptation. “Elvis and I love it, too.”

Wendy looked down at my dog, and he stared, mesmerised, at her eyes behind the lenses. “Hello, Elvis, you’re a big lad, aren’t you?” She waited as if expecting a response, and we both looked at Elvis, who continued to stare. Then Wendy turned to me.

I braced myself for the assault I knew was coming.

Windy Miller didn’t disappoint.

“How are you and that lovely man from the café getting on?” She smiled like a cat who’s just swallowed your prize canary. “I saw you driving off together yesterday. I must say, you didn’t look too happy, either of you.”

I mustered my best poker face. “I met Paul going for a walk.” I pretended to remember. “Then I gave him a lift to the supermarket. Steph was going to pick him up afterwards. That’s his partner. Have you tried the cakes from Sea Brew? They’re excellent. It’s lovely to have somewhere nice to go and eat out, isn’t it? The tourists certainly think so, although I don’t think I’ve seen you in there. Don’t you feel it’s important to support local businesses?”

“Er…” Windy was wrong-footed but recovered quickly. “Yes, I have been in the café. His partner is a lovely-looking girl, isn’t she? A bit younger than him, I’d say. Younger than you, too.”

I felt my jaw clench. “I don’t know much about Paul and Steph, Wendy – other things are going on in my life.”

“Oh, yes; you poor soul. Imagine being abandoned like that. Have you heard from your husband yet?”

I’d lined that one up for her. My poker face took a hit, and then I took a deep breath and rallied. “Actually, Wendy, I’m enjoying the peace. Your husband must feel the same every time you leave the house.”

“What?” She looked like she couldn’t quite believe I’d said that.

I couldn’t quite believe I’d said it, either. But now the gloves were off. “Do you have any hobbies or interests, Wendy? Apart from other people’s business, I mean.”

“Well…!” Windy Miller drew herself up to her full five foot four and glared at me. Her eyes widened, and Elvis whimpered. “That’s incredibly rude of you, Marnie Hope.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Now you know how the rest of Dexter Bay feels when you stop to talk. And by the way, get a grip on that bloody church organ.”

This time, she was speechless. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and then she pushed past me and marched down the slope towards Hill Street.

I waved at her back view and then looked down at Elvis. He stood, dazed, like someone coming off stage where the hypnotist hasn’t brought them back correctly, and they still think they’re a chicken.

“C’mon, boy.” I tugged the leash, and he blinked, shook himself, and then moved off slowly. We ambled along the path for another twenty minutes, and then I saw a group of villagers in the distance and decided I couldn’t face them. “Let’s go home.”

We turned and made our way back to Lilac Cottage without further incident. I made straight for the fridge and liberated the Chardonnay Sue had brought, then took my mobile phone and retired to the living room for the rest of the evening.

I drank wine and checked my phone for non-existent messages, but mostly I drank wine. The bottle was empty an hour later, and I was slumped on the settee, trying not to cry.

♦♦♦

Thursday morning brought clouds, a twenty per cent chance of rain, and a thumping headache. When I finally staggered downstairs, the Krays were lined up along the kitchen windowsill, giving me the kind of looks that suggests cricket bats and broken kneecaps. “Sorry, guys.” I fetched their seed, opened the back door, and scattered it around.

Elvis appeared by my side and peeked out at the pigeons. “Keep back,” I told him. “I think Ronnie’s taken a contract out on you.”

Elvis and I reversed into the kitchen, and I forced myself to organise breakfast and swallow toast and honey. Three cups of coffee helped my mood – until I checked my phone. “No one wants to talk to me.” I looked at Elvis, who ignored me and crunched kibble.

I made a decision. “Sod Paul. And double-sod Tim. Let’s go on our own road trip today.”

I gathered treats, snacks, bottles of water, food dish and my phone and packed everything into a bag. Then I added the ball chucker and a trio of tennis balls and attached Elvis’s lead. “We’ll find a park and play with Uncle Paul’s chucker thing.” My fake cheery voice wavered as I said Paul’s name, but I took a deep breath, pretended I was Reg Simpkins and gave myself a good talking to. “Get a grip, Marnie. You have a great life here, with a fantastic dog. What more do you need?”

We left the house before I could answer my own question. When we were in the car, I decided I couldn’t face negotiating a three-point-turn as the Golf was facing uphill. Instead, I drove up Hill Street, turned into Steeple Road - accelerating incredibly quickly past Windy Miller’s house - and emerged onto Moor Road at the other end.

At the prom, I noticed traffic was lighter than usual and the car park barely half-full. I glanced at the sky, caught a glimpse of sunshine and wondered why the place was so quiet. Then I drove past the houses, reached the shops and looked across at Sea Brew. No one sat at any windows – in fact, the whole café looked empty. A family peered inside while the mother tried the door and then turned away, disappointed.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I drove on and then, at the last moment, swerved and turned up Hill Street, went by my house and back along Steeple Road. “Once a detective, always a detective,” I told Elvis, who watched our progress with interest. “Don’t worry; we’re still going to the park – I just need to check something first.”

I was looking for the Green Fiat 500. Paul hadn’t led me to believe they had two cars, so they must share this one. It wasn’t in the car park or on either side of the prom. Had Steph driven away in it – or eloped with Mark Cooper? There was a pleasant thought.

Elvis and I carried on up Cliff Road, and then I realised I hadn’t checked for the reporter’s car. And then I realised I didn’t know his registration, so that would have been a wasted third trip around Dexter Bay.

I made a private bet that someone would have clocked my double journey around the village – very probably Windy Miller unless she thought I was stalking her house – and wondered what I was up to.

I began to wonder myself.

“Sue’s right, Elvis, I need to let go. Switch off. Stay in the moment…Mark Cooper’s car is on the video…I could get the registration there…no, no, no. Like the song says, Marnie, let it go.”

At the top of Cliff Road, I turned left, and Elvis whined in anticipation. “We’re not going to the standing stones today, boy - we’re going further.” Elvis lay down, and I drove on into the outskirts of Poole and then turned inland and carried on for another few miles until we reached a large area of parkland surrounded by hills, with a lake, several picnic areas and a dog-friendly café.

I’d brought Jeff there when we first moved to the area, but he didn’t like walking, he complained about the coffee and poor selection of cakes in the café, and then a Jack Russell Terrier tried to hump his leg, so we left and never returned.

I parked in the car park, let Elvis out and produced the ball chucker. My dog leapt excitedly around me as we headed for a vast expanse of grass behind one of the hills. I placed a ball in the chucker, flicked it through the air and watched as Elvis raced after it.

Time passed in a pleasant blur of tennis balls, passing strangers, and a gradually brightening sky. I strolled back and forward, grabbing the ball whenever I could and flicking it away again. Elvis galloped around, sounding like a Shetland pony as he enjoyed his new trick: approaching me at frighteningly high speeds and swerving past at the last moment. I didn’t like it half as much.

Then my phone rang, and all thoughts of fun and sunshine left my head. Could it be…? I looked at the screen, and my heart dipped. Summoning a smile, I answered it. “Hey, Sue, how’s the invalid?”

“Flirting unsuccessfully with the physio. I’m in the caff. I thought hospitals would have healthy food, but they have doughnuts the size of a baby’s head. With jam.”

“And you’ve avoided them, of course, being so unhealthy.”

“Of course. This noise you hear is not me inhaling strawberry jam out the centre. No, not at all. How’s your day going?”

“Good, actually.” I told Sue where I was and what Elvis was doing. “I’m keeping him away from the lake. They have swans, and they all belong to the King, don’t they? Anyway, I don’t want to end up in the Tower of London after everything else that happened this week.”

“That ball chucker thing sounds like a good idea. Did you buy it online?”

“Er, no.”

“Emma’s got one for Bertie. She says it’s excellent, though you have to watch where you aim. She was nearly sued by a group of nuns, even though she apologised and offered to replace the custard slices.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I took a breath. “I ran into Windy Miller yesterday after you left.” I recounted my conversation with the Gossip Extraordinaire, and Sue laughed so hard she nearly choked on her doughnut.

“Oh, my God, Marnie, you’re priceless. I can’t wait to meet her again, see what she says. No word from Paul? We passed the café this morning, and it looked shut.”

“It was still closed when I went by. There’s no sign of the car, either.” I took another deep breath. “But I’m staying back from it all like you wanted.”

“Good, good. Makes you wonder, though…what’s happened? Maybe Paul snapped and murdered her.”

“You’re supposed to be discouraging me from amateur detective work. What d’you think he’s doing now – baking her into some pies?”

“Or making a huge pot of soup. Maybe a curry…I’m guessing she’d be tough to eat.”

“Oh, no, Elvis has gate-crashed someone’s picnic. I have to go.” I cut off Sue’s delighted laughter and sprinted across the grass. Elvis had abandoned the tennis ball and was sitting among a family on a tartan rug, trying to steal a sausage roll from a small child’s hand. “I am so sorry.”

I grabbed Elvis, hauled him away, retrieved the tennis ball, and then decided to call it a day. We returned to the car with my dog trotting happily and me feeling like a shadow of my former self. We had our own mini-picnic from the provisions I’d brought, and then I drove back to Dexter Bay, stopping en-route at a convenience store where I chose a bottle of red wine.

When I arrived at the bottom of Cliff Road, I looked across at Sea Brew and noted it was still closed. The curtains were opened in the flat upstairs, but there was no sign of life. I turned up Hill Street and parked outside Lilac Cottage and had barely entered my front garden when Mr Simpkins appeared behind the dividing wall.

“Mrs Hope.”

“Hello, Mr Simpkins.”

“I don’t suppose you know what happened at the café?”

“What?” I stepped closer, panic flooding my chest, picturing Paul in a blood-spattered kitchen, throwing bits of Steph into an enormous cooking pot. “What’s happened?”

“Oh, well, I’ve no idea. I thought you might know.”

“Why?” Anger replaced panic. “Have you been talking to ace gossip Wendy Miller?”

“No. Well, not today.”

“She’ll have loads more to say about me now. I told her what I thought of her, and I didn’t hold back.” I glared at my neighbour. “She’s spreading rumours about me and Paul.”

“Mrs Hope, I only asked because I’ve seen the young man around your home a few times, and you seem on friendly terms. I can assure you I have not spread gossip about you or listened to anyone else. In fact, I would have a great deal to say to anyone who talked about you behind your back.”

“Oh.” I was dumbstruck. Had I underestimated him? Or maybe some gossip code prevented him from talking about people who lived within a fifty-yard radius. The Widow Twankey and I were safe, then.

I coughed. “I noticed the café was closed.”

“That lad, Ewan. He received a text message this morning to say there was a family emergency and not to come in.”

“Family emergency.” I pretended to consider this. “Could be Paul’s family or Steph, the waitress. Maybe they’ve gone to London - their car’s missing.”

“Is theirs the tiny green car I’ve seen around the café?”

I kicked myself for letting that slip. “Yes. There weren’t many cars around this morning, and I didn’t notice it.”

“Hmmm.” Mr Simpkins studied me for a moment. “I heard you’re about to embark upon a career as a detective.”

“You heard…from Wendy Miller?”

“Er, I can’t remember. I must say, though, I feel you will make a success of it.”

“Thank you.” I blinked at him like a deer in headlights. Had he been drinking? I thought of the wine in my bag and told myself I was one to talk.

“Right. Well, good afternoon, Mrs Hope.” Mr Simpkins marched off around the side of his house, and I drifted indoors with Elvis.

“We’re back in The Twilight Zone,” I said as I unpacked the wine.