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Prompted by a text from Felix early in the morning, Jemima ran out of the house like a whirlwind, leaving a trail of mess behind her. I had bought a red file in Heatherbridge Stores earlier in the week and compiled all the evidence I had about my aunt’s disappearance. I added a scanned copy of the letter from last night and the photo of my aunt in front of the Eiffel Tower with her friend. Aunt Ada wore flares, a beige blouse and a brown and yellow scarf, while her friend wore a short dress and had a cigarette in her mouth. They were both in their twenties and full of fun, and it transported me to university dancing the nights away at the Fandango Club. Whatever happened to my aunt’s dreams? We often forget that the people in our lives were young once.

A knock at the window startled me. Nora cupped her fingers around her face and glared into the living room window. ‘You’ve run out of books.’ She gestured frantically with her hands when she spoke.

With my mind still in Paris with Aunt Ada, I stared at her blankly. The pile of charity books had decreased in size and there was clear floor space now, but I feared the resident bookaholics would not be happy when the barrow was empty. Bronte charged towards the door where she greeted Nora with a huge lick on the face.

‘An orderly line, please.’ Camellia clapped her hands at my parents who were stood at the front of the book queue.

‘But we’re here to see our Maisie,’ explained my dad with a salute. ‘Attention, Babs,’ he shouted to my mother.

My mother laughed and said, ‘Yes, sir,’ glancing at the crowd of people. ‘I didn’t realise you had such a successful shop, Maisie.’

Though happy to see them, I gave them a weak smile. I had wanted to get the house ready and organise my research before they arrived. ‘Good morning.’ I lifted my voice to make it sound happy.

‘What’s wrong, love? Have we come too early?’ asked Mum, reading me instantly.

‘I just wanted to get everything ready for you, that’s all.’

My parents brought their holdalls from the car and dropped them in the spare room. Mum opened a box to reveal a fresh apple pie from Heatherbridge Bakery. Unable to wait, I plonked the red folder on the table. ‘Have a look at this, Dad.’

My dad put down his mug of tea and opened the folder. He scanned the documents and then read the letter. ‘I thought you were showing me some stuff you’d prepared for school.’

Mum strolled over to the table, ignoring the folder. ‘How’s your prep going, by the way?’

With a fixed smile, I said, ‘I’ll dedicate an entire week to it next week when we’ve decorated.’

‘Maisie, you’re putting off the work and will panic at the last minute.’ Mum picked up the photograph and sighed. ‘I knew her!’ she pointed to my aunt’s friend. Your father was besotted with her when she visited your aunt.’

‘Sylvie was an attractive woman,’ he responded as he read the letter. ‘The most beautiful woman I had ever seen.’

My mother sighed, shook her head and said, ‘Bloody marvellous. Good job you didn’t marry her. She wouldn’t have been helping you to shovel shit on your stinking allotment.’ A tear escaped from my mother’s eye.

‘Dad,’ I chastised. ‘What a stupid thing to say.’

‘I was a young lad. You know what it’s like.’

‘No. I’m afraid, I don’t.’

Mum laughed.

‘I asked Sylvie out, but she told me she preferred women.’

Mum moved quickly towards the kitchen, and we heard her crash around.

‘Sylvie married Aunt Ada’s former boyfriend.’

‘So, I gathered, but the fact she was married didn’t prove anything.’ He scattered the letters on the table. ‘I don’t like prying into your aunt’s private things. It’s not right.’

‘Aunt Ada had a lover in the seventies, and he wanted her to go back to France. Maybe that’s why she left Yorkshire. And her blog posts indicated she was hot on the trail of an author in Paris. I have this feeling she’s still with us.’ I stumbled on the words when I saw them shaking their heads. ‘Something’s not right. I keep on getting the blog posts. I know they could have been scheduled in advance, but why send them out now? It’s a sign.’

Mum said, ‘She called us in early spring from Paris and must have written these blog posts at that time.’ She worked through the documents and added some sticky notes. ‘Has the missing author turned up yet?’ She removed her round rimmed spectacles from the case and continued to jot down some notes.

Instantly, I opened the article on my laptop.

Dad scratched his head. ‘I think you two are getting carried away. Now, you’ve both got the Bella Mysteries bug, and you have watched too many TV detectives. If she made plans to reunite with a former lover, then good for her. But the solicitor told us she is presumed dead and I saw the explosion on the TV. It’s wishful thinking and I just couldn’t cope with the disappointment.’ When his eyes filled up with tears, he looked away, confirming he was putting on a brave face for us.

Turning the pages, Mum remained absorbed. ‘Makes you wonder if she upset someone and they…’

Dad gazed at Mum. ‘You saying someone killed Ada?’

‘Dad, she was in Paris investigating a Bella manuscript. She could have got herself into trouble during the investigations. It’s difficult to ignore the blog posts that keep on popping up on my phone. I’m not sure if we should be decorating the house right now. It doesn’t feel right.’

‘But she bought the paint ages ago and always complained she didn’t get around to decorating. I wish I had come over and helped her now. Anyway, she would not want us to be miserable and speculating about her death, would she?’ There was a little wobble in Dad’s voice. ‘Let’s decorate for Ada, and it helps me to keep busy. You must let it go, love. It’ll drive you mad.’

It was already driving me mad, with scenes of what might have happened playing out in my mind both day and night. ‘But I can’t let this go, Dad. I know it’s difficult for you so let me look into Aunt Ada’s death. Please. Neighbours suggest she went off to Paris earlier than planned and Nora and Camellia are suspicious.’

‘Nora and Camellia are always investigating something. Maisie, why don’t we have a look at the file tomorrow and see if we can find anything?’ suggested my mother, still flicking through the folder. ‘I’ve seen stuff online about the missing Bella story months ago. But for now, let’s get into our rags and get on with the decorating. Better to do something practical than moping around.’ She punched the air, paused and sat down. ‘I miss her, you know. We used to laugh and laugh about your dad’s funny habits. What a shame we didn’t come here more to help her sort stuff out. Time rushes past us until we collide into the ‘if only’ scenarios when it’s too late. I wish we were planning her seventieth birthday party rather than a memorial service. She was a lot older than your dad, but we sort of forgot because she was young at heart.’

My mother changed into a pair of worn, flared jeans with a pink top covered in a bleach stain. Dad dressed in faded green shorts and let his beer belly relax over the top of them. The wallpaper scraped off with ease once the walls were steamed. The steam in the atmosphere turned my hair and my mother’s into completely chaotic frizz, with dad referring to us as the muppets. We worked together in silence, taking it in turns to complete the different jobs. At around ten-thirty that night, the wallpaper was removed and we cleared up for the evening. It felt great to have company.

When I walked into the kitchen, Felix was sat at the table.

‘Good evening,’ said Felix. ‘I thought I’d wait here until you’d finished.’ There were two white bags from an expensive delicatessen on the table.

My mother and I attempted to tame our frizz by smoothing down our hair. Dad studied Felix when he entered the room and then frowned.

Felix beamed at everyone. ‘I’ve brought you all snacks from the deli, including caviar. I wanted to thank Maisie for looking after Jemima.’ He gave the thick paper bag to my father.

‘Thanks very much. We’re Maisie’s parents.’ His tone was distant and formal as if meeting my future husband.

Felix opened the bottle of chilled champagne for everyone. Bowing as if he was leaving a performance, he explained he had to attend a business event in York early the next day and had to leave.

Dad scowled at the caviar he had opened. ‘I think that’s off.’

*

After we had emptied the contents of the bags provided by Felix, we sat outside to get some air and discuss a takeaway.

‘I’m starving,’ complained Dad. ‘Felix can’t possibly live on the food he provided. Can you smell a barbecue?’ Dad rubbed his tummy and peered over the fence, looking into Danny’s garden. ‘That smells great.’

Danny said, ‘I wondered if you’d all like to join me for a barbecue. I’m cooking a mixed grill of bangers, bacon and steak.’

‘What a grand idea, lad,’ Dad rubbed his tummy again. ‘Proper food!’

Nudging me, Mum added, ‘What kind neighbours you have, Maisie. You seem to be very popular.’

In Danny’s garden, a grey table complete with a long bench stood on a patio made of golden Yorkshire stone. A large shard of glass sat above a corrugated steel pond and pots contained spiky, evergreen plants. Everything was arranged in rows. The barbecue rested on top of a counter made of wood and concrete.

Dad walked out of the large, bi-folding doors and Mum followed with a tray of mugs of tea. I opened the paper bag of sausages and Danny added the bacon and steak to the grill. The aroma tempted Bronte out of the cool kitchen.

We toasted large round breadcakes and assembled sandwiches. The four of us sat in a long line on the bench, struggling not to elbow each other. I was aware of Danny’s leg touching mine when I sat down and moved to one side.

‘What time’s the bus due?’ Dad chuckled at himself, then took a large bite of the breadcake.

‘I don’t know but three will arrive at once,’ Danny responded.

We all smiled and wiped sauce from our mouths. ‘Do you come here often?’ asked Dad.

Danny stood up to add more steak on the grill and then bent over to retrieve bread cakes. His tight sports shorts clung to him.

Dad covered Mum’s eyes. ‘Too much information!’

I considered the stark contrast between my cottage garden and the slate and stone in the one that surrounded us now. ‘Your house is all clean lines,’ I said, repeating terminology I’d heard when I went to view the apartment with Matt.

‘I prefer dirty curves to clean lines,’ my dad added and received a tap from my mum.

‘Nice one.’ Danny rubbed his forehead and there was a hint of a smile on his face. ‘Ada didn’t like the design either, she hated the straight lines and concrete. I miss her.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ asked Mum. It made me smile that she had already caught my investigation bug.

He paused for a little while. ‘I think I last talked to her at the very beginning of April. I went out for a run and passed her in the meadow where she walked Bronte. She told me she was going on a surprise research trip for a couple of days but then she vanished the next day without saying goodbye. Maybe she gave me the wrong date as her memory did fail her at times.’

Mum listened and I could tell she was thinking of the next question. ‘Had she organised for someone to care for Bronte before she went away?’

‘Yes. Nora’s cottage is Bronte’s second home. The evening I saw Ada, Bronte appeared at my door, but that isn’t uncommon. She always wanders to the different cottages to beg for scraps of food.’

‘Did anyone else see you that night?’ I chipped in.

‘Yes. All the usual people I pass on my run saw me.’ He laughed. ‘Are you suspicious of me, Miss Bloom?’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just I have a feeling that something isn’t quite right. She went away earlier than planned and…’

My father glanced at me with sympathy in his eyes. ‘Our Maisie finds it difficult to accept the loss of her aunt. They were as thick as thieves. But she’s always had a vivid imagination like her aunt, which is wonderful, but it can lead her on a wild goose chase. Like the time she thought the neighbour had bumped off her elderly father and didn’t realise he’d been taken into a nursing home.’

‘It is difficult to lose someone, and I can understand your concerns.’ Rather than dismissing the situation and packing me off to Planet Mars as Matt would have done, I could see sympathy shining in his eyes.

‘Thanks, Danny. I do get carried away but …’

‘But it is all rather strange,’ said Mum, acknowledging my tiny nod, informing her not to tell Danny about the file. ‘You know, the way she left early.’

Dad threw his hands in the air and said, ‘I give up. Miss Marple, eat your heart out.’