Page 185 of A Good Girl's Guide to Murder

‘Only ever missed four days of school. Ever. And that was because of chickenpox,’ she said quietly, her eyes on the large detached cottage. Its old bricks speckled from pale yellow to dark russet and were overrun with ivy that climbed up to the crooked roofline where three tall chimneys perched. A large white garage door behind the empty drive winked the morning autumn sunshine back at them. It was the last house on the street before the road climbed up to the church.

‘What are we doing here?’ Ravi said, tucking his head around the other side of the tree to see Pip’s face.

‘I’ve been here since just after eight,’ she said, hardly pausing to breathe. ‘Becca left about twenty minutes ago; she’s interning over at theKilton Mailoffice. Dawn left just as I was arriving. My mum says she works part-time at a charity head office in Wycombe. It’s quarter past nine now, so she should still be out for a while. And there’s no alarm on the front of the house.’

Her last word slipped into a yawn. She’d hardly slept last night, waking to stare again at the text from Unknown until the words were burned into the underside of her eyelids, haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

‘Pip,’ Ravi said, bringing her attention back to him. ‘And, yet again, why are we here?’ His eyes were wide in their telling-off way already. ‘Tell me it’s not what I think it is.’

‘To break in,’ Pip said. ‘We have to find that burner phone.’

He groaned. ‘How did I know you were going to say that?’

‘It’s actual evidence, Ravi. Actual physical evidence. Proof that she was dealing drugs with Howie. Maybe the identity of the secret older guy Andie was seeing. If we find it, we can phone an anonymous tip in to the police and maybe they’ll reopen the investigation and actually find her killer.’

‘OK, but here’s a quick observation,’ Ravi said, holding up his finger. ‘You’re asking me, the brother of the person everyone believes murdered Andie Bell, to break into the Bell house? Not to mention the amount of trouble I would be in anyway as a brown kid breaking into a white family’s house.’

‘Shit, Ravi,’ Pip said, stepping back behind the tree, her breath catching in her throat. ‘I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

She really hadn’t been thinking; she was so convinced the truth was just waiting for them in this house that she hadn’t considered the position this would put Ravi in. Of course he couldn’t break in with her; this town already treated him like a criminal – how much worse would it be for him if they got caught?

Since Pip was a little girl, her dad had always taught her about their different experiences of the world, explaining whenever something happened: whenever someone followed him around a shop, whenever someone questioned him for being alone with a white kid, whenever someone presumed he worked security at his office, not as the firm’s partner. Pip grew up determined never to be blind to this, nor her invisible step up that she’d never had to fight for.

But she’d been blind this morning. She was angry at herself, her stomach twisting in uncomfortable hurricane turns.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. ‘I was being stupid. I know you can’t take the same risks I can. I’ll go in alone. Maybe you can stay here, keep a lookout?’

‘No,’ he said thoughtfully, fingers burrowing through his hair. ‘If this is how we’re going to clear Sal’s name, I have to be there for that. That’s worth the risk. It’s too important. I still think this is reckless and I’m crapping myself, but –’ he paused, flashing her a small smile – ‘we’re partners in crime after all. That means partners no matter what.’

‘Are you sure?’ Pip shifted and the strap of her rucksack fell down to her elbow crook.

‘I’m sure,’ he said, reaching out and lifting the strap back up for her.

‘OK.’ Pip turned to survey the empty house. ‘And if it’s any consolation, I wasn’t planning on us getting caught.’

‘So whatisthe plan?’ he said. ‘Break a window?’

She gaped at him. ‘No way. I was planning to use a key. We live in Kilton; everyone has a spare key outside somewhere.’

‘Oh . . . right. Let’s go and scope out the target, Sarge.’ Ravi looked intently at her, pretending to do a complex sequence of military hand gestures. She flicked him to get him to stop.

Pip went first, walking briskly across the road and over the front lawn. Thank goodness the Bells lived right at the end of a quiet street; there was no one around. She reached the front door and turned to watch Ravi darting across, head down, to join her.

They checked under the doormat first, the place where Pip’s family kept their spare key. But no luck. Ravi reached up and felt the frame above the front door. He pulled his hand back empty, fingertips covered in dust and grime.

‘OK, you check that bush, I’ll check this one.’

There was no key under either, nor hidden around the fitted lanterns nor on any secret nail behind the creeping ivy.

‘Oh, surely not,’ Ravi said, pointing at a chrome wind chime mounted beside the front door. He snaked his hand through the metal tubes, gritting his teeth when two knocked tunefully together.

‘Ravi,’ she said in an urgent whisper, ‘what are you –’

He pulled something off the small wooden platform that hung in the middle of the chimes and held it up to her. A key with a little nub of old Blu-Tack attached.

‘Aha,’ he said, ‘student becomes master. You may be the sarge, Sarge, but I am chief inspector.’

‘Zip it, Singh.’