Page 8 of A Murder is Going Down

Patrick’s bark of laughter seems involuntary. ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘you put your foot in it, Elena.’ Then he catches my look. ‘Sorry, Heidi. It’s your brother’s funeral and I’m being a dick.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I don’t mind, this time.’ Then I laugh too. People are starting to stare.

Lilia takes Ben’s arm and turns him away from us, saying she’s sorry, although it’s unclear whether thesorryis for Felix, her own presence, or hooking up with my boyfriend before he’d relinquished the title. Ben’s cheeks are two pink ladies of embarrassment, and I’m both dying and coming back to life.

‘Patrick, why are you such a monster?’ Elena asks. ‘Sorry, Heidi. I didn’t realise you and Ben had broken up. And is that the same Lilia who was your friend?’

‘My best friend,’ I clarify.

‘Wow.’

‘I know.’

‘What a pair of dickheads,’ Patrick says. Elena looks pained, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Aunty Sam, having ditched Mrs Craven by the tea station, returns to join our little circle. She’s holding a glass of wine, which is weird because I haven’t seen any wine being served. ‘How are you all going?’

‘It was a lovely service,’ Elena says. ‘Thanks for doing so much of the organising. It’s been a busy time with the house and the police and everything.’

‘My pleasure,’ Aunty Sam says. ‘You know what they say: if you want something done, give it to a busy woman.’

There’s a moment; maybe the others are wondering, as I am, how busy Aunty Sam’s life can really be as a part-time musician and full-time eccentric.

‘Are those your second cousins Chantelle and Kianaz leaving?’ Aunty Sam’s squinting at Lilia and Ben’s backs. ‘How sweet of them to come, I haven’t seen them in an age.’

‘Any more thoughts about getting glasses?’ I say, instead of answering. Aunty Sam’s refusal to admit that she can no longer differentiate a cat from a possum at fifty paces is a source of amusement and annoyance.

‘Are you still staying at that hotel?’ Aunty Sam asks Elena, so she can ignore my question.

‘Yes. I … can’t stay in the house.’

‘Is it still officially a crime scene?’

‘No. The police say they’ve taken fingerprints and the forensic team has been and gone. It’s more like I don’t want to be there.’

Did I tell you Felix kind of died in the house? That’s relevant information so, yeah, I’ll get to thekind ofpart in a bit.

‘I’m surprised Michael didn’t make it back for the funeral.’

‘He’s in a show,’ Elena says. ‘He’ll be here in a couple of days when it wraps up.’

‘Not always flexible work, the arts.’ Aunty Sam smiles in understanding. ‘It’s the same for musicians. I have a spare room at my place – two, if you’re not afraid of a foldout sofa. You can both stay with Heidi and me until you’ve figured out your next move.’

‘That’s so sweet, Sam, but really unnecessary,’ Elena says, looking like she might be a little afraid of the foldout sofa.

‘You need to save your money. It can take a while for insurance to be paid out, especially in cases like this.’

Elena looks like she’s about to argue, but doesn’t get past the wordwellbecause Aunty Sam keeps talking.

‘It’ll be nice to get to know you better,’ she says to Patrick in a tone she probably doesn’t mean to sound quite so menacing.

Nobody asks me how I feel about this proposed influx of guests, which I guess is fair enough given I don’t pay rent or even remember to unpack the dishwasher that often.

There’s some more back and forth (‘It’s too much’, ‘But we’re family!’) until Aunty Sam gets her way and Elena and Patrick move their bags in that afternoon.

It’s weird to look back at that moment now. If they hadn’t moved in, I’d still probably have no idea who killed Felix or why.

Now