Page 95 of A Murder is Going Down

Is Lilia, like me, remembering when the two of us binged theMr & Mrs Smithseries over a weekend and decided we’d buy a gorgeous house on Lake Como when we were older? Something pushes against my chest and I don’t think it’s my affection for Italian real estate.

‘What do you think we should do about it?’ I ask, mostly to stop myself from saying anything really silly likeI miss you.

‘I’ve got no idea. What about Patrick?’ Lilia says.

‘What about him?’

‘What’s going on with you two?’

‘What do you mean?’ My skin prickles the way it does when I get into a bath that’s slightly too hot.

‘Are you still friends or whatever, or do you really think he might have had something to do with this?’

‘There’s nowhatever.’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Lilia,’ I say, ‘just because we can talk about the circumstances surrounding my brother’s suspicious death, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk to you aboutboys.’

The silence on the other end of the phone makes me feel so bad I almost tell Lilia what I really think herconversation with Adam means and what I’m going to do about it.

Then I hear Ben’s voice in the background asking, ‘Babe, who are you talking to?’ and the impulse shrivels up the same way my heart did when Ben sat me down and saidwe want to be honest with you(‘we’!).

I hang up. There’s a moment when I feel guilty for not telling Lilia how badly she’s misinterpreted the situation, but it doesn’t last long. I’ve got an aunt to talk to.

Now

Marianne has been paying attention. I can tell, because her face is contorted in confusion, maybe disgust. ‘Lilia seriously thought that Adam—’

‘Yes.’

‘But surely what he was saying meant—’

‘We’ll get there.’

Then

I have to wait until early evening to get Aunty Sam alone. When I do, she’s weeding the lacklustre vegetable patch. Aunty Sam gets gung-ho about growing her own vegetables every few years, assembling pyramids of potting mix, buying punnets of seedlings and even erecting the kind of wooden signs you might see in a Peter Rabbit book, shortly before Mr McGregor tries to turn him into bunny pie. Unfortunately, these bursts of enthusiasm, which usually coincide with the end of a relationship, tend to peter out before the vegetables are harvested. (I’ve thrown a lot of rotting pumpkins into the compost and it never gets fun.)

Aunty Sam is clearly peak enthusiasm, because she’s wearing a cute boilersuit – one she probably bought for the purpose – and has gone to the trouble of twisting herhair up in a gingham scarf. Aunty Sam is a big believer in dressing for the occasion:first comes the uniform, then comes the skill, she told me once. We’re all lucky she’s a professional musician and not a brain surgeon.

‘Heidi, do you want to help me plant some carrots?’ she asks.

I do not, as it happens, want to help her plant some carrots. But because I very much want a chance to talk to her, I say that nothing would please me more. We clear an area of the vegetable patch, uprooting dead tomato plants and pulling out an improbable acreage of mint.

‘I was going to save that for some Pimm’s,’ Aunty Sam says, as I throw the mint into the composting bin.

‘Can I ask you something?’ I say as I wrestle carrot seedlings out of their plastic homes.

‘Sure.’

‘The night that Felix died, what were you doing at his house?’

Aunty Sam huffs, but I’m not sure if she’s annoyed by the question (likely) or struggling with the carrot seedlings like I am (also possible).

‘I’ve already told you I wasn’t there.’ When I don’t say anything, she asks, ‘Why are you asking me this again?’

‘There’s a little ding of red paint on your car bumper,’ I say. ‘It’s the same colour as the gate outside Felix and Elena’s place.’ This is a lie. Obviously. It’s such an entry-level lie I’m sure Aunty Sam won’t buy it for a second.