Page 117 of Good Girl, Bad Blood

‘In loving memory of Hillary F. Weiseman,’ he read out, standing over a black marble plaque with gold lettering. ‘Died 4th October 2006. Beloved mother and grandmother. You will be missed dearly.’

‘That’s her,’ Pip said, looking around. This part of the graveyard was almost closed in, sheltered by a row of hedges on one side and a cluster of trees on the other. ‘It’s well covered here. You can’t really be seen from any side, apart from the path up there.’

He nodded. ‘Would make a good secret meeting spot, if that’s what it was.’

‘But with who? We know Jamie never met Layla in real life.’

‘What about those?’ Ravi pointed down to a small bouquet of flowers, laid beside Hillary’s grave.

They were dried out and dead, petals flaking away as Pip closed her fingers around the plastic packaging. ‘Clearly left here several weeks ago,’ she said, spotting a small white card in the middle of the flowers. Blue ink bled down the paper, from the rain, but the imprints of the words were still legible.

‘Dear Mum, Happy Birthday! Miss you every day. Love from Mary, Harry and Joe,’ she read out to Ravi.

‘Mary, Harry and Joe,’ Ravi said thoughtfully. ‘Do we know them?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘But I looked on the electoral register and couldn’t find anyone living in Kilton now with the surname Weiseman.’

‘They probably aren’t Weisemans then.’

They heard a scuffling set of footsteps on the gravel path above, drawing closer. Pip and Ravi spun on their heels to see who it was. Pip felt a tightening in her chest, like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t, as she watched the man cross into view from behind the canopy of wind-shivering willow. It was Stanley Forbes, and he looked just as shocked to see them, flinching with a sharp intake of breath when he spotted them there, hiding in the shadows.

‘Crap, you scared me,’ he said, holding one hand to his chest.

‘Are you allowed to say “crap” near a church?’ Ravi smiled, immediately breaking the tension.

‘Sorry,’ Pip said, dead flowers still in her hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ A perfectly fair question, she thought; there was no one else in the graveyard except them, and they weren’t exactly here for ordinary reasons.

‘I’m er . . .’ Stanley looked taken aback. ‘I’m here to talk to the vicar about a story for next week’s paper. Why? Why are you here?’ He returned the question, squinting so he could read the grave they were standing at.

Well, he’d caught them, Pip might as well give it a go. ‘Hey Stanley,’ she said, ‘you know most people in town, right? Because of the newspaper. Do you know the family of a woman called Hillary Weiseman, daughter called Mary, and maybe two sons or grandsons called Harry and Joe?’

He narrowed his eyes, like this was one of the stranger things he’d ever been asked after bumping into two people lurking in a graveyard. ‘Well, yes, I do. So do you. That’s Mary Scythe. The Mary who volunteers at the paper with me. Those are her sons, Harry and Joe.’

And as he said that, something clicked in Pip’s head.

‘Harry Scythe. Does he work at The Book Cellar?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, I think he does,’ Stanley said, shuffling his feet. ‘Does this have something to do with that disappearance you’re looking into, Jamie Reynolds?’

‘It might.’ She shrugged, reading something like disappointment on his face when she didn’t elaborate. Well, sorry; she didn’t want a small-town volunteer journalist chasing the story too, getting in her way. But maybe that wasn’t entirely fair; Stanley had printed the missing poster in theKilton Maillike she’d asked, and it had brought people to her with information. ‘Um,’ she added, ‘I just wanted to say thank you for printing that notice in the paper, Stanley. You didn’t have to, and it’s really helped. So, yeah. Thanks. For that.’

‘That’s OK,’ he smiled, looking between her and Ravi. ‘And I hope you find him. I mean, I’m sure you will.’ He rolled up one sleeve to look at the time. ‘I better go, don’t want to keep the vicar waiting. Um. Yeah. OK. Bye.’ He flashed them a small awkward wave, down by his waist, and walked off towards the church.

‘Harry Scythe was one of the witnesses on Wyvil Road,’ Pip told Ravi in a hushed tone, watching Stanley walk away.

‘Huh, really?’ Ravi said. ‘Small town.’

‘It is,’ Pip said, laying the dead flowers back by Hillary’s grave. ‘Itisa small town.’ She wasn’t sure if this meant anything other than that. And she wasn’t sure that coming here had explained anything about that scrap of paper in Jamie’s bin, other than he possibly came here to meet someone, here under these same shadows. But it was too unclear, too vague to be a proper lead.

‘Come on. We should get the trial update done and out of the way,’ Ravi said, taking her hand, winding his fingers between hers. ‘Also, I can’t believe you actually said thank you to Stanley Forbes.’ He pulled a face at her, like he was frozen in shock, eyes crossing over each other.

‘Stop.’ She nudged him.

‘You actually being nice to someone.’ The stupid face continued. ‘Well done. Gold star for you, Pip.’

‘Shut up.’

Twenty-Three