Page 165 of Not That Ridiculous

Liam came to stand beside us.

“How is it helpful?” Kevin moaned.

“One, we don’t have to spend the next however many years sleeping below a dead man.” Because the position of the tub was directly over the head of the bed. “And two, because we found a really big lead about the murderer, if not the actual murderer herself.”

Kevin blinked. Liam went on alert.

“It was Deirdre Sharpe,” I said.

“The sweet little old lady?” Kevin said. He gasped. “Phil’s mum?”

“You said it yourself the first time you tried to get me to go up into the loft, Kevin. She might have been a sweet old lady when she died, but she had a full, active life behind her.”

Unlike the guys she’d been playing dolls with.

“Even if she wasn’t the one to murder and mummify them, she was making the outfits and putting them in her wall,” I said, thinking of the mannequins and the sewing patterns. “That was the precious collection Phil was supposed to be guarding, not her figurines or commemorative plates.” I turned to Liam, who looked less pissed-off and more intrigued. “Better start digging for a connection between Deirdre and Ray’s house.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Any chance I can give you the keys and Kevin and I can go to the pub?”

He laughed. “Yeah, no. I’m going to need to take some statements.”

“Fine.”

Liam eyed Kevin, who was still pale and clutching me. “Do I need to call the paramedics for him again?”

I reached up and touched his neck lightly, feeling for a pulse. “Yes.”

“On it,” DS Patel said, and lifted her radio.

“Come on, guys. You know the drill. Let’s go.” Liam tried to herd us back into the house. Kevin dug his heels in. “Kev.”

“I need to go and get Phil first. He’s in the Land Cruiser.”

“Don’t you dare get in that car and drive off,” I warned him. “I love you. You’re blameless and I love you.”

He regained a little colour at that. “Yeah,” he said softly, and leaned in for a kiss.

I met him halfway and got lost in the sensation of his hot, firm mouth over mine until Liam said, “Enough, good grief. Can we please…? Inside? And do I have to call Adam to come and get you, Charlie, or?—”

“No,” Kevin said. “Not this time. Charlie’s mine. He’s all mine.”

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

EPILOGUE TWO

ONE YEAR LATER

Today at The Chipped Cup, 12-3pm:

Karen Strickland, author ofThe Dollhouse Murders: The Cotswolds Collector Unmasked,will be signing copies of her book at The Chipped Cup, Chipping Fairford’s favourite coffee shop.