Page 10 of Mad Mabel

I glance down at the dog. “What will happen to Nugget?”

Anthony shrugs. “If there’s a friend or family member who wants her, she might go to them. If there’s no one, they go to the local rescue center.”

All at once, as if understanding, Nugget stops barking.

“You heard that, did you?” I mutter. “Good.”

Mrs. Nguyen arrives home in the middle of the chaos, and takes in the scene. She lives on the other side of Ishaan with her husband, Mr. Nguyen. At a guess I’d say they are in their forties, but we all refer to them asMr.andMrs.because we cannot pronounce theirfirst names for love or money. Mrs. Nguyen runs the nail salon on the high street by day and works at her parents’ Vietnamese restaurant several nights. Mr. Nguyen doesn’t do anything much, and whenever I come across Mrs. Nguyen she tells me all about how she’s going to leave him to join a women’s commune, and I pump my fist in solidarity, and we go on with our respective days.

“I’ll explain,” Persephone says to Mrs. Nguyen. “Don’t listen to Pete the Greek, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Persephone leads Mrs. Nguyen toward the huddle of residents.

At the same time, I watch Joan slip away from the huddle and sidle up to Anthony the paramedic. Odd woman. Her movements are so stealthy and so quiet I can’t help but be intrigued.

“What happened to him?” she asks him, sotto voce.

“Hard to say,” Anthony says. “The coroner will determine for sure.”

“The coroner?” Joan says. Her eyes boggle ever-so-slightly with excitement. “So there are signs of foul play?”

Joan, it appears, has cast herself as Jessica Fletcher inMurder, She Wrote.

“The coroner needs to take the body and determine cause of death, but given his age,” Anthony says, “and what I observed, I would say there’s nothing to suggest… foul play.”

Admirably, his face remains straight.

“Still,” she says, “you can’t rule it out.” Her eyes widen and she juts her chin in my direction. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Anthony says. He glances from Joan to me and back again, uncertain of the dynamic he’s dealing with.

“She’sthe one who found him,” Joan cries. “Have you considered the possibility that it’s because she knew where to find him?”

All eyes dart to me. For the love of God.

“You think I killed Ishaan?”

A few meters away, Pete the Greek and the group of residents have stopped talking and are pretending not to listen. Persephone outright gawps.

“I won’t pretend to know the details,” Joan says.

“Then you have no business making accusations.” Daphne’s voice is quiet, but full of menace. Persephone comes and stands beside her, perhaps in solidarity.

A white van pushes its nose onto the street.CORONERis written on the side in discreet green font. Anthony waves at the driver and points in the direction of Ishaan’s house.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” Anthony says to Joan, “but I have to speak to the coroner. If you have concerns, you need to speak to the police.”

“I’ll speak to my nephew,” Joan calls after him as he wanders off. “He’s a partner in a law firm.”

“So let me get this straight,” I say to Joan. “You’re suggesting that I murdered Ishaan, left him to rot on his kitchen floor for a while, then climbed the fence to discover him?”

“Well, that’s silly!” Persephone says. “Elsa wanted him to be alive because she wanted Ishaan to do the old person interview instead of her! I was the one who told her he was dead!”

“That’s true,” I say. “Have you considered that Persephone could be the killer?”

Persephone’s jaw drops. Daphne puts an arm around her. “She’s joking, poppet.”

Joan shakes her head. She’s facing away from me, projecting her words as if she’s on stage. “All I’m saying is that she should be investigated. She’sdangerous.”