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The pair move onto number 11, where a burly officer shoos them away. One of them hands him some papers, but I’m too busy crossing the road and ducking behind a van to notice if it’s accepted.
My heart pounds hard enough to alert them of my presence as I continue on the other side of the road, watching them move from number 9 to 7 to 5. As they reach number 3, I cross over to Mrs. Baker’s and knock on her door.
The old woman answers with a bright smile that falters the moment she realizes I’m not Reverend Tom. “Amethyst. How lovely it is to see you again. What can I do to help?”
Out of desperation, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m locked out,” I rasp. “Is there any chance I can wait here until my friend comes with the spare key?”
She steps aside and gestures for me to enter her drawing room, which is identical to Relaney’s living room in size, with a trio of tall windows that flood its gray walls with light. A pea-green sofa sits beneath the windows, opposite a pair of brown leather armchairs.
Tall flames crackle in the fireplace, filling the room with the scent of burning resin. I glance in the hearth to find it crammed with pinecones. On a low coffee table in the middle of the room sits a chintzy tea service, complete with a bowl of sugar cubes and silver tongs.
“This is… nice,” I murmur.
“Reverend Tom appreciates all these little touches.” Mrs. Baker guides me to sit on the armchair and plops down on the sofa with a happy sigh. “He wants me to help furnish the rectory after the fumigators have left.”
“Oh.” I glance out of the window, where police vehicles still jam the road.
“Did you hear?” she asks, her voice lowering. “Relaney Cymbal got taken away in handcuffs.”
My eyes widen. “Why?”
“They found a cannabis farm in her basement.”
“What?”
“It’s true,” she replies with a nod. “I saw a team taking out all the paraphernalia. There were fully grown plants, grow lights, hydroponic systems, irrigation equipment, and pots. All loaded into a van.”
My jaw drops. “No way. I didn’t even know she had a basement.”
Mrs. Baker flicks her head toward the back of the room. “Haven’t you noticed Parisii Drive is built on a slope that inclines down to the cemetery?”
“Yes?” I reply, remembering how easy it was to drag Jake’s body downhill instead of on flat ground. “What about it?”
“Each house contains a crawl space for access to plumbing, electrical wiring, ventilation, and HVAC systems. Some use them for storage or utilities, but it seems like Ms. Cymbal employed hers for more nefarious purposes.”
“I had no idea,” I say, my voice breathy.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” She waves a hand. “Your house is a new build and probably doesn’t require a lick of maintenance. Tea?”
I gulp. “Yes, please.”
Mrs. Baker rises off the sofa to pour me a steaming cup. As she hands it to me, I stare down at its contents, still reeling from the news. Poor Relaney. In the space of a few hours, she went from losing one of her friends to getting arrested for the production of drugs.
She would have gotten away with running a cannabis farm if it hadn’t been for Xero hanging a man from the ceiling.
My phone buzzes, breaking me out of my thoughts. I take a sip of tea, remembering why I came to hide out with Mrs. Baker.
“Have you seen the missing person photos?” I ask, prompting her to spill some more gossip.
She takes a long sip, keeping me on the edge of my seat. As a former actress, Mrs. Baker is an expert in theatrics, and I don’t begrudge her attempt to draw out the suspense. Thanks to her generosity, I’ve avoided encountering Jake’s brother.
“Well,” she says, her voice breathy with excitement. “Two men knocked on the door, asking if I’d seen the missing man. Apparently, he parked here on Friday and just vanished.”
“Really?” I reply, my stomach churning.
She nods. “The missing man left his car parked outside number 11.”
My throat tightens. Jake fucking led them straight to my doorstep. Humming, I hold my features into what I hope is a mask of curiosity.
