The sign was up on the street, a large billboard that described the property as: ‘Private waterfront with own jetty. Luxurious residence with five spacious bedrooms, well-appointed kitchen, three bathrooms and plenty of living space. Inspect now.’ It was Sonia who saw it on her way to school. ‘Do you think they’re moving because it’s just too painful to be here?’ We were sitting in our usual spot, under the shade of the awnings, the huge empty oval in front of us, the heat too much for anyone to brave the burnt expanse of that grass. ‘Maybe.’ Cassie was plaiting leather: chocolate, black and tan strands all twisted in and out of each other. She had already made a choker for Sonia, this one was for me. She held it up for a moment, inspecting her handiwork, before carefully flattening one of the strings so that the suede sides were all in the one direction. ‘If my kid was murdered, I’d want to go and live somewhere else.’ ‘We don’t know for sure that she was murdered,’ I hastened to correct her.
