He parked behind, and walked to the wide-open front door. Phoebe materialized in the hall, the cat by her feet. ‘Mama’s talking to your detective. I’m not supposed to disturb them.’ She led him towards a door at the rear of the hall, the cat padding behind, and when they reached the kitchen, it leaped on to a chair between a green, unlit Aga, and a gleaming enamel gas cooker, staring at McKenna. As he reached out to stroke its ears, Phoebe snatched his hand away. Her flesh was cool, and felt immensely clean. ‘He might scratch! He’ll come to you when he’s ready.’ ‘It’s a pity they can’t be trained like guard dogs, isn’t it?’ She grinned, the bruise on her face rosy and shiny. ‘Clyde’s got a guard dog, or so he says.’ ‘Is he really called Clyde?’ ‘He’s called Jason Lloyd. She might end up as Minnie Lloyd.’ Opening the refrigerator, she said: ‘There’s some fresh lemonade, half a bottle of wine left over from last night, or you can have tea. Or coffee.’ ‘Tea’s nice on a hot day.’ She filled the kettle, took mugs from a cupboard, dropped four tea-bags into a pot, and leaned against the worktop while the kettle boiled, arms folded across her chest.
