‘Does he still own Fisherman’s Cottage?’ Mia asked.
‘Yeah. Gives Olivia – and Bronte, I guess – a staff discount on the rent.’ Lyn paused. ‘So I suppose Chris Renn will be needing to have a word with him.’
‘I saw Sergeant Renn down at the beach,’ Kieran said, picturing the broad police officer framed in the bedroom window. ‘He’s in charge still?’
Lyn nodded and kicked her spent cigarette butt into the sandy ditch.
‘For now, anyway –’ She broke off, and before Kieran could ask what she meant, Lyn had turned her attention to the road, where a dark-haired man was approaching. He was frowning at his mobile phone, typing something furiously with his thumb as he walked.
‘Oh God.’ Lyn rolled her eyes. ‘Here’s another one who won’t be happy. He likes his routine. He’ll have to go to the library instead. George –’ She raised her voice as the man, still oblivious, climbed the steps to the Surf and Turf’s front entrance. He looked up in surprise when the locked door rattled in his hand.
‘Closed, I’m afraid, George, love.’
The man blinked, and Kieran recognised him as the customer with the laptop who Bronte had served the night before. He appeared to have his laptop with him again today, only now it was encased in a battered leather satchel slung across his chest. He had turned up the collar of his light jacket against the sea breeze and, somewhat improbably, had an actual print newspaper tucked under his arm. The fact he was no older than early forties and had the world’s news on the phone in the palm of his other hand made the perfectly innocent object look like a nostalgic affectation.
‘Why is it shut?’ he asked Lyn, peering through the Surf and Turf’s darkened windows. Kieran saw Mia watching him with a faintly puzzled look on her face.
‘There’s been an accident. Down at the beach,’ Lyn said. ‘Something’s happened to Bronte.’
The man turned at that. ‘Really? Is she okay?’
‘No.’ Lyn’s voice was tight. She lit another cigarette. ‘No. Sergeant Renn’s down there now.’
The man looked at her, then nodded slowly, getting her meaning. He swapped his newspaper to his other arm and pulled out his phone again, tapping with a different intent this time, his expression sober as he scrolled. Kieran watched him, then turned as Mia touched his arm and pointed across the road.
Ash, grey-faced and walking so fast that his dog had to trot to keep up with him, had his eyes down and his own phone pressed to his ear. After a silent moment, he dropped his hand and glared at the screen in frustration.
‘Ash!’ Kieran called, and Ash stopped. He blinked, as though he’d almost forgotten for a moment that they were back in town, then changed direction and headed over.
‘You’ve heard about Bronte?’ he was saying before he’d even reached them. ‘I can’t get hold of Liv.’
‘Renn’s over at the cottage,’ Kieran said. ‘I didn’t see Liv, though. Maybe she’s at the station.’
‘Right.’ Ash didn’t look much happier with that, and raked a hand across his unshaven jaw. ‘I heard Liv found her.’
‘Found Bronte?’ Mia said. ‘I thought she stayed at her mum’s last night?’
‘Yeah, she did. I dropped her off there myself.’ Ash shook his head and checked his phone again. The screen was still blank. ‘So, yeah. I don’t know.’
Ash looked up now and saw that the man on the steps had stopped scrolling and was listening to them.
‘Jesus, do you bloody mind, George?’ Ash gave the bloke the blank-eyed stare that typically made most people immediately look away. Not this guy, though, Kieran was interested to note. He held Ash’s gaze before shrugging and turning back to his own phone.
‘Oh my God, poor Liv,’ Mia said. ‘Can you imagine what that would be like for her? Finding her housemate like that? Especially after everything with Gabby.’
‘This is a lot different from Gabby, though,’ Kieran said. ‘I mean –’
Bronte’s body had been right there, for one thing. He didn’t finish the thought out loud. Wished he hadn’t started it.
‘It’s the same beach –’ Mia said.
That was true, Kieran thought. But it was a big stretch of sand.
‘– And it was around this time of year, too.’
‘It’s a tragedy, that’s what it is.’ Lyn had lit a fresh cigarette and inhaled with force. ‘Bronte was a beautiful soul. And that beach is too bloody dark. It’s an accident waiting to happen.’
She was still clinging to that then, Kieran noted.
‘Accident or not –’ the man on the steps cut in. He was reading something on his phone. ‘It sounds like someone was seen with her.’
‘How would you know that?’ Ash snapped.
‘Evelyn Bay Online Community Hub.’ The man regarded Ash. ‘You’re not a regular on the EBOCH forum then, I take it?’
‘No.’ Ash actually laughed. ‘If I want to know what my nan and her mates think about last week’s bin collection, I’ll pop down the retirement home and ask them.’
‘Fair enough. Although personally –’ The man shrugged, his eyes still on Ash. ‘– I always find it quite interesting what people care enough to bitch about.’
An odd tension that Kieran couldn’t even begin to read passed between the two men.
‘Sorry, mate.’ He jumped in before Ash could respond. ‘You said someone was seen with Bronte? Does it say who?’
The man scanned his screen, then shook his head.
‘Not yet.’ He dropped his phone in his pocket and headed down the steps. ‘But give it five minutes.’
Ash looked like he was about to say something more when his own phone buzzed. He pulled it out, relief flashing across his face. Kieran watched his expression change as he read the text message.
‘Shit,’ he breathed as he read it again.
What? Kieran wanted to ask, but all at once he found himself picturing Bronte. Standing knee-deep in the sea. Holding out the lost property box. Lying very still on the
