At seven o’clock the kitchen in the Crowley house was alive with cooking smells and busy hands.
They had recently got back from a power walk in Cornwall Park, and Molly was in the shower while Dan got dinner ready. Brown rice was simmering on the stove while he made patties at the bench, mixing chicken mince with finely grated carrot and zucchini, salt and pepper, chilli flakes, bread crumbs and a beaten egg. He coated the small patties in flour before placing them all in a hot pan with oil.
A pot of fresh beans from the garden was just coming to a simmer when Molly came in, dressed in flannelette pyjamas with her hair still wet.
Dan eyed her while she poured a tall glass of water with a squeeze of lemon.
‘There’s a lot to be said for flannelette PJs,’ he said, cocking an eyebrow.
She eyed him back, taking in his sweat stained T-shirt and the dirty knees he’d got when he slipped over chasing her in the park.
‘Dream on,’ she said. She peered at the rice. ‘Did you wash that?’
‘It looked clean when I got it out,’ he replied facetiously.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Go and have a shower; you stink. I’ll finish this.’
‘Hmmm.’ Dan paused to consider the suggestion. ‘If you think you’re up to it…’
‘Go,’ she said, ‘you smelly boy.’
They ate at the dining room table with the TV off. With the busy lives they led they had made it a rule in their house that dinner was sacrosanct. They cleaned up afterwards together before taking a cold Pinot Gris to the lounge and putting their feet up.
‘D’you think Mike’s doing okay with this job?’ Molly asked, taking a small sip.
Dan gave a lopsided grin and flicked his eyebrows. ‘In general, so far so good. He’s picking the skills up as he goes, so there should be no issue there.’ He shrugged. ‘But as far as this specific investigation goes…who knows? I’m hoping he doesn’t let his emotions cloud his judgement.’
‘It’d be pretty uncool if he did,’ Molly noted.
‘It would.’ Dan took a sip and let the cold fruitiness sit on his tongue. ‘Very uncool.’
‘Miss Stacey has an interesting family,’ Molly remarked, hitting Print on her PC. The printer whirred and popped out a family tree she’d been working on.
Mike looked up sharply from his desk. ‘As in what?’
‘Dad’s done jail time for robbery and arson. Mum’s remarried to an Englishman, now living in Spain. She’s got a brother who’s working in the mines in Oz, and it looks like there was a sister who died some years ago.’
Mike nodded but said nothing. She slipped the family tree onto his desk.
‘The wonders of social media,’ she smiled.
‘Why are you looking at them?’ he asked, scanning the document. ‘It’s not going to be any of her own family.’
Molly returned to her own seat, accepting the cup of green tea her husband passed her as he emerged from the kitchenette.
‘Most blackmailers are close to the victim,’ Dan said, offering her a plate of muffins. ‘It’s rare for the blackmailer to be an unknown, or someone remote.’
Molly selected a muffin and set it on a paper napkin. Dan crossed to Mike’s desk and put down a mug of coffee. Mike peered suspiciously at the muffins.
‘What’re these?’
‘Bran and sultana. Helps keep you regular.’ Dan was poker faced. ‘You could probably do with one, you seem a bit uptight.’
Molly gave an unladylike snort and Mike frowned. He took a muffin anyway.
‘So you reckon it’s one of her family?’ Mike said. He bit into the muffin. It tasted weird.
‘I think we need some more detail from her,’ Dan said. He shoved half a muffin into his mouth and brushed a crumb from his moustache. The muffin was moist and good.