Annie had Tony drive her over to the cemetery next day. She bought roses on the way; pink, Dolly’s favourite colour. Then she went alone to the freshly filled grave. Someone had put up a wooden cross; it would take time for the ground to settle, months before a proper headstone could be erected. Which was OK. Now that they had a handle on who had robbed Dolly of life, everything else would follow at its own pace.
They would find Pete Jones. Peter Jameson.
And then . . . Dolly would be avenged.
‘We’re on it, Doll,’ she whispered under her breath as she stood and looked at the cross there. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to find that arsehole.’
‘Talking to yourself?’ asked a female voice behind her.
It was Ellie.
Annie gave her a sarky look. ‘No good talking to you, is it?’
Ellie stepped forward, looking sheepish. ‘Chris says it’s all OK now. That you and Mr Carter have sorted it.’
Constantine’s dead, if that’s what you mean.
She still wasn’t sure that Max had forgiven her for keeping to the code like she’d sworn she would. But wouldn’t he have done the same? She knew he would.
‘I suppose we have,’ said Annie.
‘Well, good. I’m pleased,’ said Ellie, impulsively linking her arm through Annie’s. Ellie looked down at the grave. ‘It’s so bloody peculiar. Thinking of Doll in there.’
‘She’s at peace now,’ said Annie.
‘If you believe in all that,’ said Ellie.
Annie wasn’t sure whether she believed or not. But she hoped Doll was somewhere else; somewhere better.
‘Chris said it was Pete Jones,’ said Ellie.
‘That’s right.’
‘That son of a bitch.’
Annie bent, wincing at the pain from her broken rib. It was getting better, but still there. She emptied the dead flowers Dolly’s sister Sarah had placed there from the vase, and put the pink roses in there instead. She placed the vase carefully on the grave.
‘Hurts still, does it?’ asked Ellie.
‘Not too bad. Got lots of painkillers. Another month, I’ll be able to get this strapping off. Can’t wait. It’s awkward showering with the damned thing on.’
‘What you going to do now then? Go back to Barbados? Or stay on? I mean, you and Mr Carter, it’s all OK now, ain’t that right?’
‘Dunno. I might stay for a while.’ We haven’t got Peter Jones yet. And Max? I just don’t know.
‘Oh. So it’s like that, is it?’
‘I don’t know what it’s like, Ellie. That’s the truth.’
‘Well, if you do stay on, why don’t we make a date then? Drink a toast to the old cow’s memory, eh? Next Thursday at the Ritz.’
Annie turned and looked at Ellie. For the first time in a fortnight, she actually felt like smiling. ‘It’s a date,’ she said.