“Are you okay, poppet? You’ve gone all flushed.” Her granddad paused on the steps above her. “You know your gran started having hot flashes quite young.”
Motts yanked off her jumper, hoping the T-shirt underneath would be cooler. “I never knew that. Mum certainly doesn’t talk about menopause.”
“Think it runs in my Martha’s side of the family. Her mum suffered the same way. Not the greatest thing to inherit.” He waited patiently for her to be ready to continue up the stairs. “I remember your gran sleeping with a fan at night for a number of years. I had to use an extra blanket to keep from getting frostbitten toes.”
“Granddad.”
“Suffering for my love.” He winked at her. “Are you ready to tackle Amy?”
“It would’ve been so much more useful to have hot flashes yesterday before I almost turned into a pineapple Sparkle.” Motts tied her jumper around her waist. “I don’t even like that kind of popsicle.”
Continuing up toward the O’Connell home, Motts wondered if Amy would be more receptive. She hadn’t seemed thrilled to see them the last time. And the incident at the warehouse likely hadn’t improved matters.
Over lunch, Teo hadn’t told them much about the investigation. He said they were looking into it in connection with the cold case. His only other admission was that the security cameras around the warehouse had magically stopped working right before she’d been shoved into the freezer.
Motts didn’t believe in coincidences. “Do you think Amy will talk to us?”
“Talk? Or get shirty and shout at us?”
“Either.”
“She might chat with me, owing to my relationship with her dad. She did better with him than her mum.” Her granddad reached the top of the steps and came to a stop. Motts had been keeping her eyes on the stairs to keep from tripping and wound up going straight into the back of him. “Granddad.”
“Young Michael. You’re the spitting image of your granddad.” He grabbed Mikey’s hand, shaking vigorously while shifting enough to allow Motts to continue up the steps. “How’s your mother doing? I was sorry to hear about your grandmother.”
Mikey glanced over at Motts, who didn’t shake his hand. “Heard you got stuck in one of the freezers. Dangerous things. You should be careful around them.”
Motts stared at Mikey. Was he threatening her or genuinely showing concern? She didn’t want to assume the worst. “I didn’t stroll into the icebox of death on purpose. Someone shoved me into it. Is there a ghost at the warehouse? A rogue fish spirit who wants revenge for being eaten?”
“A rogue fish spirit?” Her granddad chuckled. “So, young Michael, did you punch my granddaughter to try to kill her?”
Mikey gaped at both of them. “What? Are you joking? I’d never. I wasn’t even near the freezers.”
“Hmm.” Her granddad huffed. “She didn’t punch herself in the back, did she? If not you, then who? Your mum and brother were at the warehouse as well.”
“Well, it wasn’t sodding me, you old—”
“Hey now,” Motts interrupted him. “Don’t be rude to my granddad.”
They glared at each other at the top of the steps for almost a full minute. Mikey cursed at them and stomped off. He shoved his way past to jog down the steps toward the village.
“Something we said?” Her granddad watched the fleeing O’Connell. “Shall we brave the mother, since we’ve conquered the son?”
“Not sure she’ll be any more welcoming.” Motts found Mikey’s strong reaction strange. “Was he angry at the accusation out of guilt or because he’s innocent?”
“I don’t think he shoved you. Could be wrong.” Her granddad scratched his jaw. “His shock seemed genuine enough.”
“Did it?” Motts hadn’t been able to tell. He’d appeared angry to her. “If he’s innocent, it leaves Jasper or their mum, Amy.”
“Jasper certainly has a temper.” He nodded down to where they could still see Mikey in the distance. “All the O’Connells have one. Runs in the family. Came from their great-grandfather. He was a brute of a man.”
Motts wondered how much trouble the O’Connell brothers had gotten themselves into over the years. Tempers didn’t tend to mean calm waters and trouble-free lives. She’d have to remember to ask Hughie if he’d arrested them in the past. “Did their dad have a temper as well?”
“Both their dad and granddad. Hard workers. Harder drinkers. Nadine handled the business on land while they stayed out at sea if they weren’t in the pub.” Her granddad shifted his attention from the village to down the street toward the cottage. “Seems such a long time ago, poppet. Your gran and I never saw much of them once Nadine fell ill. It’s hard being around a bitter person all the time. Such a brittle and prickly personality.”
“Amy or Nadine?”
“Both, to be honest.”
“What the hell do you want? I told you never to come back here.”
Motts spun away from her granddad and noticed Amy O’Connell screaming at a scruffy familiar figure. “What in the world is Ashby doing here?”
“Friend of yours?” he asked while they tried to sneakily watch the drama unfold in front of them. “This is better than Gogglebox.”
“What’s Gogglebox?” Motts watched Ashby with a growing sense of suspicion. Why would he go near Amy after his supposed traumatic run-in with them? Weird. “Is it a telly thing?”
“Our lovely odd little poppet.”
“I’m almost forty.”
“And?” He shrugged. “I’ll always see the tiny brunette who hid from her mum in my study. You sat behind my old chair, folding paper into frogs and birds. I had a menagerie lining my bookshelves.”
“You snuck me Jammie Dodgers and bags of Monster Munch.” Motts had always loved his study. It smelled strongly of old books and coffee. “I used to pretend I’d stowed away on a pirate ship and underneath your desk was one of the cabins.”
“Not you again.” Amy’s screech broke into their moment of nostalgia. She’d spotted them and come speeding down the path. “Haven’t you learnt to mind your sodding business by now?”
“Are you speaking to me, Amy O’Connell?” Her granddad frowned down his nose at Amy, who came to a sudden stop.
The shouting drew Ashby slightly closer to them. He blanched when Motts stepped to the side and into view. She frowned when he raced off in the opposite direction.
Weird. Very weird. Why is everyone behaving so strangely today?
And what on earth is Ashby doing arguing with Amy O’Connell when he made it seem as though he had no reason to ever be in Polperro again?
“Why don’t we head home, poppet?” He suggested when Amy spun around, stormed back to her home, and slammed the door firmly shut. “We can sneak by Treleavens for an ice cream. We deserve a treat.”
“My treat.”
“What sort of granddad lets his only granddaughter pay for ice cream?” He shook his head with a wry chuckle.
“Does that mean if River was a girl you’d let me pay?”
“No.” Her granddad gave her a confused look. “I’d still be paying.”
Motts had a distinct feeling she’d put too much thought into his rhetorical question. “Have you tried their lemon meringue flavour?”
When in doubt, talk about ice cream flavours and not my ability to misunderstand regular conversation.
Despite her grandmother’s best efforts, Motts’s mum refused to be distracted for more than a day. The morning after the curious incident at the O’Connell cottage, her parents descended on her after breakfast. Her dad smiled apologetically, gave her a hug, and disappeared into the garden to inspect her shed.
Why does he have to see the shed? It hasn’t changed at all. He’s observed it loads of times.
His absence left her mum free to unload her thoughts. And she did. Motts focused her attention on a new quilling project and allowed the words to flow around her without hearing them.
“Are you listening?”
Motts glanced up from where she’d been cutting strips of pastel-coloured paper. “Not really, no.”
“What is this?” Her mum grabbed one of the pale pink pieces. “Crafting?”
“You know what quilling is, Mum. A client commissioned a piece of art for her four-year-old daughter. It’s going to have a bicycle with flowers.” Motts continued cutting the strips. She had loads to do before beginning the process of turning them into shapes and scrolls. “Is the lecture over?”
“We’re heading home to London. A detective there wants to speak with us about Jenny again. We hoped you’d come home with us.”
“I am home.” Motts cut sharply, completely messing up the strip of paper. She set the ruined sheet and scissors down on the table. “I love Cornwall. I can breathe here. Unlike London, where every moment outside the house suffocated me.”
“Don’t be dramatic, darling,” her mum argued.
“I’m rarely dramatic. I’m quiet. Silent even when I shouldn’t be.” Motts shot to her feet, reaching back to keep the chair from falling over. “I want coffee. I’m going for coffee. I love you. You’ll want to be on the road to London sooner rather than later to avoid traffic.”
“Darling.”
“This is my home.” Motts rushed out of the cottage, barely remembering to grab her backpack by the door. “I should’ve kept my temper.”
“Morning.”
Motts lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She finally noticed the unmarked police car parked behind her parents’ vehicle. “Teo?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing in person. I see your parents are still visiting.” He strode up to her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Family stuff.” Motts eyed Teo suspiciously. “Why would Detective Inspector Byrne ask my parents to return to London to ask them questions about Jenny?”
“I have no idea how the minds of fancy London detectives work.”
“Teo.”