Dread fills my stomach and I want to reach out and hold her, tell her everything will be okay. She folds her arms across her stomach, vulnerability pouring from her.
“It’s okay,” she rushes out when I step away to leave. “What can I help you with?”
The only reason I answer, and the only reason I stay, is because this girl might be fragile, but she’s screaming for a distraction.
“I’m Hayden Carter. I’m looking for Rita Jones,” I tell her, cringing when my thoughts are confirmed.
Her face pales, her bottom lip trembling. “She—she passed away last week.”
Fucking hell.
Sucking in a lungful of air, I move a step forward, taking her by surprise when I hold her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t know. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Did you know my nan?”
“I—I, um.” I pause to gather my nerves. I can’t lie to this woman. She’s already going through enough. She deserves my honesty. “I didn’t personally, no. I’m friends with someone who is looking into the murder of the reporter that came to ask Rita some questions about the break-in.”
I badly want to ask how her nan died, but the timing seems morbid. It can’t be a coincidence that two people connected to the break-ins have died.
“I read about that in the paper. Do you think the two are connected?”
“They aren’t sure. I’m just backtracking her footsteps before the murder,” I partially lie.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know this is a lot to ask, but could me and my cousin,” I begin, pointing to my car, “come in? I’d like to ask some questions about the night of the break-in.”
Her eyebrows scrunch together. “I don’t understand. My nan already gave the police a statement.”
“I know. I’m just wondering what she saw that night that made Christina come here to ask questions.”
She looks back into the house, before nodding. “There’s not a lot I can really tell you. But yes, you can both come in.”
I stop myself from jumping with glee when I remember she’s lost someone.
“I’ll just go get my cousin.”
“All right. Let yourself in, I just want to go sweep some glass up. I’m Beth, by the way.”
I give her a nod before walking back down the path, waving Charlotte over.
She gets out, grabbing the hamper from the backseat. I wait for her to shut the door before locking the car.
“Everything okay?” she asks, reading my face.
“Rita passed away last week. Her granddaughter is there.”
Tears brim the edge of her eyelids. “That poor girl. She must be really hurting. It still hurts when I think of Nan and Granddad. And I bet they didn’t want to risk telling her dad in case he took a turn for the worse.”
I pull her in for a side hug, careful not to knock into the tea hamper. Losing Nan and Granddad had been hard on all of us. They were the heart of the family and we all truly felt their loss.
“They went together and weren’t in pain,” I remind her, knowing it was the only saving grace of their death. They weren’t alone. It doesn’t change how much we miss them, or how hard it was to move through our grief, but it does help. “And let’s not mention the dad in case it brings up more bad memories.”
“Let’s see if there’s anything we can do to help. She’s probably going through one of the hardest parts of losing someone.”
I look up at the two-storey bricked house, sighing. Charlotte’s right. When we cleaned out Nan and Granddad’s, it was tougher than the funeral in some ways. It truly felt like a goodbye. None of us wanted to give or throw away anything that belonged to the two most important people in our lives. It felt like we were erasing them. It wasn’t odds and ends, it was their life. Where we grew up. The only saving grace during that whole ordeal was we knew we wouldn’t have to watch someone else live there.
“Come on,” I tell her, leading her up to the door and letting us in.
“I’ve put the kettle on,” Beth announces, stepping into the hallway.
I look around the small hallway with stairs leading up. The beige walls have lighter marks where pictures used to hang. The green patterned carpet is lighter where furniture used to be. I look at Beth once again, seeing nothing but sadness.
I feel guilty for being here, for intruding on such an emotional and dreadful time.
“We got your nan this, but, um, we didn’t know…” Charlotte trails off.
“Is that earl tea?”
Charlotte beams. “There’s lavender in there too.”
“My favourite,” she tells us, before she loses her smile. “My nan’s too.”
“I’m Charlotte,” she greets. “Did you want me to put this in the kitchen? It’s kind of heavy.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Come in. The kitchen is through there.”
Beth leads us through a set of glass doors with dark wooden frames and into a living room.
“Why don’t I make us all one,” Charlotte offers when she sees the state of the living room. “You should sit down for five minutes.”
“Thank you. It’s just through that door,” she explains, pointing to the far left. She surveys the mess and winces. “Let me clear some of this up so you can sit down.”
“I’ll help,” I tell her, helping her transfer some of her nan’s belongings to the floor in a neat pile.
“How did your nan die, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She sits down on the wicca chair as I take a seat on the brown two-seater.
“I don’t mind at all. It’s still a shock, if I’m honest. They ruled it as a heart attack. I think getting herself worked up over the break-in caused it. I live an hour away and was on my way over when her care assistant called to tell me she had passed.”
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” I tell her sincerely. “What did you mean, she was getting herself worked up?”
She runs a hand over her jogging bottoms. “There’s something you need to understand about my nan; she hadn’t been well for a while. She hasn’t been with it lately. For months we’ve had a call-out care assistant check in on her. She’s been forgetful, suffering with mild insomnia, and hallucinating at times. When we spoke the week of her death, she feared she was being watched and would rant about them knowing she saw something and were trying to shut her up.”
“Saw?”
“The break-in. She saw who did it.”
“You didn’t believe her?”
“I’m honestly not sure. It didn’t seem like her usual ramblings or conspiracies to me. She was genuinely scared for her life. She changed a lot after she gave those statements; more lucid and less scatty. In a way, I worried she would leave a stove on. Instead, she just seemed quiet, distracted and withdrawn.”
“Did she witness them breaking in or running out?”
“Nan said she saw a young male lurking around outside when she came down to make a cup of tea. She couldn’t remember what compelled her to look outside. She was going to call the police, but her mind got distracted and she must have forgotten. She went back up to bed when she heard cars pulling into the street and saw the flashing lights. She said she went to the window that looks out onto the alley and part of the street to take a nosey. She said the young man from earlier was there with another man. They were arguing and the young man had blood on his cheek.”