Ceri nods to the men. “Iawn?”
“All right, Ceri?” Huw says. Out of habit, Ceri glances at Steffan’s drink, but—like Huw’s—it’s just a coffee. Steffan doesn’t notice—he’s intent on his conversation with Huw—and Ceri slaps the pile of invitations on the bar.
“Can I nab a bit of paper?” she asks Alun behind the bar.
He picks up an invitation and reads it. “They don’t seriously expect anyone from round here to go, do they?”
“Glynis Lloyd’s going.” Ceri scribbles a note on the piece of paper Alun gives her.
“With instructors,” Steffan is saying to Huw beside her.
Alun is shaking his head. “Shame on her. When she knows full well Jac wanted Ty’r Lan left alone. Even put it in his will. The man must be turning in his grave.”
“Why didn’t he say anything?” Steff is saying, but Ceri has had enough of The Shore, enough of broken-record locals and blokes in pubs. She walks out of the pub, leaving the invitations on the bar, topped with her note.
Open invitation,it reads.Free bar.
Ceri tells people it’s all water under the bridge.
It couldn’t be further from the truth.
Nineteen
January 5
Ffion
Just as Ffion and Leo arrive at The Shore, Bobby Stafford jogs toward them.
“I’ve downloaded the footage from my door cam,” he says as he reaches them. “I don’t know if it’s useful, but Rhys passed our place around half past ten on New Year’s Eve.”
“Thanks.” Leo takes the USB stick.
Ffion’s already walking away, her attention caught by a movement in the trees. She walks toward it, Leo a few paces behind, and finds Caleb Northcote lurking by the water’s edge, a hoodie pulled over his face. He throws a cigarette into the undergrowth behind him.
Ffion eyes him suspiciously. “What are you doing skulking about here?”
“I’m not skulking. I thought you were going to arrest Bobby.”
“Should we?” Leo says.
“He’s all right, he is. He’s teaching me to fight.” Caleb shifts his weight, his eyes looking around as though searching for the emergency exit. His face is pinched and anxious.
Ffion thinks of the glance that had passed between Felicia and Tabby when they’d heard Rhys was dead. “You hang out with the Lloyd twins a lot, right?”
“I guess.”
“How did they get on with their dad?”
“Dunno.” It’s automatic, but then: “They had a row.”
“The twins?”
“Rhys and Yasmin. Felicia and Tabby heard them arguing on Christmas Eve. Tabby said it was really bad.”
“Over what?”
Caleb shrugs. “Ask them.” He’s too savvy to talk, Ffion thinks, but too well brought up to walk away.