“Thank you,” Cathy mutters through gritted teeth. “If you hadn’t come along, I’d probably have been arrested for assault.”
Suzie smiles. “I’m trained to deal with conflict. We get it a lot in the pharmacy, even a small one like ours. Besides, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, as my grandmother used to say.”
A beat. Cathy is restless, turning her head to look at the house.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“Before Mr. Jenner came out, I looked through the letter box. There’s post lying on the mat. All the lights are off. I don’t think she’s been back home.”
Her voice wobbles but doesn’t break. Suzie feels her heart sink. There’s something wrong. They both feel it.
“Listen, maybe Hazel paid Laurence Mitchell to look after the cats so she could get back to her husband. That’s what I’d do. I’d miss Teddy like mad.”
“She isn’t with Joe anymore. That’s why she came back home. They’re divorcing.” Cathy catches Suzie’s expression and clucks her tongue. “Ah, right. She hadn’t told you. Great. Bigmouth strikes again, as The Smiths said.”
Suzie doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know who The Smiths are, but shedoesremember how Hazel had looked when Suzie mentioned Joe, how fast Hazel had turned away from her, and how quickly she’d changed the subject.
Cathy reaches for her bag. “Can I smoke in here?”
“No. The smell gets into the upholstery. Do your parents still have the French windows round the back?”
Cathy blinks, surprised. She turns to Suzie. “Yes. Why?”
“Open the glove box.”
Bemused, Cathy leans forward and peers inside. It’s neat and tidy in there, of course—nothing like the spill of wrappers and lighters and old cans of antifreeze in Cathy’s own car, only a logbook and a crumpled chamois leather beside a long flat-head screwdriver. She pulls the screwdriver out and holds it questioningly up to Suzie, who nods, just once.
“Used to carry a rape alarm but I’ve learned that under pressure I’m better with a weapon.”
Suzie climbs out of the car and Cathy stares after her, shaking her head in wonderment.Suzie Trebath, she thinks,you dark, dark horse.
They scale the locked back gate by pushing a wheelie bin against it and clambering over. The back garden is in full darkness, but the security light switches on as they approach the patio, making both women jump in fright.
Up close, the darkened windows and open curtains speak of vacancy, and there’s an unnatural stillness behind the glass. Suzie steps up to the French doors and nods toward the top of the frame where the two doors meet.
“Help me,” she whispers to Cathy, indicating the top of the door. “I need you to push the door inward, okay? Hard as you can.”
Cathy does as she’s asked, creating a narrow gap into which Suzie slides the flat end of the screwdriver, drawing it downward until they hear the click of the flush bolt. Then she crouches, doing the same at the bottom, leaning her weight onto it until something clicks and the doors swing silently inward. Cathy whistles.
“My dad showed me how,” Suzie tells her. She looks almost embarrassed, Cathy thinks.
They both exchange a look of apprehension before they enter the darkened room beyond the doors. It is so quiet that somewhere in the house they can hear a clock ticking. Cathy calls out to her sister in a husky, frightened voice. She hits the lights with the heel of her palm, turning to Suzie, who is bright-eyed with fear.
“You don’t have to do this, Suzie. You’ve already helped me out enough.”
Suzie swallows and they share a shocking, tacit understanding, nodding slightly.They are going in together.
Cathy moves out into the hallway and Suzie follows, drawing alongside her as they stare at the small pile of post on the tiles beneath the letter box.
“Kitchen first,” Cathy whispers, breaking the silence. They walk through an arched doorway, turning on the counter lights to illuminate washing up piled in the sink, toast crumbs on the counter. Suzie picks up a bottle of milk, turned soupy and thick. There are two ceramic bowls in an alcove beside the fridge, both painted pink. One hasConquestwritten on it in fancy, curlicue script. The other,Celeste. They are both empty.
Cathy finds a pair of Hazel’s trainers lying at the bottom of the stairs as if they have been kicked off. There are no signs ofstruggle, but Cathy takes no comfort in that. She begins to climb the staircase with Suzie following reluctantly behind her. Suzie is gripping the screwdriver tightly, nerves taut as trip wires, so jumpy she thinks if the doorbell rang right there and then, she would likely scream.
“This is Hazel’s room.” Cathy nods toward the closed door to their left as they reach the landing. They exchange an uneasy glance. Downstairs, the clock ticks, the refrigerator hums.Everything feels normal, Suzie thinks,and yet it isn’t. There’s some dreadful knowledge waiting for us beyond that door, I can feel it.
“Wait!” She reaches out and grabs Cathy’s arm as Cathy moves to open the door. “I don’t think I can go in there.”