Free Ill-Gotten Gains by Ilsa Evans Page A

serviette. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’
    ‘Actually, it does,’ I said. ‘He’s the most likely to get involved in something like this, given his love of history and intense curiosity. He’s also the one with the most time.’
    Yen pushed her plate aside. ‘In fact, Sam would have been hard pressed getting rid of the man. He would have been in his element. But he’s no murderer.’
    ‘Everybody has some potential for evil.’ I looked over Yen’s shoulder to the adjoining table where the young woman was now feeding the unprepossessing baby. It made a grab for the spoon, missed, and then clapped its hands. The father took a photo with his mobile phone. I thought of Darcy and Tessa. He had been a good father, and no doubt would be again. Taking photos of his own. My risotto felt like lead in the pit of my stomach; like bullets. If I could feel like this about someone I once loved, then surely anybody could be a murderer under the right circumstances. Or the wrong ones.

Chapter Seven
    I am writing with regard to your weekly column, in particular your sentence structure. While I do enjoy your writing, the short and/or incomplete sentences are very off-putting. There were six such examples in your March 10 column, eight in March 17, and nine in March 24. Nine! This suggests an upward momentum that I find rather concerning. As a reader.
     
    Faint light came from the half-open curtains at Edward Given’s house, suggesting that he was somewhere towards the rear. I ran through the various scenarios in my mind. One: he and Sam had disagreed and he had lashed out; two: he had left Sam before anything untoward had occurred; three: he had witnessed something untoward but was too frightened to come forward. Four: he had no idea about anything and we were on totally the wrong trail. Local woman points finger at innocent man. Again.
    ‘I’m a bit surprised he’s not peeking through the curtains,’ said Petra, who was still sitting beside me in the car despite the fact we had been parked in her driveway for ten minutes. Lucy had long since dragged Quinn into her house, on the corner, to show her something or other. Yen already had her own lights off and curtains drawn, no doubt just in case we felt compelled to visit.
    ‘Yes, that is strange.’
    ‘So, what are you going to do?’
    I sighed, but didn’t turn. ‘Get a realtor in, find out the market value. Speak to the bank.’
    ‘Nell, it’s just a house. Don’t beggar yourself for a house. Maybe you’d be better off selling, and not just in a financial sense. Let yourself move on. He has.’
    ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ I glanced at the dashboard clock and back towards Ned’s house. ‘This really is rather strange. It’s only eight-thirty so he can’t possibly be in bed.’
    ‘Here.’ Petra leant over and pressed the horn before I could stop her. A rather pathetic bleating emerged. ‘Good lord.’
    ‘Yes, it’s embarrassing. If someone cuts me off I have to rely on a forbidding expression.’
    Petra beeped the horn again, twice. ‘Sounds like its balls haven’t dropped.’
    ‘Which is how I prefer my cars, thanks.’
    A dog barked in the distance, frenetic at first and then slowing into intermittent bursts that punched the silence. Quinn appeared at Lucy’s lounge-room window, frowning. I shook my head and waved her back, then returned my gaze to Ned’s windows. Nothing.
    ‘Let’s go over,’ suggested Petra. ‘We’ll just knock, see if he’s there.’
    ‘Last time I suspected Ned of nefarious doings, I ended up making a fool of myself.’
    ‘Ancient history,’ said Petra breezily. She opened her door. ‘Come on.’
    Several woody rhododendrons edged his porch, with dried blooms that pushed against our legs as we mounted the few steps. I rubbed my hands as Petra rang the doorbell and we listened to it echo within the house. The only other sound was a faint throaty rumble, which suggested that the heating was on. I fastened the buttons on