Another night passed with little sleep. I kept thinking of Nye on the floor in the lounge and wishing I could turn the clock back. Why hadn't I just laughed off the "delicious" comment? I should've known he wouldn't have wanted to get involved, but no, I just had to lay my cards on the table and make a complete fool out of myself.

My only consolation was that when I got downstairs, bleary eyed and dopey from lack of rest, Nye looked the same.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"Nope." I couldn't be bothered to put a brave face on things anymore. "You?"

He shook his head. "Coffee?"

"Make it strong."

After two cups of liquid caffeine, Nye pulled a sports jacket on over the top of his customary black jeans and T-shirt instead of his usual leather one.

"What?" he asked when he caught me looking. "I can do smart."

I wrinkled my nose. "Sort of."

"I'm not wearing a tuxedo to visit Carol."

"Do you even own a tuxedo?"

He flashed a smile. "Of course. Every man should own a tuxedo. I tie my own bow ties too."

It surprised me, finding out those little things. Nye didn't seem the type to go out to posh functions, although that hardly mattered to me now. Not after last night.

We rode to Carol's in silence, but not the comfortable silence we'd shared on the trip back from the supermarket yesterday. No, this was a yawning chasm of awkwardness that stretched between the two front seats.

At least Carol didn't seem to notice. As with last time, she only had eyes for Nye as she served up coffee and Danishes. Plural for Nye, singular for me.

"I ground the beans myself," she told him as she put his cup down.

He managed to muster up a "terrific."

"So, what can I do for you today? I still haven't managed to get to the bottom of those awful rumours, but I've started a few of my own." She gave me my first smile. "All complimentary, of course."

"We're very grateful," Nye said. "But today we're trying to find out more about Olivia's Aunt Eleanor."

Carol sucked air in through her teeth. "Not a very nice woman, was Eleanor Rigby. That's probably why the tales about Olivia were swallowed so easily."

"Why? What did she do?" I asked.

"It wasn't so much what she did. She mostly kept herself to herself. It was more about who she married and who she gave birth to."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Eleanor married Harold Rigby." Carol spat the words as if they were poisonous. "A petty criminal through and through, and the apple didn't fall far from the tree with their son. Eleanor turned a blind eye to all their misdemeanours. Worshipped the very ground they walked on."

Could that be why my mother fell out with her? Something to do with her husband? I'd never know for sure, but my mother wouldn't have been one to tolerate a criminal in the family.

"What sort of misdemeanours, Carol?" Nye asked.

"You name it, and Harry Rigby probably had a finger in it. Shoplifting, burglary, running illegal poker games. A con artist, too. That's what he got sent to jail for. He swindled a lady in Sandlebury out of her life savings."

I could almost see Nye's mind working. There was money involved. Did someone think Harold Rigby's ill-gotten gains were hidden in Lilac Cottage?

"How long ago was that?" Nye asked.

"Must be fifteen years ago now. Harry was only inside for a couple of years, but it must have taken its toll, because he died two months after he got out. A stroke, if I recall correctly. The landlord of The Coach and Horses gave everyone a drink on the house in celebration."

Fifteen years. That was a long time for someone to have hung on to a significant amount of money, especially with the amount of junk Aunt Ellie seemed so fond of buying.

And Nye appeared to be thinking along the same lines. "What about Eleanor's son?"

"Ronnie. That was his name. Ronald Rigby. He followed in his father's footsteps, all right. I caught him stealing one of my chickens when he was barely ten years old. He went to jail too, for breaking Horrible Henry's nose. With the two Rigbys out of the way, the crime rate dropped to almost zero."

"Horrible Henry?" I asked.

"It's what all the girls call Henry Forster. That one can't keep his hands to himself. I still remember Luke Halston-Cain's ex-girlfriend giving him what for in his you-know-whats at the Hunt Ball. At least, that's what Henry claimed."

Was that Emmy? Surely it must have been.

"I should have thought Ronnie deserved a medal for that, not jail."

"And every woman in the Foxfords agreed with you. But it went to the Crown Court. Henry's father played golf with the judge, and Ronnie got five years."

"When did he get released?" Nye asked.

"He didn't. Upset a few too many people, did Ronnie, and came out feet first after barely a year inside. He's buried in the same row as his mother."

That much I knew. Aunt Ellie's son was long gone, and we'd hit a dead end, quite literally. A shame, because Ronnie would have made such a promising suspect.

"What about Betty Hazell's son? Do you know him?" Nye asked.

Carol's mouth set in a hard line. "Larry always was a strange one. When he was a teenager, he used to go around borrowing from washing lines. Ladies' smalls were his favourite. I always thought Betty must have dropped him on his head as a baby, but she won't hear a bad word said against him."

A bit like Aunt Ellie and Ronnie, then.

"Have you seen Larry around lately?"

Carol leaned back in her chair and took a sip of tea as she thought. "He picked Betty up after a WI meeting, let's see, two months ago? No, three. We'd just begun discussing the Christmas food drive, and that was at the beginning of November."

"She told one of my men she hadn't seen him for at least twice that long."

"I'm sure it was him. He got out to open the door for her, and I remember thinking he needed a good haircut."

"Can you remember what he was driving?"

"I'm not very good with cars, dear. It was maroon, that's as much as I can tell you."

"Don't worry—I'll check whether there's a car registered to him." Nye paused to take a gulp of milky tea. "How about Warren Hannigan?"

Warren? Why was Nye asking questions about him?

"Young Warren? I don't know him personally. Why? Is he a suspect?"

"Should he be?"

"Well, I'm not one to gossip..."

I glanced at Nye, and he couldn't keep a straight face either.

"But there was an incident not so long ago that made everyone see him in a different light."

"What kind of incident?"

"Warren's an artist in his spare time."

"What kind of artist?" Nye asked.

"Landscapes, mainly, but that's not what he used to paint. Women..." She leaned closer. "Women with no clothes on!"

Nye smiled faintly. "I'm not sure that's a crime."

"No, but he hired one of the girls from the village to pose for him, and she said he touched her. Inappropriately."

I choked on a mouthful of coffee and coughed until Nye thumped me on the back. Warren did what?

"I understand Warren doesn't have a criminal record," Nye said.

"Young Claire never did press charges. Too scared, if you ask me. What kind of man takes advantage of an innocent girl like that?"

"How do you know he took advantage of her?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? All the arty-farty stuff was just a ruse to prey on the fairer sex. If I were you, I'd pay close attention to that one."

"I'll look into it."

The thought that Warren could be a predator left me cold inside, but I stopped myself from jumping to conclusions. After all, the whole village had swallowed any number of lies about me. Perhaps that was why Warren hadn't judged me when almost everybody else had?

Carol shuddered despite the fact that her dining room was heated to a balmy temperature. "What are the Foxfords coming to? First Ronnie, then Warren and Larry, and now this man fixated on Olivia. Back in my youth, parents disciplined their children properly, and we didn't have any of this trouble."

Nye pushed his chair back a couple of inches and glanced at his watch. "You've been very helpful, and thanks so much for breakfast."

Carol's face fell. "You're leaving already?"

"Like you said, I should look into the matters you raised."

"Yes, yes, of course. Let me pack you up a bag of pastries to take with you."

I trailed Nye out to the car, and once again, he held the door open for me. Manners. It seemed every man around here had them, even the perverts like Larry.

Where did Nye learn his? He knew my entire life story, but I didn't even know where he lived. Did he have a family? What was his upbringing like?

Then again, what did it matter? Nye wasn't interested in me, and after this mess got sorted out, I'd probably never see him again. It wasn't as if we ran in the same circles.

That thought left me more depressed than ever as Nye started the engine.

"What's next?" I asked.

"I'll ask my team to take another look at Larry and Warren, and while they're doing that, I want to speak to Betty."

I had a horrible feeling that little chat would put me firmly back in her bad books.

In the post office, Betty was holding court behind the counter with a group of her acquaintances huddled around. Their eyes lit up when they turned and saw Nye. I'd always imagined they discussed recipes for apple pie and the latest knitting patterns at WI meetings, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe they ogled calendars and compared the models' assets.

As we got closer, I realised Betty didn't share their glee. If anything, she looked a little nervous.

"Can you spare a few minutes?" Nye asked.

Her smile disappeared. "Now?"

"We can come back later if it's more convenient."

She motioned at a door on the far side of the shop. "Better to get it over with. We'll have to continue our chat tomorrow, girls."

Betty flipped the sign from Open to Closed as they left, then led the way upstairs to her tiny flat.

"It's about my Larry, isn't it?"

At least Nye's questions wouldn't come as a complete surprise.

He nodded, and she waved at a two-seater sofa. "You'd better sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"White with one sugar for Olivia, no sugar for me."

The sofa felt entirely too small as I perched next to Nye, and it sagged in the middle so our thighs touched. I should have stayed at home.

"I've had a difficult time with Larry," Betty admitted once she got comfortable in the chair opposite.

"In what way?" Nye asked.

"He's a flighty soul. I wish he'd find a good girl and settle down, but he keeps flitting from one lady to another. I can't keep up. And it's like he's embarrassed for them to meet his old mum. He's never brought a single one home to visit me."

Probably because it wasn't the done thing to meet your stalker's parents. That would be more like kidnapping.

Nye went for diplomatic. "Perhaps he just hasn't met the right woman yet?"

Betty nodded.

"He did show a liking for Olivia here, which gave me hope, but once I heard she was chasing Tate, I told Larry she wasn't suitable for him."

"What kind of liking did he show for Olivia?"

"You know, an interest—he said she was pretty and asked me what her name was."

"And you told him?"

"Well, yes. New blood in the village, I thought I might finally get my grandbabies. Oh, and he had some pictures of her."

"What kind of pictures?"

"Just a few photographs. Nothing special."

"Can you remember what Olivia was doing in the photos?"

Betty stared past us as she thought, her eyes focused on an ugly painting of a dog on the far wall. "She was riding a bicycle. You should smile when someone takes your picture, dear. Nobody likes a sad sack."

Maybe I would have freaking smiled if I'd posed willingly. How on earth had he got so close without me noticing? I gave a shudder and squashed against Nye without thinking, but before I could move away again, he slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me closer.

His voice hardened a little. "Olivia's still having problems with a burglar. If Larry's been nearby, he might have seen someone. He could prove to be a valuable witness. Do you think we could talk to him?"

Good going, Nye. Flattery will get you everywhere.

Betty's chest puffed out with pride. "My Larry's always been observant. He only pops by from time to time, though, and I haven't seen him in over a week."

Which was a hell of a lot more recently than she admitted before. It was amazing where a handful of well-directed questions from Nye got us.

"We really do need to talk with him."

"I'll ask him to call round at your cottage next time he's here." She turned to me. "I'm sure now we know those nasty stories aren't true, he'd love to get to spend more time with you."

Oh, wonderful. Did Aunt Ellie have a flamethrower hidden away anywhere? Because I'd be tempted to use it if Larry ever turned up within spitting distance.

"Do you have his address?" Nye asked. "We could swing by and save him the trouble."

"He moves around, does my Larry. Never did stick in one place for long. Would his phone number help?"

"More than you could know, Betty."