Chapter 15

The sun was low over the city by the time Anne pulled up outside Celia’s house. Her normally calm face was set tight with concern. She hadn’t been able to concentrate all day—not since the terse conversation with Roy. Now, as she stepped up to the porch and rang the bell, the weight of uncertainty pressed down. She was desperate to know what had happened—and even more, what it meant.

Celia opened the door with her usual graciousness. “Anne, come in, love. You’re just in time.”

Sonia appeared behind her, dressed in jeans and a loose woollen jumper, face softer than usual. “Come through. Roy’s just arrived back—he’s in the kitchen making coffee.”

Anne followed them into the warm kitchen, the scent of roasted vegetables wafting in from the oven. Roy looked up from the espresso machine with a tired smile.

“Well, if it isn’t our missing manager,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Anne said, dropping her handbag by the door. “I feel like I’ve been gone a month. What in heaven’s name happened?”

Roy and Sonia exchanged a glance—one of those semi-telepathic looks that seem to form between people who’ve just weathered a storm together.

“You tell her,” Sonia said, perching on a stool. “I’ll jump in when you get it wrong.”

Roy gave a snort. “Fine. Long story short—someone torched the construction yard. Sunday night. Middle of the night. CCTV got nothing—cameras were disabled beforehand.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, thank God,” Roy said. “And only the north-end shed was fully lost. But still—it’s bad. Police and fire investigators have been crawling all over it since.”

“Roy thinks it’s a warning,” Sonia cut in. “Possibly from the same lot who ambushed him with the boy racers.”

Roy nodded. “It fits. Too convenient not to be linked.”

Anne sat down, folding her arms. “What does this mean for the business? Have we lost jobs? Equipment?”

“Some scaffolding gear, a couple of cement mixers, and tools—mainly stuff stored in that shed. All insured. And we’ve had offers of loan gear already.”

“But the implications—”

“We know,” Sonia said gently. “It’s scary. But public response has been ... surprisingly good.”

Roy nodded. “Actually, amazing. Like after the boy racer incident. Social media’s gone nuts. Supporters flooding in from all over. Builders from other firms offering help. Neighbours bringing food. We’re getting sympathy, not suspicion.”

“Some even reckon Roy’s a hero,” Sonia added, raising an eyebrow. “Again.”

Roy groaned. “Can we not?”

Anne allowed herself a small laugh. The tension eased from her shoulders. “Well ... that’s a relief. Sort of.”

By the time dinner was on the table, Celia’s roasted lamb and pumpkin had lifted everyone’s spirits further. The talk turned to practicalities.

“I’ve called in a security company,” Roy said, scooping peas onto his plate. “Guards overnight until things cool down.”

“Wise move,” Celia agreed. “And Sonia’s staying here with me,” she added. “I’ve got a spare room and she’s good company.”

Sonia gave her a sideways smile. “I think she just likes having someone to argue with.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I need someone who actually eats my porridge.”

The laughter came easily this time, the earlier tension slowly melting into the comfort of shared food and shared burdens. Anne looked from one to the other—the younger woman and the older—already slipping into a familial rhythm. She smiled, quietly glad of the bond forming between them.

Then, as she sipped her after-dinner tea, she leaned forward, voice shifting to business again.

“Speaking of support staff,” she said to Roy, “you haven’t forgotten your promise me help, have you?”