Page 68

“If you don’t mind, that would be amazing. I only need three,” Gabriella said.

She followed Mrs. McKenzie to the back, and took three tiles, although she thought they might be a bit bigger than the ones on her roof.

“I’ll bring these back if they don’t fit, but thank you ever so much.” Gabriella wondered if there was enough light left in the day to try and fix the roof right now.

“They were just sitting back there for years, gathering moss,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “You’re welcome to them.” She took her hedge clippers back up and looked over her hedge. “There they go.” She nodded and Gabriella turned to follow her gaze.

Two men were coming out of the house. They walked in the direction of the high street, but then got into an Austin Cambridge.

Gabriella remembered seeing it parked there before because it was similar to the one she’d seen the evening someone had shot at her and James through Garelli’s shop window.

“Whose car is that?” she asked.

“It was the father’s car,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “The one who had the heart attack. Now the son drives it. Robby.” She gave a dismissive jerk of her head.

“Well, thanks again,” Gabriella settled the tiles carefully in her arms. “I’m going to see if I can fix the roof now, before it gets dark.”

“Be careful,” Mrs. McKenzie said. She watched the Austin Cambridge drive past, and Gabriella noticed both men glanced their way before they accelerated down the street. “I think they stole something yesterday,” she said.

“Stole something?” Gabriella nudged the garden gate closed with her knee.

“They came hurrying up to the house carrying a big garden refuse bag. Looked all gleeful and smug, to my eye. Like they’d been up to no good.” Mrs. McKenzie narrowed her eyes at the house.

“You think they stole someone’s garden refuse bag?” Gabriella asked.

“No, not the bag, although, perhaps. It looked like there was something heavy inside it. And that slick friend of Robby’s arrived a few minutes afterward.” Mrs. McKenzie shook her head. “If you hear of someone’s house being robbed in the area, you’ll know where to look.”

“Why in this area?” Gabriella asked.

“Because Robby’s car was parked outside my house the whole time, they went on foot. I don’t see that lot taking a bus to go rob some poor person in another neighborhood.”

“Thanks, Mrs. McKenzie. I’ll mention it to a bobby when I see one on my rounds tomorrow.” She lifted the tiles up a little way. “And thanks again for the tiles.”

By the time she reached Notting Hill and her house was in sight, her arms ached from carrying them, but there was still enough light in the day for her to give fixing the roof a go.

She could see from the sky that rain was due again and she did not want the leak to continue.

She crossed the road, happy the front door was fixed so she didn’t have to lug the tiles around the back, and the tall, thin man exploded out from behind a car parked a little way down from the front gate.

He was wielding a knife, and he shouted as he ran at her, arm raised.

Gabriella flinched back, and then grabbed the top tile and sent it flying like a frisbee toward him.

It struck him in the chest and she was already sending the second one spinning toward him when his shout was cut off in surprise.

She heard his grunt of pain and then he cried out as the second tile struck his chin.

By the time the knife came down toward her, Gabriella was holding the final tile in both hands and used it as a shield to block the blade.

Then she lifted the tile and slammed it into the top of his hand and he dropped the knife.

She kicked it into the street. “Who are you?”

He took a step back.

He was young, she noticed. Younger than her, and there was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Really, who are you?”