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Ben and I did not exchange a single word on the way back to the bus stop. For once Poppy behaved like a model dog and trotted obediently behind me. Our walk through the picturesque hamlet would have been very pleasant, were it not for the knowledge that we had just attempted to blackmail two old ladies for a terrible crime they had not committed. The more I thought about what we had done, the guiltier I felt. Catherine and Denise were probably in tears, smarting from being accused of murdering their friend. We had almost reached the bus stop when I halted. My great aunt’s friends had been doing their best to take care of Poppy, and did not deserve such defamation. But when I suggested we return and apologise, Ben shook his head.
‘No way are we going back there,’ he said. ‘Come on, c
