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“My brother says it’s Boyd Baker, the man who lived here before we bought the house. My daughter is looking into it, and Alec, of course,” she added, wondering why she would put more faith in her daughter’s investigative qualities than her brother’s. “Tex and I bought the house from Boyd’s widow Phyllis. Apparently he disappearedfifty-five years ago, and this is where he ended up.” She placed extra emphasis on the number fifty-five, just in case Gwayn would be amongst those who thought the body belonged to her dearly departed dad, murdered by her mother.

“The Bakers, huh?” said Gwayn with a frown. “I remember Ma Baker, of course. Didn’t she pass away a couple of years ago?”

“Yes, she did. Her daughter and son are still with us, though.”

“Yeah, I seem to remember my dad doing some work for the Bakers back in the day. Though I could be wrong, of course. Names and faces,” he added apologetically. “My mind is like a sieve. Dad was much better with faces. He could see a person once and never forget what they looked like. Amazing gift, especially in our line of work. Well, then,” he said. “I think that should do it. I’ll check upstairs and then I’ll be off.”

“Thank you so much, Gwayn. You’re a miracle worker.”

“Yeah, well, wouldn’t want you to be without water all night, would we?” he said. He moved up the stairs, Marge right behind him. In the kitchen, Vesta and Tex were still arguing about the future of mankind, or Tex’s dream of becoming the next winner ofThe Voice and a musical talent to be reckoned with, but when Gwayn walked in they both shut up. They might not like each other very much, but there was one thing they both agreed on: never hang out your dirty laundry for the whole world to see.

Gwayn fiddled with the tap, and when the water ran, Marge heaved a sigh of relief.

“Funny, huh?” said Gwayn, who made no indication to leave, “If it hadn’t been for your valve to go bust, I would never have had to take out that piece of wall, and Boyd Baker would never have been found. Weird how things can work out like that. Makes you wonder how many other bodies are buried all over the place, waiting to be found by an enterprising plumber.” And with these words he finally took his leave.

“Boyd Baker?” asked Gran. “Is he the dead dude?”

“Yeah, Phyllis Baker’s husband, the woman we bought the house from,” said Marge.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Gran. “I always thought there was something fishy about that couple.”

“Of course you did,” said Tex acerbically. “You think there’s something fishy about every couple. Or every single person you meet.”

“No, I don’t. But the Bakers…” She frowned. “I seem to remember hearing stories about Boyd Baker. Stories about how he wasn’t as honest as he showed himself to be.”

“You mean he was a crook?” asked Marge.

“Yeah, something like that. He was a gardener, right? Used to work for this big landscaping company, and every time he showed up to do a place things would go missing. Jewelry, money, bits and bobs. No one ever accused him of anything, but rumor had it Boyd had a buddy who worked as a fence and could sell whatever Boyd managed to lay his hands on.”

“Like that brooch,” said Marge. “The brooch they found on him.”

“Yeah, but why would whoever killed him leave that brooch? That doesn’t make sense. If he was killed by the person the brooch belonged to, wouldn’t they take it?”

“They could have been in a terrible rush.”

“Or not thinking straight,” said Tex. “Especially if this wasn’t a professional hit they may have panicked and forgotten to search his pockets. And in the fifty-five years he was stuck inside that wall, his clothes may have pretty much turned to dust, but that brooch hasn’t.”

“Food for thought,” said Gran, slapping the table and getting up. “Now are we going to eat, or do I have to order Chinese again?”

“I thought you’d be interested in cracking this case,” said Marge, surprised by her mother’s lack of interest.

“I gave up sleuthing a long time ago,” said Gran. “The world is about to end, Marge, so who cares about a couple of stiffs? We’ll all be dead soon, unless your husband gets his head out of his ass and turns this basement into a bunker so we can survive. Even then it’s gonna be touch and go. I’m not sure any bunker will be able to survive the initial blast, or those three-hundred-foot waves hitting us like sledgehammers, and all of that lava pouring out of those volcanoes, not to mention those volcanic winds. They roll in so hot and fast they’ll burn you to a crisp in nanoseconds. So if after the nukes, and the tsunami, and the lava and the volcanic winds this little bunker of ours is still here, and we’re still alive, it will be a great, big miracle.”

And with these words she got up and started giving her daughter a helping hand.

Chapter 21

‘”We need to act now, Johnny,” said Jerry as he watched the lights in the house go out.

“Now? But it’s not even eight o’clock.”