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seen, where the concrete bases they’d been built on had simply looked like unfinished patios. Here, there was a square of red glazed quarry tiles extending out beyond the patio doors. Round the edge of the square was a little wall, two bricks deep, except for a door-sized gap. And the walls showed the now familiar traces of the mortar that had attached the extension to the house.
    I’d noticed a car parked in the drive of the other half of the semi, so I made my way back round to the front and rang the doorbell, which serenaded me with an electronic “Yellow Rose of Texas.” The woman who opened the door looked more like the Dandelion Clock of Cheshire. She had a halo of fluffy white hair that looked like it had been defying hairdressers for more than half a century. Gray-blue eyes loomed hazily through the thick lenses of
gold-rimmed glasses as she sized me up. “Yes?” she demanded.
    â€œI’m sorry to bother you,” I lied. “But I was wondering if you could help me. I represent the company who sold next door their conservatory …”
    Before I could complete my sentence, the woman cut in. “We don’t want a conservatory. And we’ve already got double glazing and a burglar alarm.” The door started to close.
    â€œI’m not selling anything,” I yelped, offended by her assumption. Great start to the day. Mistaken for a double-glazing canvasser. “I’m just trying to track down the people who used to live next door.”
    She stopped with the door still open a crack. “You’re not selling anything?”
    â€œCross my heart and hope to die. I just wanted to pick your brains, that’s all.” I used the reassuring voice. The same one that usually works on guard dogs.
    The door slowly opened again. I made a great show of consulting the file I was carrying in my bag. “It says here the conservatory was installed back in March.”
    â€œThat would be about right,” she interrupted. “It went up the week before Easter, and it was gone a week later. It just disappeared overnight.” History had just been made. I’d dropped lucky at the first attempt.
    â€œOvernight?”
    â€œThat was the really peculiar thing. One day it was there, the next day it wasn’t. They must have taken it down during the night. We never heard or saw a thing. We just assumed there must have been some dispute about it. You know, perhaps she didn’t like it, or she didn’t pay or something? But then, you’d know all about that, if you represent the firm,” she added with a belated note of caution.
    â€œYou know how it is, I’m not allowed to discuss things like that,” I said. “But I am trying to track them down. Robinson, my file says.”
    She leaned against the door jamb, settling herself in for a good gossip. It was all right for her. I was between the cold north wind and the door. I jerked up the collar of my jacket and hated her quietly. “She wasn’t what you’d call sociable. Not one for joining
in, you might say. I invited her in for coffee or drinks several times and she never came once. And I wasn’t the only one. We’re very friendly here in the Grove, but she kept herself to herself.”
    I was slightly puzzled by the constant reference to the woman alone. The form in the file was in two names—Maureen and William Robinson. “What about her husband?” I asked.
    The woman raised her eyebrows. “Husband? I’d have said he was somebody else’s husband, myself.”
    I sighed mentally. “How long had you known Mrs. Robinson?” I asked.
    â€œWell, she only moved in in December,” the woman said. “She was hardly here at all that first month, what with Christmas and everything. Most weeks she was away three or four nights. And she was always out during the day. She often didn’t get home till gone eight. Then she moved out a