"So why all the interest in your mother?"

"You won't believe this," he said. He didn't believe it himself. He took hold of Maggie's hand. "Someone wants her dead."

His mother answered the door, eyes red-rimmed like she hadn't been sleeping. She looked like she'd just thrown her clothes on. Her cardigan was buttoned up all wrong.

" Madre," he said. It annoyed her when he spoke Spanish.

She didn't let on, asked, "What are you doing here?"

"You still got that leaky tap?"

"The one in the bathroom?"

He shrugged.

"Well, yes," she said.

"Then I'll try to fix it."

"It's not the washer."

"Did I say it was?"

She shrugged.

He said, "I'll take a look anyway."

"Oh," she said. She straightened up, maybe realising he hadn't come here to chastise. "This is an unexpected surprise. What's brought it on?"

He looked away. "You phoned."

"That never worked before."

"Well, you've been going on about it long enough."

She peered at him down her long nose, kinked in the middle where she'd broken it on a skiing holiday, along with her leg.

"You want the tap fixed?" he said. "Or should I go?"

She folded her thin arms, nibbled her pale lower lip. "You're not working today?"

"It's slow," he said. "Left Dan to take care of things."

"Maggie said he was on holiday."

Maggie hadn't mentioned that. "You spoke about Dan?"

"I asked how things were going at the salon."

"Well, Dan's back, as of this morning."

"Must have been a short trip."

"Yeah," he said. "Couple of nights. All he could afford on the salary I pay him."

She nodded, unfolded herself, tucked her lip away. "Come on in."

The sitting room was a shrine to seventies bad taste. Bucket seats, white leather couch, brown and orange shag carpet and stripy psychedelic wallpaper. Reminders of her prime, no doubt.