I kept a straight face, but smiled on the inside. Had I detected a hint of jealousy there? Perhaps. Anyway, it made me feel good, though she had nothing to worry about.
‘But who owns the paper now?’ asked Hobbes.
I shrugged. ‘I expect Grubbe still does. No one has said.’
The conversation turned towards the nasturtiums Hobbes was growing for the church fete.
A few days later, when I was plagiarising a story about an alleged sighting of a sea lion in the river at Glevchester, and Olivia was muttering as she drafted a regular feature about the bowls club’s latest defeat, Ralph walked into the main office.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, worried by his pale face and shocked eyes.
‘To cut a long story short, we’re in big trouble!’ he said. ‘I have just learned that Mr Grubbe’s consortium does not actually own the Bugle.’
‘So, who does?’ asked Olivia.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ralph. ‘It turns out that Mr Grubbe embezzled the money put up by the consortium, fobbed off the original owner with excuses as to why payment kept getting delayed, and lied to his colleagues.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked.
Ralph shook his head. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘I expect that, since no money was paid over, the sale will be regarded as void,’ said Olivia, sounding frighteningly knowledgeable for an eighteen-year-old. ‘The Bugle will revert to its real owner.’
‘Rex Witcherley,’ I said.
Ralph nodded and staggered to his office. I almost felt sorry for him.
Just before lunchtime, heavy footsteps stamped up the stairs, and the office door burst open.
‘Capstan,’ bellowed Editorsaurus Rex Witcherley, as large as ever, but greyer than last time I’d seen him. ‘I had the misfortune to dine at Papa’s Piri-Piri Palace two days ago on the strength of your review and was as sick as a dog. Explain yourself!’
‘Umm … ’ I stammered, caught unawares, brow-beaten by Rex’s overwhelming personality and annoyed he’d got my name wrong again.
‘I doubt it was Andy’s fault,’ said Olivia, coming to my rescue. ‘Ralph would’ve changed the article because the restaurant was owned by his mate, Valentine Grubbe.’
Rex asked my pardon—he’d never done that before.
He stomped into Ralph’s office.
Ralph departed ten minutes later, carrying his personal effects in a black bin liner. ‘Thanks for your hard work,’ he told Olivia and me, and walked out of my life.
Rex beckoned me in. ‘Come in, Capstan. The Bugle needs a new editor, so I thought I’d ask you … ’
My stomach clenched. Was it excitement or terror?
‘Umm … ’ I began, but he hadn’t finished.
‘ … if you think Basil Dean would come back and take the job?’
‘Probably,’ I said.
And Basil did take it.
Which came as a relief … or was it a disappointment? Anyway, it was all for the best.
Probably.
RAZOR by Wilkie Martin
Becoming a hero
'It was ironic that having nothing left to lose except his life, his life had become interesting again.'
Read a sample now.
go.wilkiemartin.com/razor-book2look
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Acknowledgements
Once again, I would like to thank the members of Catchword for their support, guidance and encouragement: Liz Carew, Meg Davies-Berry, Gill Garret, Derek Healy, Pam Keevil, Dr Rona Laycock, Pam Orr, Jan Petrie and Susannah White.
I would like to thank Kelly Owen of Ultimate Proof Ltd for copy-editing and proofreading, and Stuart Bache of Books Covered Ltd for the covers.
Finally, a huge thank you to my family, to Julia, and to The Witcherley Book Company.
Inspector Hobbes and the Common People: Comedy Crime Fantasy (Unhuman Book 5) Page 27
