Illusions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 2)

by Jean Saunders

  ‘It’s my daughter.’

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted again, knowing he couldn’t be rushed.

  Sometimes you had to winkle information out of them with the proverbial pin. She gave a mental shrug. It was her time, but it was their money that was paying for it, and she had her eye on a winter cruise that was going to be her reward for finding the Price girl.

  ‘To my knowledge she’s been missing for two weeks now, and it’s vital that I find her by the end of next month.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  Encouraging him, Alex calculated that six weeks’ work would produce a healthy sum towards her cruise.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why is it vital to find her before the end of next month?’ she repeated, as patiently as if she was questioning a child.

  There was something odd here, thought Alex. The guy had a clipped Yorkshire accent, like hers had once been before she had spent months in smoothing and rounding it after moving south. He spoke with a sense of desperation when he mentioned his daughter, but also with some irritation that didn’t sound like genuine parental concern.

  She had noted it on his initial phone call, well attuned to an accent and the nuance of a disembodied voice. But why such precise attention to detail — and why not get the police on to it, or Interpol, for God’s sake?

  ‘She comes into a large inheritance then, and she must be in good health to claim it. If not, it all goes to a cousin.’

  Alex could hear the anger in his voice now, and felt a ridiculous sense of disappointment and betrayal. So it all came down to money. And where was the love he should be showing for his daughter? She was indignant at what she imagined was the girl’s loveless childhood, knowing the signs all too well, and she felt a brief pity for the kid.

  ‘How old is your daughter, Mr Price?’ she said carefully.

  Good God, he even had to think about that, she thought, as he hesitated. But apparently it was simply reluctance to reveal his daughter’s age.

  ‘She was twenty-nine on her last birthday, but of course she’ll be thirty at the end of next month—’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, I’m sorry — but I had assumed from your phone call that she was a child,’ she said, momentarily floundering. ‘It’s hardly unusual for a woman of twenty-nine to take off on her own for two weeks, is it?’

  ‘It is for Caroline,’ he said, clearly annoyed at her involuntary reaction, just as Alex herself was at making it so clumsily. ‘She doesn’t go walkabout. And she’s deaf.’

  So she was looking for a deaf adult woman, three years older than herself, who could be anywhere in the world, especially if she had something to hide, or something she wanted to escape from. Great!

  ‘Have you tried the usual places — friends, acquaintances, workmates, local hospitals?’

  The morgue? she added silently.

  ‘She doesn’t have any friends, and she works at home. She’s a crossword compiler.’

  ‘Her publisher then, her agent?’ Alex went on relentlessly. ‘They must be in contact with her.’

  ‘No. She’s totally freelance, and I have to tell you, lass, we don’t get on. She’s been a recluse since meningitis left her deaf about ten years ago. She had a hard time dealing with it. She works alone and lives on her own in her cottage, and she’s as touchy and defensive as a cat. I check on her every few weeks, and she even hates that. Last time I saw her she said vaguely she was between commissions. Or, as actors would say, she was resting temporarily.’

  Alex jotted down the details as he spoke. She knew a bit about acting in an amateur way. Right now she was playing her best part — Alexandra Best, confident super sleuth, and with as much idea of how to go about each new case, as flying to the moon on a broomstick.

  She also played to perfection — and sometimes far too well the kind of upper-class girl who turned men horny the minute they discovered her outgoing nature, and thought that even if there was nothing much between the ears, there was considerably more between those great legs.

  Nobody would ever connect her with little Audrey Barnes from a farming family in the remote Yorkshire Dales, who’d missed out on schooling through caring for elderly parents. And who, with true Little Dorrit melodrama, had vowed to make A BETTER LIFE for herself if she had to kill for it... She never had, thank God, but by now she had met others who had.

  Through learning by trial and error to be streetwise, she had seen how the minds of those people worked, and the idea had begun to form of solving some of those crimes. During all the tedious hours at home caring for her parents, she had read voraciously, learning about the way the police and other investigators operated. She could solve most TV crimes as soon as the suspects were presented on screen.

  When the farm eventually became hers, she had sold it for a surprisingly decent amount, and had come to London. And she knew at once that she was in a different league. So the invention of Alexandra Best, née Audrey Barnes, had been an essential part of the transition.

  ‘Look, miss, perhaps I’ll leave it after all,’ Norman Price was saying now, as if her intense green stare had begun to unnerve him. ‘I’m sure Caroline will turn up soon—’

  ‘And if she doesn’t?’

  Alex leaned forward and placed one hand on his arm, feeling the tension in it. ‘Mr Price, I don’t know if I can help you, but I promise I’ll give it a damn good try, so why don’t you go home and sleep on it and give me another call tomorrow? And if you’d rather not come to my office, why don’t we meet at Caroline’s cottage in a day or two? It can often provide clues that even close relatives miss.’

  She wondered if Norman Price had even bothered to look for such clues. He was an oddball if she ever saw one. And he wasn’t half as drunk as she had at first imagined. Just keen to get his hands on his daughter’s inheritance. Maybe. As yet, she couldn’t really fathom him at all. She saw him nod slowly.

  ‘All right. I’ll call you tomorrow morning with my decision. And thank you for your time.’

  He shook her hand, and Alex noted that his was clammy. There was nothing unusual in that. Her clients were frequently either distressed or hyperactive. It was to be expected. Nobody liked airing their private thoughts in public, and it took some people a lot of courage to do so.

  After he left, she scribbled a few details in her notebook while they were fresh in her mind. Yes, definitely an oddball. And he hadn’t told her everything yet. In fact, he’d hardly told her anything at all...

  ***

  ‘Are you sticking with orange juice all night, or do you fancy something a bit more exciting to tickle your taste-buds?’

  Alex didn’t need to look up from her scribblings to recognize the voice, and nor did she miss the double entendre in the words. The biker lounged in front of her, arms folded, powerful and dark against the smoky background of the club. He was every inch the Clint Eastwood of his day — or maybe James Dean reincarnated, she thought faintly.

  But why not? The night was still early...

  ‘I’ll have a vodka and lime if you’re buying,’ she said, a damn sight cooler than she felt inside.

  ‘If you’re selling, I’m buying,’ he said with a lazy, seductive smile.

  She watched him as he moved smoothly back to the bar, and adjusted her earlier opinion of him. He didn’t just have a nice bum. He was a wow, even if he was a pick-up, and she felt the familiar tug on her nerve-ends at the thought.

  And there was no way she could misinterpret his words: he was as blatant as they come. She smiled faintly as the words entered her head and tried to concentrate on Norman Price.

  Usually, after her first meeting with a client, she went home and tried to assess everything she had learned so far which wasn’t much, she admitted again, but as always, it was far more than the client thought.

  For a start. from his generous agreement to her fees, she guessed that Father Price was well-heeled, despite tonight’s charade of dressing down for the company. Maybe he was in disguise too, acting a part
in life, the way she did.

  It was an intriguing thought. She’d already looked him up in the phone book and he wasn’t listed, even though he’d given her a number where she could reach him. So he was ex-directory, and he was using a contact number... or a private one that could mean anything, from a mistress’s address to a hideaway holiday place.

  But now that she knew a little more about the missing daughter, she would start on the trail of both of them tomorrow. If the woman was a crossword compiler, she shouldn’t be hard to trace. She noted that Price hadn’t volunteered the name of any newspaper group, but that wouldn’t be hard to find either. Caroline sounded like a loner, so there may not even be an agent involved. Pity. That would have been a start.

  The biker was coming back to the table with two drinks in his hand, and Alex abandoned all thoughts of work for tonight. Sometimes it was best to do just that. Make her mind a blank and let her subconscious ask the questions and sort out some of the answers. It could work spectacularly well.

  And sometimes there were more important things to think about, anyway. She crossed one silk-clad leg over the other, and her short skirt revealed the lacy top of her sheer black stockings.

  The guy noted it and grinned.

  ‘If we’re going to spend the night together, we’d better get properly acquainted,’ he said, as brash as you like.

  ‘You’re taking a bloody lot for granted, aren’t you!’

  He laughed, showing those amazing white teeth. Alex could almost taste his minty toothpaste already.

  ‘Am I?’ he said, oozing sexiness as he reached forward and caressed her velvety cheek. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you anything—’

  He shrugged. ‘OK. So I’ll tell you what I see. I see somebody way out of her environment in the Rainbow Club. Slumming it, I guess. The question is — why?’

  ‘And what’s the answer?’ Alex said, despite herself. Who was the detective here, for God’s sake!

  ‘Well, you’re not a hooker, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘So you’re either a snoopy journalist taking notes for a magazine article, or you’re doing research for a book — or you’re looking for somebody.’

  ‘How clever you are!’ Alex murmured, giving nothing away, but thinking at the same time that at least the guy had a brain. And she liked that. She liked it a lot.

  ‘So which is it?’ he asked, taking a long drink and not taking his eyes off her face.

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘The journalist.’

  ‘You’re wrong, but thanks for the compliment. I’ve always fancied working in that line,’ she lied. ‘Now forget it.’

  ‘OK, but I know you’re into something from the way you kept jotting down notes in that little book of yours.’

  Alex was glad it was safely tucked inside her bag now. Among tonight’s doodles was a rough drawing of Norman Price, and another of the guy sitting opposite her now. It was gratifying to know that her aptitude for art had come in handy for something. She wasn’t wonderful, but she wasn’t bad, either, and she could create a passable likeness. Even a passable mug-shot on occasion.

  ‘I’m Gary, by the way. Gary Hollis,’ he said, when the silence between them lengthened.

  ‘Alexandra,’ she said non-committally.

  ‘Classy. So, Alexandra, where are you taking me tonight?’

  ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you have a place to sleep?’ she said, suddenly suspicious.

  She’d met pick-ups before. Drifters who came into town and played up to anybody who would give them a free bed for the night. She was mildly disappointed. Somehow she hadn’t expected this guy to be one of the transient kind.

  ‘Sure I do. But I’d far rather sleep at your place,’ he said. ‘And don’t tell me you’re not interested.’

  She could see the sexual challenge in his eyes, and she was aware of her own weakness.

  Virile guys with sexy eyes could always turn her on, and she could already imagine her fingers running through that collar-length dark hair... she gave a small shiver.

  ‘Alternatively, how about a blast on the bike while you think about it?’ he went on.

  A different kind of excitement ran through Alex’s veins at the words. ‘You do have a bike then?’

  ‘Only the very best. A Harley is at your disposal, ma’am, ready, willing and eager, just like its owner.’

  She ignored that, but she knew enough about motor bikes to know that if he owned a Harley Davidson he was no drop-out. And his leathers were of good quality that hadn’t been bought at some cheapskate everything-must-go warehouse sale.

  And, thinking ahead, she also registered that he might be useful if ever she needed to get somewhere in a hurry while trying to track down the missing Caroline Price. A motor bike could often reach the parts that a car couldn’t.

  As always, her client’s needs were never far from her mind, even when she tried to abandon them for the time being.

  But that was what being professional was all about. Let the ideas simmer on the back-burner of the mind, and eventually, with any luck, they would burst into flame.

  ‘All right, I’ll take a ride with you,’ she said, seeming to capitulate. ‘Providing you’ve got a spare crash helmet.’

  ‘Lady, I’ve got all the protection you’ll ever need,’ Gary said with a grin that told her he definitely wasn’t just talking about biking gear.

  ***

  They surfaced a joyful couple of hours after getting back to Alex’s flat. By then, the duvet and pillows had found their wayto the floor, to join the frantic scattering of clothes that had been shed between the sitting-room and the bedroom. The leathers and silk skirt mingled with the trail of stockings and lacy underwear...

  ‘Nice,’ Gary murmured against her breasts as he carefully shifted his weight to circle each stiffened nipple with his tongue. ‘I think I might move in.’

  Alex hoisted him off the bed so fast that he hit the floor with a howl of rage.

  ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

  She rose naked from the bed. pulling on her red kimono dressing-gown to hide the burgeoning thighs, while briefly wondering why she was getting so paranoid about the damn things. He’d seen it all, and he certainly hadn’t minded... he reached for her and they both fell onto the bed again.

  At once, she knelt over him, holding his arms back over his head. She was surprisingly strong, and she could see by his expression that he hadn’t expected her to be. It was a legacy from tramping the Dales in all weathers, and her fair-weather keep-fit sessions at the gym.

  In her job, you never knew how much sprinting you might need to do, nor how much physical strength would be needed to overpower an assailant. It wasn’t all chicken-feed stuff.

  ‘You can forget any ideas about moving in,’ she snapped. ‘We had a great time. Gary, but that was it.’

  ‘So now it’s goodbye? You disappoint me, Alexandra. Anyway, I thought that was supposed to be my line.’

  ‘Not unless you’ve been living in a time-warp for the last couple of decades,’ she whipped back.

  But she was all too aware that his passion was on the rise again. And she fancied him like mad, damn it, as she freely admitted now that she had done from the moment she saw him. His sensual mouth curved into a smile as he saw the matching desire in her eyes, and his hands slid down to push the dressing-gown aside and stroke between her thighs.

  Oh well, what the hell, she thought weakly? She’d probably never see him again anyway...

  She was still waking up properly as she heard the roar of the Harley departing around 7 a.m. Gary had kissed her thoroughly before he left, and her own musky smell had wafted around his lips.

  ‘I’ll see you around,’ was all he had said.

  And then he had gone. But that was OK. She had work to do, and too much involvement usually got in the way.

  She got up half an hour later, had a shower and grimaced at the love-bites on her ne
ck. He was an enthusiastic and inventive lover all right, she’d say that for him. She felt her heartbeats quicken, remembering just how good it had been, then resolutely washed every vestige of him out of her mind and body.

  As she rinsed away the sweet-scented shower gel with the spray, she found herself wondering about Caroline Price’s love-life, or if she’d even had one. She realized she was unintentionally thinking about her in the past tense. and she revised the thought at once.

  Missing nearly-thirty-year-olds were more likely to disappear for some personal and private reason rather than from anything sinister. And if they did so, they would certainly have the nous to cover all their tracks, so that no inquisitive father could find them.

  But in this case, there was a large inheritance waiting to be claimed in about six weeks’ time. And if it wasn’t claimed satisfactorily, then, according to Norman Price, a cousin would be waiting in the wings to claim it.

  Alex’s first instinct was to ask herself what was in it for the father? She sensed that it wasn’t just for his daughter’s well-being that he wanted her to claim what was rightfully hers. Her second instinct was to remember that in all traditional detective stories, the villainous cousin would be the most likely suspect to have abducted Caroline until it was too late for her to claim her inheritance, and everything would be rightfully his.

  So usually, he was the least likely suspect. Except that you could never quite ignore the possibility, damn it. It was all too easy to dismiss what was right under your nose. And besides, what would he do with the girl after abducting her? He couldn’t just return her home again.

  The gnawing likelihood of what frequently happened in such circumstances was something Alex didn’t care to think about too deeply.

  She’d grown up in a harsh environment, and she’d had to hold on to that toughness to survive. But she could never get used to seeing some poor sod zipped up in a plastic body bag after a violent death had occurred.