Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries

by Barbara Silkstone

I ignored the stinging feeling and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left. Yes, that’s it. Just one small step at a time. You can do this. You can do this.

  Before I knew it, I was coming down the steps in front of the stage. And here was the stage bar. Oh, my God. There was no going back now. This was my chance to take Ferret Face out of action, save the statue and Ibrahim Kaya, and get my wedding dress back.

  I quickly scanned the area and saw Ferret Face sitting on the same sofa he’d been at earlier in the day. Another couple of sofas were full with a rowdy party, and five men and two women sat at the bar. One busy barman served the backlog of late-night drinkers, so I couldn’t exactly pop behind the bar and pretend to be a barwoman without him noticing me. Second option: chat up Ferret Face. And then what? I didn’t have a bloody clue, but I’d have to play it by ear.

  Oh, crap.

  I forced myself to walk to the bar, willing my stomach to stop spinning around at a hundred miles an hour like an out of control roller-coaster. I felt sick, as if I was coming down with a severe case of something gastric. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat. Come on, Helen, everything depends on you now. There, a few deep breaths, that’s right, steady yourself on the bar. You will be fine. You can do this.

  ‘Would you like something to drink, madam?’ the barman asked.

  What a stupid question. I was about to try and chat up a psycho killer. Of course I wanted a bloody drink! ‘Courvoisier, please.’ I forced my lips to form into the semblance of a smile as I checked out Ferret Face from the corner of my eye.

  OK. Shoulders back, boobs out, lips moistened. Here we go.

  I grabbed my drink and sauntered towards Ferret Face, swinging my hips for good measure. Eyebrow slightly raised seductively, suggestive pout of the lips. Yes, this had to work.

  He took a sip of his cognac, staring at me over the rim of his glass as I sat down on the sofa in front of him and crossed my legs, flashing a bit of thigh for luck.

  ‘Hello.’ I smiled. ‘Mind if I join you?’ I put my handbag on the floor, and rested one arm along the back of the sofa, stroking it with a shaky fingertip, praying it looked sexy and not like I had a furniture fetish. My other hand was in my lap, clutching onto my mobile phone for dear life.

  He studied me for a moment, then calmly crossed his legs. The corner of his lips curled into a smarmy smile. ‘Why not?’ He tilted his head.

  OK, first hurdle over with. Now what the fuck do I say?

  I swallowed, but my voice came out croaky. ‘You have nice ankles.’ I looked at his flip-flop encased feet.

  What? I cringed inwardly. Nice ankles? Why did I say that?

  He glanced down at his ankles like he got told this every day. ‘Yes.’ He nodded towards my glass. ‘Is that Courvoisier?’

  ‘Yes.’ I stopped stroking the sofa and took a sip of the burning liquid but nearly choked. Whoa! That was strong. Did people actually choose to drink this? ‘It’s my favourite drink.’ I took a smaller sip.

  Something feral flashed across Ferret Face’s eyes. ‘Good choice. I like a woman who appreciates the finer things in life.’ He raised his eyebrow, examining me like I was the best thing since the AK-47 was invented.

  ‘So, are you here on business or pleasure?’ I asked, trying to give him a seductive smile.

  ‘A bit of both.’ His smile back was chilling.

  Urgh! That meant he actually enjoyed killing people. What a sicko. My smile dropped a smidgen, but I recovered it quickly before he seemed to notice. ‘Lovely!’

  The barman placed a plate of mixed nuts on the table.

  I took a sip of the warm liquid again for courage. ‘And what line of work are you in?’

  He waved a hand through the air. ‘Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you.’

  I took another sip. If I downed it really quickly, he might go to the bar and get me another one, and I could pour the powder into his drink.

  ‘How much do you charge?’ he asked casually.

  I almost choked on the cognac again. Now I had a stinging throat and a stinging stomach. How dare you think I’m a hooker! I know I’ve overdone it with the make-up, but that’s a bit hookerist, isn’t it? ‘Oh, I’m quite cheap.’ I twirled the end of my ponytail around in my finger, trying to look coy.

  Ferret Face took a handful of nuts and nibbled on them. Now he looked even more like a ferret. Or maybe even a hamster. ‘I like that answer. OK, we have time to discuss money later.’

  Yuck! Do we have to?

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  What’s my name? Well, I’m not going to give you my real one, you psycho moron. What’s a hookerish name? ‘Candy.’ I smiled.

  ‘Candy?’ he said, looking at me as if he was waiting for me to say something else.

  What? Do hookers use surnames as well? I didn’t have a clue. ‘Candy Cain.’

  ‘Candy Cain?’ He looked at me expectantly, licking his lips, like he was waiting for more.

  What now? How many names are they supposed to have? ‘Candy Cain Sugar Dimple Pie,’ I elaborated.

  He licked his lips again. ‘That’s interesting. I’ve got a condom in my room with your name on it.’

  Ew! Must be a big condom. ‘Fabulous!’

  ‘So, how cheap are you?’

  I wiggled my glass at him and gave him a coy smile. ‘Buy me another cognac, and I’ll tell you.’ I winked.

  He set his own half-empty drink on the coffee table in front of him and hurried towards the bar.

  I rested the mobile phone on my lap. Then I quickly grabbed the cigar tin from my bag. I glanced over at the bar. Good. Ferret Face had his back to me.

  Sweat pricked at my palms. Don’t drop it. You can do this.

  I dragged his glass closer to me and leaned over it, away from prying eyes. Opening the cigar tin, I poured in the ground up sleeping tablets and swirled the glass. The powder fizzed up like an Alka Seltzer.

  Stop it! Stop fizzing! Oh, crapping hell.

  I poked my finger in and twirled the liquid around at a hundred miles an hour, trying to aid defizzment.

  Phew! It finally dissolved completely.

  I glanced back at the bar again. He was still there, waiting for his order, but now the cognac was spinning around so fast, he would be able to notice something was wrong. I poked my finger in it again to still the cognac.

  Gently, I put the glass back in its original position and sat back on the sofa, crossing my legs.

  Ferret Face reappeared a few minutes later and handed me the drink. He picked up the tablet-laced cognac in one hand and leaned back on the sofa, crossing his legs, studying me.

  ‘Thanks.’ Ha-ha. Pretty soon you will be sleeping for a long time. Hopefully with diarrhoea, hives, and no hair to boot!

  He put his drink back down on the coffee table and pushed the plate of nuts towards me. ‘Nuts?’ He grinned at this little double entendre.

  Yes, thanks, but not yours. I scooted forward to the edge of the seat and took a handful of nuts. I was just about to pop them in my mouth when I heard a loud scream coming from my left.

  I turned my head, just in time to see the receptionist from the other night launch herself through the air at me in a kind of on-the-sofa rugby tackle.

  Bam! The momentum pushed me back into the marshmallow sofa with the receptionist landing on top of me. Nuts flew through the air, and her leg caught the edge of the table, sending Ferret Face’s drink crashing to the floor.

  ‘Agh! What are you doing?’ I tried to say, even though my face was now squashed in between the cushions of the sofa and her armpit.

  Ferret Face leaped up. ‘Oh, I didn’t know you were into women.’ And he hurried away.

  ‘Let…me…up.’ I banged on the sofa. ‘Can’t…breathe.’

  She released her vice-like grip around me and climbed off, slightly panting, her eyes as huge as Cyprus olives. ‘You’re allergic to nuts! You would have died if you’d eaten them.’


  No! She’d ruined it all. No. No. No.

  I put my elbows on my knees and sank forward, rocking back and forth, ignoring the pain in my hip where she’d slammed on top of me. ‘No, no, no.’ Tears sprang into my eyes. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. This was all wrong. Probably my one and only chance to drug him, and I couldn’t even do that.

  ‘Did you eat one? Are you having an allergic reaction? Shall I get a doctor?’

  I carried on rocking. ‘No. I’m fine, thanks.’ I stopped rocking abruptly. Oh, God. Where was my mobile phone? I leaped up, searching for it. Kalem would probably be on his way down here right now and might bump into Ferret Face scuttling away.

  My eyes frantically scanned the area. Floor? No. Table? No. There! Down the side cushion of the marshmallow sofa.

  I grabbed it. ‘Kalem? Hello? Are you there?’

  ‘Helen!’ A breathless Kalem answered. ‘What the hell happened? I’m nearly there. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘No! Go back to the entrance and lose yourself in the paparazzi. I’m fine. Ferret Face has disappeared.

  ‘Are you sure? Are you sure everything’s OK?’ Kalem said.

  ‘Yes,’ I insisted. ‘I’ll meet you there in a minute.’

  The receptionist stared at me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I’d almost forgotten she was there.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ She gave me a puzzled look.

  ‘I’m fine, really.’ I got to my feet and stumbled back out to the foyer, leaving her pulling down her skirt and smoothing out her hair with a confused expression.

  The paparazzi were still in full force when I got back outside. A line of policemen kept them away from the entrance. I stood for ten minutes, searching out Kalem in amongst everyone. Finally, I spotted him at the back and wound around the crowd to meet him.

  ‘What happened then? I heard a big noise and then just muffled sounds. Are you sure you’re OK? What happened to Ferret Face?’ His words came out in a garbled rush.

  Once I started shaking my head, I couldn’t stop.

  Kalem pulled me towards him, squashing me in his heavy-duty arms. ‘What happened? Tell me!’

  ‘I didn’t manage to drug him. It didn’t work.’ I flopped my head on his shoulder and told him what had happened.

  The paparazzi behind us got louder. Cameras flashed and TV crews rushed to the front doors.

  I lifted my head and saw Ibrahim Kaya emerge in the night air, hand waving to the crowd.

  I stepped out of Kalem’s arms.

  ‘Where’s Jayde?’ one of the photographers said to Kaya.

  ‘She’s relaxing for the evening.’ He smiled and waved at them all.

  A couple of policemen walked either side of him, trying to keep the paparazzi away, as Ibrahim Kaya made his way through the flashing throng and towards the limo.

  The limo that we were standing next to.

  The limo driver exited the driver’s seat and made his way around to the back, opening the passenger door, ready in waiting.

  The paparazzi swarmed around him, pushing and shoving to get a quote. ‘What’s she doing? Does she like her suite? Which colour M&Ms did she refuse to eat?’

  The police officers pushed them back. Ibrahim Kaya was lost in the middle of the crowd as they came closer to us. Kalem got driven away from me in the crush of people, and I could no longer see him. I held my ground, leaning against the limo, so I couldn’t get swept away.

  ‘What demands did she ask for? How many numbers is she singing tomorrow? Are her lips Botoxed? Has she got a nipple tweaker on hand?’

  And suddenly, Ibrahim Kaya was directly in front of me, about to get in the limo. He ducked his head down and climbed in.

  ‘Mr. Kaya, I have to talk to you urgently,’ I said, as he began pulling the door shut.

  ‘No more pictures tonight.’ The door clicked shut on his last word.

  One of the police officers put a hand on my shoulder and tried to pull me away. I shrugged it off.

  ‘I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Your life is at risk.’ I banged on the window. ‘YOU’RE GOING TO DIE! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!’ I yelled as loud as I could to the limo as it pulled away.

  I don’t know if he heard me or not, but the next thing I knew, the policeman yanked my arm, dragging me into the back of a nearby police car.

  ‘No! He’s in danger. You have to tell him. Get him back here. I need to talk to him.’

  He slammed the door on my cries.

  I wriggled around in the seat, trying to search out Kalem in the crowd. Was he out there? I couldn’t see him.

  ‘I haven’t done anything!’ I tried the door handle. Locked.

  And that’s when I really did explode into tears.

  Chapter 13

  ‘But I haven’t done anything!’ I yelled as the door clanked shut on the communal cell.

  I clung to the bars and rattled them, hoping they’d miraculously give way. They didn’t. I pressed my forehead against the cold metal. What was I going to do now?

  A wave of panic clawed at my insides, sending stabbing pains through my stomach and chest.

  Where was Kalem? Did he see what happened? Yes, he must have done. He’d get me out. Wouldn’t he?

  I wiped my wet face with the heel of my hand and looked around. A noisy mix of women stared back at me. A couple of young ones huddled together glared at me, whispering and giggling to each other. An old woman sat on a metal bench in the corner, muttering to herself. A few others strutted around in miniskirts and halterneck tops.

  I slouched down next to the old woman and leaned my head back against the cold wall, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.

  ‘Blah!’ the woman said, although I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself.

  Probably best to ignore her. Maybe if I shut my eyes, I could just pretend I wasn’t here. Beam me up, Scotty.

  One of the halterneck brigade sat next to me and eyed me up. ‘What are you here for?’ She put her face up close to mine. An overpowering smell of perfume assaulted my nostrils.

  I sniffed and eased away from her. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘That’s what they all say, honey. Are you a hooker?’

  ‘No!’

  She fiddled with an earring so big that it could have doubled as a lampshade. ‘Hmm. You look like a hooker.’

  ‘Blah,’ the old woman said again. Was that a term of agreement?

  A young policeman unlocked the doors with a loud click. ‘Helen Grey,’ he shouted.

  I leaped up. ‘That’s me. Oh, thank you. You’ve come to let me out.’

  ‘No letting out for you. Come with me.’ He beckoned me forward.

  I followed him down a corridor into an interrogation room. It had white walls, a bright strip light overhead, a single window where I could see into an office full of other police officers on the other side, and three wooden chairs. One of them was already occupied by a police captain of about fifty with a beaky nose and grey hair. He fingered through a folder on the desk in front of him, sipping a cup of Turkish coffee. The policeman I’d followed sat down next to him and folded his arms. It looked like the other chair was meant for me.

  Captain Beaky put down his coffee. ‘Sit,’ he barked at me.

  I sat, pretty sharpish.

  He slid a photo across the desk. ‘Is this you?’

  I felt my forehead go clammy as I stared at a picture of me at the airport in the burka. It wasn’t very flattering. I was lying on the floor, half on top of Ferret Face, with the drugs dog’s snout pretty much buried in my crutch. Not a photo I’d like to repeat any time soon, and it certainly wouldn’t be making its way into my album.

  ‘Yes.’ I ran the back of my hand across my forehead.

  ‘Why were you wearing a burka?’ Captain Beaky shouted.

  ‘Well, it’s like this–’

  ‘Like what?’ the younger one interrupted me.

  ‘I’m just trying to tell you.’ I sighed. ‘My fiancé played a p
ractical joke on me. That's all.’

  ‘What sort of joke?’ Captain Beaky didn’t look enthralled by my answer.

  ‘I’m getting married here in three days, and he said it was an ancient tradition that when a bride arrived to get married in North Cyprus, she had to wear a burka.’ I bit my lower lip, knowing how ridiculous it all sounded now after the event.

  Captain Beaky exchanged a disbelieving look with the younger one. ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Well, yes. I know it sounds a bit peculiar, but I did believe it. My fiancé is a bit of a practical joker.’

  Captain Beaky stared at me like he thought I must be a complete idiot. ‘Are you an idiot? Or a good liar? Hmm?’ Before I could answer that he slapped a hand on the desk. ‘Why were you interfering with our sniffer dog? Are you a drug smuggler?’

  ‘Of course I’m not!’

  ‘What did you force feed the dog?’ Captain Beaky asked.

  ‘What? I didn’t force feed it anything.’

  ‘You will only make things worse if you lie to us.’ He nodded gravely, ramming the point home.

  I wasn’t really sure how things could actually get any worse. ‘I’m not lying. The dog just took my sandwiches.’

  ‘And what was in them?’ Captain Beaky growled.

  ‘Er…bacon.’

  They both gasped.

  ‘You told the customs officer that it was cheese. So you did lie!’ Captain Beaky leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’

  Not really, no. I didn’t think I wanted to hear any of this. I didn’t tell him that, though. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to give me a vast range of thoughts on the matter anyway.

  ‘I think you wanted to entice the sniffer dog with your bacon sandwiches so you could smuggle in drugs. And I think you were wearing a burka so you wouldn’t be recognized.’

  ‘But I didn’t give the sandwiches to the dog. It just stole them. I told you,’ I cried.

  He tutted at me. ‘It is a Muslim dog. It doesn’t even eat bacon. You must have forced the poor animal.’

  ‘Well, it seemed pretty happy to me when it ran off with them,’ I said.

  ‘The dog was very ill for days. You tried to poison it so that you wouldn’t be detected carrying drugs.’