by EJ Lamprey
Table of Contents
About this book
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1 – Monday November 4th
Chapter 2 – Tuesday November 5th
Chapter 3 – Tuesday November 12th
Chapter 4 – Wednesday November 13th
Chapter 5 – overnight Friday November 15th
Chapter 6 – Saturday November 16th
Chapter 7 - Wednesday November 20th
Chapter 8 - Thursday November 28th
Chapter 9 - Friday December 9th
Chapter 10 – Saturday December 7th
Chapter 11 – Monday December 23rd
Chapter 12 - Tuesday December 24th
Chapter 13 - The plot uncovered
AFTERMATH
Hogmanay
A bit more about the books, and some specials for mailing list subscribers
Glossary
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nine Ten Begin Again
A Grasshopper Lawns story
by EJ Lamprey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and settings are either fictitious or used fictitiously and not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.
A note about this book:
No surprise, with a name like Begin Again, that we’re back at the Lawns for the plot, although in fact Edge is off in Devon for a bit (and not alone). The book does have a darker underlying theme than usual, but the pre-publication readers said they found themselves smiling constantly - part of the fun of reading is to vicariously experience outings you may never consider in real life! There is also definitely a sensual tinge but nothing graphic and Chapter Five can be skipped entirely by those intent only on the mystery.
No book set in Scotland could be without occasional moments of Scottish. Beyond the soft burr of the accents, which will have to wait for the audio version, it is very nearly a language on its own, descriptive and pungent. Some words shared with English are pronounced differently, and some words are unique to the country. In Scotland, you would chap on a poorly neighbour’s door and offer to get their messages (knock and offer to do their shopping). All Scots speak English, but few can resist the temptation to slide sideways into the joy of Scottish every now and then and my characters are no different.
The general meaning should always be clear from the context – a brief glossary has been added at the end for easy reference. Definitely is pronounced deffi-NATE-ly in Scotland and has deliberately been spelled ‘definately’ in appropriate dialogue. The same applies to other spelling ‘errors’ spotted in dialogue (jag for injection, polis for police, deid for dead, etc). I have kept this to a minimum, to avoid puzzling non-Scottish readers, but hope you will enjoy the occasional reminder that you are north of the border.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AND THANKS
Artwork by www.laceyoconnor.com
Edited by edit-my-book.com
(with the added note that I can’t stop myself picking and changing and adding long after the book is done, so any errors are likely to be mine)
The Hogmanay photograph used is an official image, credit Chris Watt
As always, thanks to my regular and new beta readers, but particularly to Barb, Andy, Charlie, Sandy, Susan and Sally, for their intelligent questions and sharp eyes!
Chapter 1 – Monday November 4th
Black-Brown-Black
As Edge Cameron’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized the woman on the office chair ahead of her wasn’t sitting waiting. Not if the gash in her throat was anything to go by. Edge’s hand went to her own throat and she stepped backwards, cannoning into the very large man ushering her into the room. He didn’t even rock, but he did stop walking. She shifted slightly forward, so she wasn’t actually pressed up against him, and took a deep breath.
‘That’s horrible,’ she managed and he laughed.
‘Horrible convincing?’ He reached across to flick on a light switch and the garish corpse sprang into hideous detail.
‘I have absolutely no idea, I’ve never seen somebody with a cut throat. I’ve never actually seen a murder victim in my life. But it did freak me out, so, yes, convincing. I never knew corpses went greenish-white like that.’ She went forward, gruesomely fascinated by the slumped body, which, to her horror, sat up convulsively.
‘Oh, you bugger, I thought you were a dummy!’
‘Nah.’ The ‘corpse’ stood up, grinning. ‘You know me, Edge—Bonny Baker. Nice to see you again.’ She held out a greenish-white hand with livid fingernails, two of them bloody, and Edge shook it politely.
‘Bonny, God. My hair stood on end. You’ve looked better.’
‘Cannae say the same to you, you look smashing. I heard you’d retired, I thought you weren’t old enough! So you’ve got a new TV show for us, have you?’
‘Well,’ she glanced round for Shona Black, and Bonny rolled her grotesquely shadowed eyes.
‘Oh aye. Say no more. But fingers crossed, hen. I have to go get to my scene, see ya later!’
‘Later,’ Edge echoed absently as Bonny left.
The big man busied himself opening the blinds, although the thin November daylight made very little impact on the electric light. Edge could see her reflection, ghostly in the glass, superimposed on a rain-greyed Edinburgh. Hair pulled back, more tidy than her usual topknot, into a sleek chignon. Well cut trouser-suit, green-grey, fitted to her figure. In the indistinct reflection her lipstick looked dark, her mouth too pronounced, but Donald had insisted the structured look needed an emphatic colour, that if she was to sell herself as dynamic and effective she had to look the part. It hadn’t worked so far. She’d not met Shona Black before, and had been surprised to be introduced to a woman thirty years her junior, bigger than most men, who was abrupt and rude in a world where insincerity kept charming smiles on most faces. They’d shaken hands, and Shona had asked if she could call her Beulah.
‘I’d much rather you called me Edge, I loathe the name Beulah,’ Edge had said lightly, and Shona had turned that round-eyed stare on her for the first time.
‘It’s my mother’s name.’
Open mouth, Edge, insert foot. There was no point in trying to backtrack, and she had shrugged apologetically and smiled. ‘My second name is Edgington, and I do prefer Edge. I’m more used to it.’ The meeting had gone steadily downhill from that point.
Shona Black, stopping in the doorway to say something over her shoulder, came in impatiently and took a seat behind the desk. ‘How convincing was that?’
‘Well, it horrified me. But as I said to Jason, I’ve never seen a murder victim. There are no corpses—well, no decaying ones—in the Pick Up Sticks script.’
‘Are you saying you’re not going to agree to any changes in the script?’
Edge sighed inwardly. This was a waste of time, and she might as well leave right now. She and Shona Black were not empathic and quite clearly could never work together.
‘Shona, I’m not saying anything of the sort. My agent set up this meeting to talk about the script I wrote, and we haven’t touched on it at all. You talked non-stop all the time we were in your boardroom about Black-Brown-Black’s productions. You sent me here to your office with Jason for a viewing, without any prior warning, of a corpse which was very effective, as far as I could tell, but I don’t have corpse expertise and hadn’t realized I’d need it.’ Edge picked up her handbag and put it on her lap. ‘We should call it a day because I think Sarah got her wires crossed and you don’t really want to talk to me at all
.’
‘That’s an odd attitude.’ Shona looked belligerent and Edge gave up, rising to her feet.
‘I’m sorry you think so. As I say, crossed wires. I was under the impression you wanted to show me some casting options you’ve collected, talk about a six-episode one-off for a potential series, and how involved I would be. So far you’ve only told me about all the shows you’ve produced and I’m very impressed by your credentials. But that’s all we’ve covered. If you want my opinion, you’re very young to be working on a show about dating websites for the over fifties, and you seem quite keen to change it to something fairly gruesome. That doesn’t interest me at all.’
‘Shall we go for lunch?’ Shona smiled for the first time, improving her appearance one hundred percent, and Edge hesitated, taken aback. The younger woman stood up and told the big man, who was listening silently by the window, ‘We’ll be back at two. Get them to hold any calls, I’m leaving my mobile phone too. I’m sorry, Edge. I like to know I’m working with people with moxie and you’ve been so bloody polite so far. I was wrong. Begin again?’
She waved Edge forward to lead the way through the Black-Brown-Black office suite.
‘Okay, but let’s set ground rules. I don’t throw my weight around, I dislike confrontation, but I speak up when I have to. I’ve been working this business for a long time, and to be honest I’d as soon not break in a new producer. I’d rather be working in a production crew that knows me, where I’m not having to prove myself the whole time.’
‘You would be.’ Another corpse waiting in the reception area jumped to open the outer door for them. Shona nodded at him and looked back at Edge. ‘And they told me you’re a sweetie when you get your own way, and stubborn as hell when you’re not happy with something. Fair assessment?’
For the first time Edge laughed, and nodded ruefully. They were crossing the main concourse and rather unnervingly a photographer was keeping level with them, a few feet away, the soft chattering of the shutter constantly audible. Shona had glanced at him, then ignored him, so she put her shoulders back and tried to do the same. It was so distracting that Shona had to touch her arm and point before she realized she had been called. She turned her head to see Donald, unfamiliar in a black greatcoat, crossing towards them. She stopped, surprised and pleased to see a friendly face in the unfamiliar environment.
‘Donald! How lovely! You didn’t say anything at breakfast about coming in?’ She saw Shona’s eyebrows go up and heat touched her cheeks.
He smiled into her eyes, ran a caressing finger up her throat and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, lifting it slightly. As she stared at him doubtfully, he flickered the tiniest wink then bent to kiss her, his lips impersonal and firm as he lifted his arm and did a nicely-stylish crook behind her head to block the photographer. The camera chattered urgently and she suddenly wanted to laugh, but leaned back against his elbow, relaxing into the embrace. For all that it was fake, she felt slightly dizzy as he released her, turning to smile charmingly at Shona and introduce himself.
‘I’m sorry. Donald MacDonald.’
‘Shona Black,’ she offered her hand. ‘The choreographer?’
‘I’m wearing my investor hat today—most days, lately. I came by to see if Edge was ready for something to eat.’
‘Well, I’m taking her to lunch.’ Shona’s eyes rested on him speculatively. ‘You could join us, I suppose. You and Edge—I didn’t realize. Join us.’
‘Not if you’re going to talk shop. We can meet up later, Edge, call me. I’ll wait.’
She finally found her voice to agree and he left after a last lingering kiss beside her mouth, not as startling as the first, but again she could hear the camera stuttering. She fought down a grin and turned to look pointedly at the photographer.
‘Oh, ignore him.’ Shona waved a dismissive hand. ‘He’s getting stock shots. So, you and Donald MacDonald! Funny, I’d heard he was a very cold fish. Boy, was that wrong. He’s sexy for an old guy! So you’re living together?’
‘Donald’s a very dear friend,’ Edge said firmly, ‘and Shona, I’m starving. If that photographer is going to take photos of us eating, though, I won’t be able to relax at all.’
‘No, he’s done. Your agent said you had a few offers on the go so we wanted to be ready to go straight to press if you decide in our favour. I have to say you’re not at all what I expected. I thought you’d be a nice old duck in a woolly jumper but you look good and you’ve got a gorgeous lover on a lead. I’ll go first, follow me.’
She led the way into a crowded restaurant off the concourse and Edge followed her, smiling to herself. ‘A gorgeous lover’, Donald would enjoy that. The advantages of having a gay friend who knew both fashion and the publicity business better than she ever would were still coming home to her, but being kissed publicly wasn’t something she’d expected. Public display was a bit of a horror with Edge, but when the man doing it was both expert and extremely photogenic, well, one could but be grateful.
‘You make a good-looking couple,’ Shona persisted when they’d found a table and ordered drinks, and eyed her speculatively.
‘He’s easy on the eye,’ Edge agreed, smiling. ‘But that’s not why we’re having lunch. Are we finally going to talk?’
‘Oh aye, we’re finally going to talk. Your script has six people, and from a budgetary point of view we’d find that challenging. What I’d wanted to run past you was this possibility;’
She paused as their drinks were served, and Edge sharpened her attention, all her concentration now switched to evaluating not only the suggestions, but whether she could work with this unexpected and brusque woman.
Onderness police station
‘Not very much on Grasshopper Lawns.’ Sergeant Betty MacLean nodded thanks for the cup of tea Constable Stuart McBain put at her elbow. ‘You put in sweeteners? Ta. Just says it’s a retirement village in the rolling farmlands near the Firth of Forth, yadda yadda, easy reach of Edinburgh, well placed between Linlithgow and Onderness. Details on application. And some photos. It looks okay, individual units and a main house. Not a huge place.’
‘Getting ready to retire, are you?’ Stuart sat at his own desk and Betty snorted.
‘Cheek! Years still before I need to retire, and catch me moving to an institution when I do. Did you not see the email from Central? The new bursar at the Lawns is hiring ex-cons for maintenance work and the residents are fluttering. We’re to put in an occasional appearance to reassure the old dears. I was just looking it up to find out a bit more.’
‘You’d do best to ask Kirsty.’ Stuart sipped at his tea and pulled a face. ‘It’s a wee bit strong, sorry.’
‘I like it strong. And if I wanted to ask Sergeant Kirsty Cameron anything—which I don’t, because unlike you and Iain I don’t think she’s God’s gift to Police Scotland—I’d have my work cut out, wouldn’t I? In Embra all the time, shaking her tits at the brass to get onto high-profile investigations while people with years more seniority have to cover for her here.’
‘I meant because her aunt lives there, is all.’ Stuart glanced towards her, then looked past her to the doorway and went painfully red. ‘Hey, Kirsty.’
‘Hey, Stuart. Betty. Don’t mind me; I’m taking a break from all that exhausting tit-shaking to catch up. Any chance of some tea?’
Kirsty, an attractive police officer in her mid-twenties with flaming red hair and a slender figure without, despite the accusation, any exaggerated curves, turned from hanging up her coat. Stuart, who knew a cue when he heard one, fled.
Betty, sturdy and pugnacious after twenty-five years of service, looked defiant. ‘You weren’t meant to hear that.’
‘I’d guessed that.’ Kirsty smiled impishly. ‘I don’t blame you, I got a really lucky break. Thanks to that place.’ She nodded at Betty’s computer screen, which still showed the Grasshopper Lawns website. ‘I’m happy to do liaison, but you won’t find it boring if you do. It’s been quiet since you transferred ac
ross, but they’re not your standard old dears at all. My aunt and her buddies uncovered the case I’m on now—not at the Lawns, for once!—and she called me, but there’s been murder galore there. I’ll introduce you, if you like. She’s in the residents association now, so a good contact for your liaison.’
‘Quite the Miss Marple, is she?’ Betty looked up as Stuart put his head nervously around the door with another cup of tea. ‘Come on in, lad, don’t look so worrit. Kirsty’s gasping for her brew.’
Kirsty flicked through photos on her iPhone and passed it across to the older woman. She took her tea from Stuart with a smile of thanks, and he craned his neck as he passed behind Betty to see the small screen.
‘That’s my aunt, the slim one. She’s written a script for a TV series that’s about to go into production, with any luck. Miss Marple was in her eighties. Edge has twenty years, more, to go. She’s great.’
Betty peered at the group image of four people and two dogs. ‘Oh aye, she looks like you.’ She frowned and bent closer. ‘I ken the bloke on the end! He was part of a murder investigation when I was just starting out. What’s his name, Duncan something? An actor.’
‘Donald MacDonald. I looked the case up after I met him. The husband did it as far as we were concerned, but walked. Good memory!’
‘Oh aye.’ Betty handed the iPhone back, looking complacent. ‘I remember now. Husband tried to say she committed suicide after an affair with MacDonald. He was a real looker back then, but as it turned out, a bit of an arse-bandit. Still is. Good looking, I mean. I like that Paul Newman type. So they’re friends?’
‘Very good friends, all four of them. If you take on the liaison, two things you should know: there’s a bulldog type of dog, Maggie, you should never trust near your handbag, she steals purses, and there’s a man called Major Horace you should never trust near any part of you. You can’t miss him. You spot a man brushing up his moustache and looking determined, back away fast. I mean it. The man is a walking advertisement for sexual harassment.’
