Jackson looked at me, and I shook my head. ‘No, ma’am,’ he said, reaching out and covering her hand with his. She visibly softened at his touch. ‘We’re not here to tell you anything bad has happened to Ed. My friend here is just trying to get to the bottom of how the fire got started, that’s all.’
‘Does Mr Bryant have any debts that you know of?’ I asked. ‘Any trouble with the shop?’
Betty bristled. ‘He’s an honest, hardworking man, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ I said, ‘but if he was struggling, or having trouble …’
‘There’s no trouble,’ she said, ‘the man is a saint.’ The firm set of her mouth indicated that our nice little chat was now finished.
Jackson must have sensed it, too, because he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Can we get you anything before we go? I could run across the street and get you a cup of tea?’
‘That’s fine, dear,’ she said, patting the back of his hand. ‘I’m all right for the moment, but thank you.’
‘Thanks for speaking with us,’ I said, offering her my card. ‘If you think of anything else, please give me a call.’
She batted the card away and fixed me with a gimlet eye. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but I can tell you this: you won’t find any snitches around here, so it’s no good you coming around here asking questions. I can promise you that no one around here has a bad word to say about Ed Bryant – you can be sure of that. Now if you’ll excuse me, my curls are starting to singe.’
And with that, we were dismissed.
We walked out of the salon and headed down the street towards the cobbler shop, dejected. ‘Did you have to go in so hard back there?’ Jackson asked.
‘I was just trying to get to the point!’ He was right, though – I’d blown it. Subtlety had never been my strong suit conversationally, and I lacked Jackson’s charm to finesse my way through it. The thought of his superior skill in the situation made me unnaturally angry.
‘Man, you would have made a terrible salesman,’ Jackson laughed. ‘Did you see the look on her face?’ He let out a low whistle. ‘If looks could kill, I’d be ordering a cold cut platter for your funeral right now.’
‘Thanks for the sympathy,’ I spat. ‘Shit. What am I going to do now? That woman was like the Columbia Road Mafioso, right? She’s going to spread the word that a nosy American is poking around where her nose doesn’t belong and – bam! – the doors will slam shut.’ In my panic, I’d reverted to talking like Jeremy. ‘I’m going to be left high and dry,’ I sighed.
‘Aw, it can’t be all that bad, can it? I mean, how important is this whole thing, anyway? The man’s shop burned down. He had insurance, you’re the insurance company, so you pay out the money. Right?’
I tried to hold my temper. ‘It’s not that simple,’ I said tightly. ‘I have to prove that the fire was an accident, and so far there are a few things that suggest that it wasn’t. Like Mr Bryant skipping town, for one.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You really took those Chandler novels to heart, huh? Next thing I know, you’ll be smoking a cigar and complaining about a dame that done you wrong.’
‘Just be quiet and let me think, will you?’
He tipped an imaginary hat. ‘Take your time, gumshoe.’
My mind whirred. What did I know so far? I knew that Edward Bryant had lived in the shop for years. I knew that we’d paid out life insurance following his wife’s death, but that money hadn’t materialized in his bank account. I knew that the shop was meant to have burned down in an electrical fire, but the smoke was black rather than white. And I knew that there was a safe hidden somewhere inside the boarded-up shop. An idea began to form.
‘Come on,’ I said, tugging on Jackson’s arm.
‘Where to now, PI?’
I glanced up at him as we hurtled down the road, past a shop selling bespoke Moroccan tiles and another selling expensive kitchenware. My heart thudded in my chest, knowing what I was about to do. ‘How opposed are you to a little bit of trespassing?’ I asked. It was madness, really, but I didn’t care. My whole life seemed mad at this point. I might as well take a page out of Jackson’s book and throw caution to the wind … particularly if there was the potential to be productive in the process.
He grinned and threw me one of his patented winks. ‘Why, Jenny Sparrow, you are full of surprises.’
Breaking and entering was surprisingly easy. The front of the shop was boarded up, but if you went through the alley adjacent to it, you found yourself in a trim little garden that backed onto the building. And if you pushed the back door a little harder than one usually would, you were inside the burned-out shop quicker than you could say ‘intent to commit a felony’.
‘Right,’ Jackson said, clapping his hands together. A pile of desiccated leather tipped to the floor. ‘What are we supposed to be looking for again?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted as I peered around at the charred walls. ‘Proof that the electrics really did cause the fire, I guess.’
‘I thought that was what the fire department was for.’ He picked up a tool and brandished it in the air. ‘What the hell is this thing?’
‘An awl,’ I said, ‘and yes, the fire department did a full report and concluded it was an electrical fault, but I just need to double-check.’
‘Because our good friend Eddy has disappeared?’
I nodded. ‘That’s part of it, but really it’s just about being thorough. I like to be thorough.’
‘I’m guessing that’s how you knew this thing was an awl?’ he said, waving the tool at me.
‘I researched cobbler tools before I came, in case anything stuck out as strange.’
‘Yeah, the thing that would be strange about this situation would be finding a tool that didn’t fit.’ He was about to put the awl back on the table when he stopped in his tracks and turned to me, eyes lit up like a pair of disco balls. ‘Hang on a minute. Does that mean you were planning on breaking in here all along?’
I gave him a sly smile. ‘I wouldn’t say I wasn’t planning on it …’
‘You little devil! And here I was thinking you were a rule-follower.’
‘I am a rule-follower!’ I said, indignant. ‘I love rules. It’s just … sometimes to catch a rule-breaker, you have to be willing to slightly bend them yourself.’
‘You call this,’ he said, gesturing towards the pried-open back door, ‘rule-bending?’
I nodded decisively. ‘Yes.’
‘Whatever you say, boss. Now, where do you want to start?’
‘Over here, I think.’ I stepped past a low stool and ducked behind what had once been a workbench. The smell of sulfur and damp paper and the oaky smell of charred wood filled my lungs. I stopped and stared.
In the far corner, just below the grime-smeared windows, a tangle of wires peeked out from a hole above the trim. I crouched down for a closer look. Sure enough, the protective coating had worn away on parts of the wires and the ends were all frayed. A fire hazard if I’d ever seen one. All it would have taken was one little spark to catch the curtains, and – whoosh! – the whole place would have lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Found something?’ I looked up to see Jackson looming over me. I pointed at the wires and he let out a low whistle. ‘Those are some dicey electricals right there. You think that’s what caused the fire?’
I nodded. ‘That’s what it said in the report, and this looks like it matches up …’
‘Huh. Well, at least you know the guy was telling the truth now, right?’
‘Maybe …’ I stood up and dusted down my knees, my eyes scanning the room until they snagged on the scrap of curtain I’d seen in the photograph. I hurried over and pushed it aside, revealing a stretch of soot-blackened wall, and – the hairs on the back of my neck stood up – a safe. I tried the door, assuming it would be locked, but it opened easily. I peered inside and my heart sank. The safe was empty. If there had been an
y evidence inside, Ed Bryant had made sure it was long gone by the time we turned up.
Jackson, on the other hand, had a different interpretation of events. ‘Well,’ he said, slapping the wall with the flat of his hand, ‘looks like you hit the jackpot.’
I scratched the back of my neck and stared inside the empty safe. ‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ I said finally.
He shot me a look of incredulity. ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t prove anything? The guy has a safe in his shop, the place burns down under suspicious circumstances and – poof! – the safe is empty and someone’s covered it up! Feels like an open and shut case to me.’
I shook my head. ‘All we’ve done is find an empty safe. That doesn’t prove anything other than that Mr Bryant was cautious about where he kept the store’s cash.’
Jackson scrunched his face up. ‘Then what the hell are we doing here?’
‘Barking up the wrong tree, I guess. Sorry I’ve led you on this insane wild goose chase.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said, nudging me with his shoulder. ‘Believe it or not, this isn’t my first wild goose chase, nor is it the first crime I’ve committed.’ He clocked the look on my face and laughed. ‘No need to look so shocked, my dear – it wasn’t anything serious, I promise. I’m not about to tell you that you’re married to an axe-wielding murderer.’
‘Thank God for small favors,’ I grumbled. I looked around the room, suddenly despondent. ‘God, what am I going to tell my boss?’
‘Tell him the truth. You tried your best, but you couldn’t find anything that incriminated the guy. Who knows – maybe the fire really was an accident.’
I shook my head. ‘My boss definitely doesn’t think so.’
He looked at me. ‘What do you think?’
I considered this. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what to think. All of this stuff – the safe, him disappearing – it all seems to point to something bad. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to believe he did it. It was his home for forty years. His wife’s, too, before she died. Why would he just burn it down?’
He let out a long sigh. ‘Grief makes people do crazy things. Makes them strangers even to themselves sometimes.’
I looked up at Jackson, willing him to say more, but his mouth was drawn tight.
I thought of my mother. If my father hadn’t left her and broken her heart, would she be a different person now? Or was it always inside of her, and the grief had just unlocked it?
‘I don’t know about you,’ Jackson said, breaking the dark silence that had descended on the room, ‘but I sure could use a drink. I saw one of those fancy-looking gastropubs on the corner – why don’t you let me buy you an overpriced beer?’
I hesitated. It was only five o’clock – I should really go back to the office and type up my notes, see if there was a piece of the puzzle I was missing. And I still hadn’t sorted out a B&B for the weekend … But the Tube would already be packed with early rush-hour commuters, and the look on Jackson’s face was practically beseeching. Maybe a pint wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
‘Okay,’ I said, picking my way through the detritus to the back door. ‘But only one.’
‘Sure,’ Jackson grinned at me. ‘Just the one.’
‘Another round?’ Jackson lifted his empty pint glass and waggled it at me. One had already turned into two after the first round disappeared in a matter of gulps – our adrenal systems still on high alert after all the criminal activity – but three felt … incendiary. I checked the time on my phone: 6:45. Christopher would be home by eight at the latest, and I still hadn’t booked anywhere for our weekend away.
Jackson saw the hesitation on my face and rolled his eyes. ‘I’m asking if you want another pint, not a bunch of ketamine.’
‘I’m just a little worried about the time,’ I said. ‘Christopher—’
‘Christopher will cope if you’re out past seven. C’mon, just one more. Particularly as you’re leaving me high and dry this weekend.’
News that I was going away for the weekend had not been well received. There was cajoling. There was hectoring. There were even thinly veiled threats about husband’s rights and the difficulty of procuring a divorce in the state of Texas. (Not true: I’d looked it up when he’d gone to the bathroom. For the low price of $139.99, you could get a divorce in Texas in less than twenty-four hours.) But finally, there’d been a nod of his head and a raising of his hands. ‘I know when I’m beat,’ he’d said, though he hadn’t shown any evidence of that to date.
‘Fine,’ I said eventually, ‘but just a half.’
He reappeared with a half-pint glass filled mainly with gin, only the faintest splash of tonic floating on top. I took a sip and winced. ‘This wasn’t really what I had in mind.’
He winked at me. ‘I know it wasn’t.’ He clinked his glass – filled with a tawny brownish liquid – to mine. ‘Bottom’s up, sweetheart.’
The gin hit my stomach just as I realized I hadn’t eaten anything other than a meagre Pret sandwich that day. ‘I think I need some nuts or something,’ I muttered as the heat from the liquor warmed my esophagus. The adrenaline from the break-in – I still couldn’t believe I’d instigated something that could be described as a break-in – had deserted me, and I felt jittery and slightly giddy. I took another sip and felt my nerves begin to steady.
‘Salted or dry roasted?’
The nuts didn’t do much to mitigate the booze, and by the end of the glass, my head was fizzing pleasantly and I was lolling slightly to the left.
‘Right,’ Jackson said, pushing the little triangle of folded up paper across the table at me. ‘Your turn.’
‘Get ready,’ I said, balancing the triangle on the table. He pointed his index fingers at the sky. ‘Hang on, your goalposts are closer together than mine were!’
‘They are not. Now are you going to shoot or what?’
‘Not until you move the goalposts further out.’ I reached across the table and pulled his hands further apart. ‘There.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ He regarded the distance between his two fingers, which admittedly was now quite considerable. ‘You’re such a cheat.’
‘I’m not a cheat!’ I cried, indignant. ‘You’re the cheat!’
‘That’s real adult of you.’
‘Cheat, cheat, never beat,’ I chanted.
‘For Chrissakes, will you just shoot already?’
I lined up the triangle and flicked. The bit of paper sailed across the table, through his upstretched fingers, and landed squarely in the middle of his chest. ‘Goooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!’ I shouted. A few of the other patrons turned and looked at me crossly, but for once I didn’t care. Let them stare, I thought. I’d just won a game of flick football.
‘Best out of three,’ he said, pushing the triangle back towards me.
I shook my head. ‘I’m officially retired,’ I declared. ‘I will never again play flick football.’
‘For God’s sake – you know, you’re a real piece of work.’
‘Takes one to know one,’ I said, sticking out my tongue.
He shook his head. ‘Man, I should have turned up with a flask that first day outside your office. You’re a fun drunk, you know that?’
‘I’m not drunk!’ But I was. That much was obvious. More drunk than I had been since … I felt myself blush. Oh yeah. Since I married him.
‘You were a fun drunk in Vegas, too. Do you remember the first thing you said to me in that bar that night?’
‘I think we’ve established that I don’t remember much from that night,’ I said, but something at the back of my mind was pushing its way to the front, like a little kid who really, really has to pee. ‘Wait, was it something about being an heiress?’
He nodded. ‘You told me you were the great-great granddaughter of the man who invented the toilet-roll holder.’
Of course I had. As Isla would tell you, it was classic early 20s’-era Sparrow. She and I had spent pretty much the entirety of
our twenty-second year cavorting around New York making up stories about ourselves while chatting up strange attractive men (strange in that we didn’t know them, not in that they were weird. Though some definitely were weird). The toilet-roll holder one was a favorite.
‘Did I also tell you that Isla was a princess whose family owned half of Peru?’
His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. ‘So you do remember! Yes, you tried that one, too, but I quickly sussed out that a Peruvian princess was unlikely to be named Isla. Call me crazy.’
A snort of laughter escaped from somewhere deep inside of me. ‘Oh God,’ I moaned, hiding my face in my hands, ‘I can’t believe I said those things to you.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said, waving it away, ‘it was hilarious. Like I said, you’re a fun drunk.’
I thought back to my time with Isla in New York. We hadn’t just been fun drunks, we’d been fun sober people, too. We’d crashed gallery openings, taken paper-wrapped subs from Peppino’s to Prospect Park to watch the sun set, splashed through open fire hydrants on muggy August afternoons. We’d lived fast and loose with our time. I had work, sure, and Isla had school, but still the days and nights seemed to stretch before us as huge, endless expanses.
And then it had changed. I’d changed.
‘Hey, you okay?’
I looked up to find Jackson studying me, his mouth pulled down. I forced myself to smile. ‘Fine,’ I said brightly.
‘You were on a different planet there for a minute. What had you so lost in thought?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, shaking my head quickly. ‘It’s not important. So how long did it take you to figure out I wasn’t a toilet-roll holder heiress?’
He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Are you telling me you’re not a toilet-roll holder heiress?’ He whistled. ‘Well then, what the hell am I doing here? I had big plans for that money, I’ll tell you.’
I laughed. ‘What makes you think I’d share any of my toilet fortune with you?’
‘Alimony, sweetheart,’ he said with a wink. ‘I intend to be ruthless.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to say the most I can offer you is a half a toaster and a couple of bonds I still haven’t cashed from my graduation.’
Jenny Sparrow Knows the Future Page 21
