by JL Merrow
“Yeah, well, it looks like you’re not the only one. Guess whose business card Lionel had on him?”
I yawned again. We were getting near Fleetville, and my bed was calling me. “Not a clue. Surprise me.”
“Some Polish cowboy by the name of Paretski. Apparently, your boyfriend’s untimely death was supposed to have been the result of a lovers’ tiff, and the body was going to turn up in the close vicinity of your house.”
Suddenly, I was a lot less sleepy. “What? He was going to frame me for it? Hang on a minute, how did he know me and Phil were seeing each other, anyway?”
Dave laughed. “Sunshine, everyone knows you and Morrison are seeing each other.”
“Wish they’d bloody told me a bit sooner, then,” I muttered, huddling down in the seat. We drove on in silence for a few minutes as I thought about it all—Phil dead, and me arrested for it. I’d almost been feeling a bit sorry for Lionel until now. Then again, that wasn’t exactly fair on Melanie and Merry either.
“How did Lionel dig up the dirt on Merry in the first place?” I asked as we drew into my road.
“He didn’t. That’s the sad part about it. I mean, yes, he was blackmailing the Reverend—but he didn’t have a bloody thing on him.” Dave shook his head. “Poor bastard—God knows what he thought Treadgood had found—apart from the gay thing, but let’s face it, you could tell that just by looking at him. Seems all Lionel had to do was just hint about secrets Lewis might not want spread about, and the Reverend was bending over backwards to do anything Lionel wanted. Guess we’ll never know what it was really all about, now.”
I swallowed. “No. Guess not.”
Oh, Merry, Merry, Merry. I didn’t like to speak ill of the dead—or even think it—but Christ, what a fucking car crash of a life.
At least he’d seemed a bit happier after we’d spoken. Maybe now he’d finally found some peace.
I slept like the dead for what was left of the night and woke up late to the sound of someone banging on my front door. The cats were milling around in the hallway when I went downstairs, Merlin peeking nervously out from behind Arthur’s solid form. From the general size and shape of the figure behind the frosted glass, I had a pretty good idea who was out there. My heart gave a little jump, like Merlin at his most skittish, as I went to open the door.
“About bloody time,” Phil grumbled. He was still looking a bit pale, or maybe it was just the contrast with the dark circles under his eyes.
I couldn’t seem to stop smiling at him. “Well? Are you coming in or what?”
“See you put on some trousers to come downstairs today,” he said, stomping through the hallway. It sounded like he disapproved.
“You might have been the postman. Or the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Course, that’d have been one way to scare them off,” I added, thinking about it.
“Or get yourself into even more trouble than usual,” Phil groused.
“Hey, it wasn’t me who was tied up in the boot of his own car,” I reminded him.
Without warning, he spun around and pulled me to him, crushing my bare chest against the soft warmth of yet another cashmere sweater. Maybe he had his own herd of goats. “Do you want to be?” he growled.
“Have you seen the boot space in a Fiesta? I might not be large, but even I wouldn’t find that a lot of fun.” I pretended to think. “The back of my van, on the other hand . . .”
“Kinky little sod.”
“I do my best.”
“That a promise?”
“Hey, are you really up for any of that sort of thing? When did they let you out of hospital?”
“I let myself out. Nothing wrong with me a bit of bed rest won’t cure.”
“I didn’t think it was rest you had on your mind. Bed, yeah, but—” The end of my sentence was swallowed as he kissed me.
Soon things were getting nicely out of hand. Phil’s sweater lay crumpled on the hall carpet, and my jeans were undone and with one of his hands shoved inside. But just about then, my brain finally woke up and reminded me I had a couple of unanswered questions.
“Wait a minute,” I said, pushing Phil off me—or trying to; it was like trying to move a mountain. A big, blond, horny mountain. “Oi, gerroff, will you?”
“What?” He backed off about a millimetre and stood there, face flushed, breathing hard.
Gazing into those darkened eyes, it was a bit of a struggle to remember what I’d wanted to ask him. “I just— What is all this, all right? You and me. Is it about me being able to find stuff for you, or you feeling guilty about my hip, or what?”
“Does it matter right now?”
I had to look away. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.”
Strong fingers took hold of my chin and gently turned my face back towards him. “I’m not going to lie to you. The way I feel about you—it’s complicated.” His thumb stroked my cheek in a soothing rhythm, and he smiled suddenly. “Doesn’t help when you go around saving my life either.”
“Why didn’t you call me before you went out there?” I asked, because that had been bugging me worst of all. “Decided you didn’t need me anymore?”
“No, you twat. I was going to confront a bloody murderer, wasn’t I? Why the hell would I want you putting yourself in danger?” Phil’s gaze darted down to my bandaged arm. “Christ, when I saw he was about to shoot you, and you just bloody stood there . . .” He broke off and took a couple of deep breaths.
I slid my arms around his waist and pulled him close to me again. Someday soon, we were going to have to have words about this obsession of his with protecting me.
But for now, I reckoned I had all the answers I needed.
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The Plumber’s Mate Mysteries
Relief Valve
Heat Trap
Blow Down
Lock Nut (coming May 2018)
Porthkennack
Wake Up Call
One Under (coming March 2018)
The Shamwell Tales
Caught!
Played!
Out!
Spun!
The Midwinter Manor Series
Poacher’s Fall
Keeper’s Pledge
Southampton Stories
Pricks and Pragmatism
Hard Tail
Lovers Leap
It’s All Geek to Me
Damned If You Do
Camwolf
Muscling Through
Wight Mischief
Midnight in Berlin
Slam!
Fall Hard
Raising the Rent
To Love a Traitor
Trick of Time
Snared
A Flirty Dozen
JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chi
ef amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.
She writes across genres, with a preference for contemporary gay romance and mysteries, and is frequently accused of humour. Her novel Slam! won the 2013 Rainbow Award for Best LGBT Romantic Comedy, and her novella Muscling Through and novel Relief Valve were both EPIC Awards finalists.
JL Merrow is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, International Thriller Writers, Verulam Writers and the UK GLBTQ Fiction Meet organising team.
Find JL Merrow on Twitter as @jlmerrow, and on Facebook at facebook.com/jl.merrow
For a full list of books available, see: jlmerrow.com or JL Merrow’s Amazon author page: viewauthor.at/JLMerrow
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