by JL Merrow
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Then perhaps you’d like to give an opinion on them.”
Shit. “Er… Very heartfelt, I thought.” That was a safe comment, wasn’t it? “I really liked the one about the shards.”
Morgan’s looming menace didn’t soften. “He didn’t read that one tonight.”
Oops. “Yeah. Shame, that. Still, the others were good too. What did you reckon, Phil?”
All right. I was being a bit of a bastard, dropping him in it like that. But it was his job, this sort of stuff, wasn’t it?
Phil paused before he answered. “I thought it was pretty brave stuff. Putting so much of himself out there like that.”
Christ. Morgan was actually nodding. Then he frowned at Phil. “Your voice sounds familiar. Have we met?”
“We spoke briefly at Cherry’s party,” Phil said smoothly.
I gave him a sidelong look, caught myself and stared guiltily at my feet, hoping I hadn’t given the game away. When I looked up again, though, Margaret’s beady eyes were piercing right through me.
“Really?” Morgan was saying. “I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”
“Phil Morrison. Good to see you again. You’ll have to excuse me, though. There’s someone I wanted to—”
He didn’t get to finish. Raz bounced up to us, still hyped up on nervous energy. “What did you think?”
He was looking straight at me, which I was pleased to see confused the hell out of Morgan and Margaret. “Great.” What had Phil said? “Really brave.”
Raz looked like I’d given him a puppy. “Thank you. It’s not easy, standing up and baring your soul in front of people like that.”
Now I felt like a total shit about the whispering in the back row. Mind you, Phil had started it. “Tell you what, have you got any more copies of that book of yours?” Maybe if I sat down and spent a couple of hours reading the thing, I’d work out what it was all about.
“I have, yes. Would you like one?” Raz was already opening up his backpack and pulling out a copy of Splintered Soul. He’d brought a whole stack of the things along, but obviously not quite got up the nerve to actually get them out and encourage people to buy them. “Would you like me to sign it?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. How much is it?” I dug in my pocket for my wallet and managed not to wince when he named his price. But seriously, how much? The book only had about twenty pages. I handed over my tenner with a smile, though, and he signed the book with a flourish.
“We’re going for a drink now,” Raz said as he passed it to me. “Would you and Phil like to come along?”
I looked up to find the rest of the Literati ranged around us, staring with varying degrees of bemusement at me and Raz being BFFs. Drinks with this lot didn’t sound like my idea of a fun night out, and there was no way I was going to talk to Raz about Auntie Lol in front of everyone. But maybe Phil would want to go along and observe the Literati in their unnatural habitat? I glanced up at him, and he shook his head minutely.
“Thanks,” I said. “But we’d better get back and make sure Cherry’s okay. Some other time, maybe?”
“Oh dear.” Hannah made a concerned face. “She hasn’t been ill again, has she?” She was still standing close to Peter but not hanging off his arm anymore.
“Nah, she’s fine. Just don’t like leaving her alone for too long, that’s all.”
“Oh, are you staying at her house?”
“Er, something like that.” I didn’t want to go handing out Cherry’s current location to any murderers who might be in the vicinity. “You ready, Phil? Right. You enjoy your drinks, Raz, and I’ll give you a bell, okay?”
We turned and walked briskly to the door, me cursing myself under my breath. “I shouldn’t have said that about Cherry. What if one of them’s the murderer and they work it out?”
Phil gripped my shoulder reassuringly. “Look, we’re doing okay. We’re not leaving her there on her own, and anyway, it’s not like she’s being stalked by a bloody axe-murderer. Whoever’s poisoning stuff is using that method to avoid confrontations. They’re not likely to turn up on your doorstep with the carving knives.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just wish I’d thought more before I opened my gob, that’s all.”
Phil just squeezed my shoulder again.
“Thought you might have wanted to go to the pub with them and see if alcohol loosened a few tongues,” I said as we got back in his car.
“No point. Not with them all closing ranks like that.” Phil buckled on his seat belt and started the engine.
“Yeah, but you still might have learned something.”
“What, like how you’ve apparently got a death wish, wanting to go for drinks with a bunch of poisoners?”
“Bloody hell, you think they’re all in on it?” I grinned. “Wouldn’t have put you down for a conspiracy theorist. But seriously, I thought we’d agreed it was Cherry they were after?”
“Yeah, well. Excuse me for not wanting to take any chances with my boyfriend’s life.”
“Careful. You keep saying stuff like that, I might start thinking you care.”
“Course I bleeding care.”
“Yeah, well. Me too and all,” I muttered to my boots.
Then I switched on the radio so we could listen to the sports news and avoid any more awkward talk about feelings.
“Think Cherry and Gary are still speaking to each other?” I asked as I opened my front door.
They weren’t. They were sprawling on the sofa, giggling helplessly. Cherry even had tears in her eyes. When we walked in, they both looked up, tried to straighten their faces, then fell about laughing again.
Bloody hell, just what had they been talking about? There was a half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio on the coffee table, and—yep—an empty one hiding coyly underneath it. “Oi, Gary, have you got my sister pissed?”
“It’s all right,” she said solemnly. “He hasn’t tried to have his wicked way with me.”
Then they both cracked up again. Seriously, I wasn’t sure who was in more danger of wetting themself.
“Looks like you’ve got your hands full with these two,” Phil muttered.
“Yeah. And it looks like Gary’s not going to be driving home tonight. You all right giving him a lift back to Brock’s Hollow?”
“No problem.”
“Coming back after?”
“Think I’ll call it a night after that. Got to go talk to Peter Grissom first thing.” He yawned.
Come to think of it, I was feeling pretty tired myself. Exhausting stuff, this poetry. “Right. I’ll see you, then. Come on Gary, time for all good little boys and girls to go home to bed.”
Gary held out a plaintive hand, so I grabbed it and heaved him to his feet, not without a bit of difficulty, seeing as he weighs half as much again as I do. Predictably, he did a fake stumble and landed in my arms. Drunk Gary is the cuddly sort. And then some. “Whoopsadaisy!”
I backed away from the fifty-proof breath. “Christ, Gary, you stink like an alkie. Darren’s going to think we’re a corrupting influence on you.”
“You’ve never let me corrupt you in your life. Ooh, is that an invitation?”
“Gary, you’re engaged. And my boyfriend is right here.”
He pouted. “Spoilsport. I’m sure Darren wouldn’t mind if it was you. Or Phil. He likes Phil.”
I had horrible visions of us being invited to make up a foursome. “C’mon, Gary, just let Phil take you home. And try really hard not to open your mouth on the way, yeah?”
He sniggered. “Are you worried something might fall into it?”
“Nope. Not worried at all.” I glanced at Phil. “Sure you’re okay with this? I could give Darren a call and let him sleep it off on the sofa.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Come on, Gary. I’ll take care of you.”
“Promises, promises!”
When the door had finally shut behind them and we only had the lingering smell of alcohol to remember
Gary by, I turned to my sister. “Right. You, young lady, are drinking a pint of water, and then you’re going to bed.”
She giggled.
“Did I say something funny?”
“No.” She giggled again. “Something might fall into it,” she quoted, and spluttered with laughter. “He meant Phil’s penis, didn’t he?”
I winced. Maybe, just maybe, if I drank the rest of the wine, I’d be able to blot out the memory of my straitlaced big sister saying the words “Phil’s penis” and then cackling like a witch.
I wasn’t holding my breath, mind.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday morning, I’d just finished getting dressed when my phone rang. I didn’t recognise the number, but then again, I’d been handing my number out pretty freely over the last couple of days. Maybe it was Dave, borrowing someone else’s phone to tell us they’d caught the poisoner and we could all sleep easy in our beds from here on in.
It wasn’t.
“It’s Hannah. From the Literati. I’ve got a bit of a plumbing emergency. I hope you don’t mind me calling you—but you did give me your card…”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. So what’s the problem?”
“It’s…it’s one of the pipes in the bathroom. I’m really scared the ceiling’s going to fall in.” Her voice was breathless enough I could easily believe she was as worried as she said.
“I’ll be right out. What’s the address?”
Now, I’m not daft. Despite what some people seem to think. And it did cross my mind to be a bit wary of Hannah, seeing as she was a member of the same lot who’d apparently sent Cherry a poisoned pressie. Then again, just because it was signed “from the Literati” that didn’t mean it really was from one of them. Plus, it’d be a first-class opportunity to ask her some questions and maybe even have a snoop around her house. I’d just have to remember to say no if she offered me a cup of tea, that was all.
Should I ring Phil first? Probably, if I knew what was good for me. Overprotective so-and-so. I dialled his number, but there was no answer and it went to voice mail. I left a brief message, then went to knock on the door of the spare room, where I’d left Cherry with a large mug of tea, some dry toast and a couple of headache pills.
She hadn’t made a lot of headway on the toast, but she’d got out of bed and pulled on some clothes, so she couldn’t be feeling that bad. Then again, she’d been drinking wine, not Slivovitz.
“Sorry, Sis, I’ve got to go out for a bit. Your mate Hannah from the Literati—she’s got water coming through her ceiling.”
Cherry looked up, her face tired. “Poor her. Fine. I need to sort out my emails anyway. I can’t believe how it’s all mounted up in just a few days.”
She didn’t seem in any hurry to get on with it, though. I hesitated—but Hannah’s problem had seemed a bit urgent, and anyway, Cherry had the cats to look after her. “Shouldn’t take long. She’s only up in Sandridge. I’ll see you in a bit,” I said and left.
Hannah was in a right state when she let me in her house, despite the fact I got there only around ten or fifteen minutes after she’d called. Her round face was shiny and her hands all twitchy. “It’s upstairs. I’ve put towels down to catch the water—I’ve no idea where it’s coming from.”
She wasn’t joking. The whole, sizeable bathroom was carpeted in a thick layer of sodden towels. “Don’t worry, love. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finding leaks.”
Hannah gave me a jerky nod. “Good. I’ll leave you to it—I just need to pop out to the shop in the village. I’ll be back soon.”
She might have offered to put the kettle on first. “See you later, then,” I called out to the sound of the front door closing behind her.
I set to work.
Ten minutes later, I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. I wasn’t just boasting when I said I was good at finding leaks. It’s what I do—why I became a plumber. That’s what the spidey-senses are good for. Finding hidden things. And water.
But I was getting nothing from Hannah’s pipes. Not a dicky-bird. I was getting a strong sense of déjà vu instead, going back to a job a few months previously when a lady thought she had a leak, but it turned out to be her little tot playing a bit too vigorously with water. Now, judging by the lack of toys cluttering the floor and childish scribbles stuck up on the fridge, Hannah didn’t have a daughter—but what if she’d been doing a bit of playing with water herself?
Unease fluttered in my stomach like the ghost of a late-night curry. I grabbed all the soggy towels off the bathroom floor and threw them out of the room just in case they were messing up the readings, then listened as hard as I could.
Nothing. Well, nothing of the leak variety, that was. I was getting a whole lot of background noise, though, and it wasn’t pretty. Hannah had hidden secrets, all right, and they were sending out some really nasty vibes.
My blood went cold. I couldn’t stop to follow the trail. There was only one possible reason Hannah would drag me out on a wild-goose chase—Cherry. Currently all on her tod in my house.
Shit.
I ran out of Hannah’s house, trying to simultaneously watch where I was going and dial up Cherry’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Shit. I tried Phil next. I was back in the van by the time the ringing stopped and it went to voice mail too—for Christ’s sake, what did these people think they were playing at?—so I held the phone with one hand and started the engine with the other, hoping to God I wasn’t about to have an accident or get arrested. Or both. “Phil? It’s Tom,” I said, switching hands so I could put the van in gear. “If you get this in the next ten minutes or so, get over to my place. I think Hannah’s the murderer, and she’s there alone with Cherry.” Probably. Possibly. Shit, was I just jumping to conclusions? “Also, where the bloody hell are you?” I flung the phone on the passenger seat and screeched around a corner, only to nearly rear-end a bloody milk float, trundling along so sodding slowly it was practically going backwards.
My hands clenched on the steering wheel with the effort of not honking my horn. Normally, I’m all for doorstep deliveries—after all, many an old dear’s been found collapsed in her home in the nick of time when the milkman noticed she hadn’t put out the empties—but Christ, right then I was wishing they’d just learn to use the bloody shops. I edged out to the middle of the road, hoping to overtake. Then ducked back in sharpish to avoid the oncoming bus.
Finally we got to the wide bit at the start of the forty-mile-an-hour zone, and I floored the accelerator to zoom round Mr. Milko and tear up the hill like a proverbial out of a whatsit.
And got caught in the queue for the bloody traffic lights. I thumped the steering wheel in frustration and honked the horn by accident. The bloke in front gave me a stern glare in his rearview mirror, and his passenger looked round pointedly. Her eyes widened when she saw my face, and she tapped the driver on the shoulder. Dunno what she said to him, but when the lights changed, he didn’t hang about, and he turned off the road a minute later.
I reckon I must have aged several decades in the ten minutes or so—by the clock, at least—it took me from leaving Hannah’s to when I pulled up in front of mine with a screech of brakes. It was a wonder I wasn’t too bloody decrepit to burst into the house at Mach seven.
Hannah was there, all right. Sitting on the bloody sofa with Cherry. Stroking Merlin—the traitor—and drinking a cup of coffee.
Cherry had a mug in her hand too.
“Put the bloody coffee down!” I yelled. All right, maybe it came out as more of a shriek.
Both women—and the cat—stared at me.
Neither of them put the bloody coffee down.
“Tom?” Cherry said, her eyebrows halfway up to her hairline.
“She—she could be here to kill you, okay? Jesus, don’t drink that!”
Cherry looked at the mug she’d been about to take a sip from, clearly decided that yes, I was worked up enough to lunge over and knock it out of her ha
nd if she carried on, and put it down on the coffee table. “It’s all right, Tom. I made the coffee. And seriously, you can’t really believe that Hannah—”
“She’s a Literati, isn’t she?” Or a Literatus, or whatever the bloody singular was, not that I gave a shit.
“So? We’ve absolutely no evidence one of them was involved.”
“The gift basket,” I blurted out. “It was poisoned. Dave rang.”
Cherry’s face went white. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was going to,” I protested. “But you’ve got to see—”
“That gift tag means absolutely nothing. Anyone could have written it. You’ve got no grounds whatsoever for accusing Hannah like that.”
“But there wasn’t a leak!”
Hannah, who’d been politely pretending to search for something in her handbag so we’d think she wasn’t listening—or maybe really searching for something; I’ve gone away for a week with smaller luggage—looked up and frowned at me. “How could you possibly know that in such a short time?”
“Oh, he’s got this thing.” Cherry made a dismissive gesture. Then she frowned at me as well. “Are you sure it was working properly this time? Maybe you should go back and check.”
“My thing is working fine, thanks so much, Sis. And I’m not leaving you here with her.” I sat down on the arm of the chair opposite them and folded my arms.
“Tom, you’re being incredibly rude. Hannah’s done absolutely nothing wrong. She just popped round to cheer me up.”
“So why did she tell me she was just going to the village shop?”
“I did go to the village shop,” Hannah piped up, sounding annoyingly reasonable. “Then I suddenly thought about Cherry, left here all on her own while you were fixing my bathroom. So I thought I’d surprise her.”
“See?” Cherry said. “You’re just being ridiculous.” She picked up her mug again.
“Oi. You’re not drinking that.”
Hannah heaved an obviously fake sigh. “Why don’t you pass me your mug, Cherry?” She took it, held it up to her lips, then swallowed. It didn’t look like she was faking it. “Happy now?” she asked me. “I can’t believe you actually thought I’d come here to poison poor Cherry. Why on earth did you think I’d want to do that?”
