It was no good telling myself that there was no reason why anyone would have a motive to kill me. I was all alone in a deserted place so it was a given. I slipped out of bed and went to stand beside one of the windows so I wouldn’t be seen. And then, just when it seemed the car was going to crash right into the cabin, it turned around and roared away down the dirt road.
Kids, I told myself. Kids, kids, kids, just as Rufus had said. As usual I’d been imagining myself to be in danger.
The next morning I awoke bright and early and picked up the Phillionaire’s land line because I couldn’t make international calls on my cell phone. Cath was not as antagonistic as I had expected her to be when I called her back to apologize. It was often like this in our friendship. She would be—I felt—overly critical of me, haranguing me for something I had done, and, if I defended myself, then she was quite capable of working herself up into a storm of disapproval that could create a rift between us for weeks. But if I apologized, in other words if I acknowledged that she was right, then she was invariably all charm in twenty seconds.
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“Poor little thing,” she cooed when I told her about Eliza’s in-cessant crying, “she’s probably suffering from colic.”
“Yes, that’s it, she is,” I said, although I had absolutely no idea.
I just wanted to be part of the baby club too. I had to own up to a tiny niggle that had taken root at the back of my mind and was festering every day. If Tommy and I had gone ahead with the wedding, we might already be thinking about starting a baby by now, something I wouldn’t have thought about for two seconds a year ago. But seeing Cath with a baby before I had left London—and now Franny—I was beginning to worry that I mustn’t leave it too late.
“Then I really pity the poor mother,” said Cath, not giving me an ounce of sympathy, I noticed. “Who is she by the way?”
I told her the whole story, how I had met Franny via Rufus and how Franny’s son was working for Shotgun Marriott.
“Wait a second,” said Cath, “back up. What’s this about Shotgun Marriott?”
“Well, that’s whose book I’m supposed to be doing. That’s why I came to America in the first place, remember?”
“You never said it was his book,” said Cath.
I could have sworn I did but then I had noticed that since she’d had Marcus, Cath wasn’t as interested in the details of my life as she used to be.
“So anyway,” she said, “you lucked into this job because the first choice got murdered? And now you’re saying his son is dead too?”
“Didn’t you read about it in the papers?”
“Lee,” said Cath in the overly patient tone she sometimes adopted that always made me feel like an idiot, “with Marcus in my life, when do I have time to read the papers? But you working for Shotgun Marriott, I can’t wait to tell Richie.”
“Why? I didn’t know Richie was a fan of his.”
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“Lee, for Christ’s sake! You don’t know about the groupie that was found dead on Shotgun Marriott’s bed?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, don’t you remember? Max Austin was working for the detective that investigated that case.”
“Well, I didn’t know that,” I said.
Max Austin. There was someone I hadn’t thought about for a while. He was Richie’s boss and the detective who had been in charge of the arson murders in my London neighborhood. He was a bit of a moody curmudgeon and at first I had found him dis-tant and a little scary. But the more I had got to know about him, the more I began to feel sorry for him. I found it particularly poignant that his wife had been murdered and her killer had never been found. He seemed to me a really sad case, still mourning his wife after five years as a widower with no one new on the horizon. I’d witnessed him starting to spruce himself up a bit—a haircut, smart clothes—and in my own dippy romantic way I had assumed he’d found a girlfriend.
I was an ostrich. I dug my head in the sand and ignored the signs. The reason Max Austin was giving himself a makeover was because he had developed a big fat brooding crush on me and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
“Yes,” said Cath. It had been she who had pointed out to me the reason Inspector Austin was knocking on my door every day to ask yet another question regarding his investigation. “He told us all about it when we were out for dinner one night. He was pretty junior then, of course. Not the big wheel he is now. By the way, did you know he’d got a promotion? He’s detective superintendent now. Anyway, he did quite a bit of the legwork, questioning the people at the place where it happened. He had to deal with the groupie’s family when they all came rushing over from the States pointing the finger.”
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“At Shotgun?”
“Well, who else?”
“I didn’t even know the groupie was American.”
“Well, now you do. So tell me, how did this Franny person get you to babysit? You never helped me out with Marcus in London.”
“You never asked, Cath,” I protested. “I had the impression you didn’t trust me with him.”
Cath had been obsessively protective of Marcus, barely allowing me to hold him for more than a minute. She must be coming to the end of her maternity leave from her job as a teacher and I wondered how she would cope with leaving him in someone else’s care.
“Franny’s pretty relaxed about Eliza,” I said and waited to see if she would rise to the bait.When she didn’t say anything, I went on: “It’s so ironic, she has this little white picket fence all around her store and it makes you think she must live this apple-pie American dream but I’m telling you, Cath, her life is a nightmare.”
I expected Cath to ask me why and I was looking forward to a good gossip about Franny. She intrigued me and I regretted that there was no one with whom I could discuss her. Rufus was the closest bet but it was unlikely that he would have an objective take on her anymore.
“We’re all surrounding ourselves with a dream to a certain extent, Lee.” Oh, okay, she was in “wise Cath preaches to irresponsible Lee” mode. It was best to say nothing and just listen with one ear. “I expect you’re putting up a bit of a white picket fence around your own life at the moment even though your dream’s been shattered.”
Was she referring to my wedding being called off?
“How is Tommy?” I asked. “My mother told me you’d seen him.”
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“He’s in a pretty bad way. He devoted his life to two things—
the BBC and you—and both of them are gone.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” I knew I sounded pretty sour but I couldn’t help myself.
“He was let go by the BBC and you went off to America.”
“How many times have I told you, Cath, he was the one who put a stop to the wedding. I know I’ve been putting him off all these years but this time I was so ready to marry him, I really was.”
Then she surprised me.
“I think he knows he made a mistake, Lee. He really misses you.”
“He does?”
“He came round here to tell me he’d lost his job but once he’d got that out the way all he did was talk about you. Got pretty boring, actually.” She laughed.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Lee? You still there? Call him. He’s dying to hear from you.”
“So why doesn’t he call me?”
“He told me he had.”
Well, that was true enough.
“It would be so great if you two could get back together,” said Cath, “but you’ve got to strike now while the proverbial iron’s hot and your absence is making his heart grow fonder and all that crap.”
“Okay.” I laughed. “I’ll call him.” That was the thing about Cath. No matter how annoying I found her, I had to ad
mit she always had my best interests at heart.
But every time I called Tommy, he wasn’t home. I tried at odd moments throughout the day and I always got the machine. I was beginning to worry about not having heard from him. I had left a message telling him I loved him and received a resounding silence
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in return. In desperation I sent him an e-mail. “Did you get my message? Call me back.” Tommy doesn’t do e-mail if he can help it. He’s a great text-messager and I had been used to constantly picking up my mobile only to read “what’s 4 dinner” or “gone 2
pub” on my screen. But for some reason he finds e-mailing a big effort, too much like writing a letter.
It boomeranged back and after a second I realized why. I had sent it to his old e-mail address at the BBC and of course he was no longer there. So there was nothing left to do but wait for him to get in touch of his own accord.
When the phone rang quite early the next morning, I snatched it up thinking it would be him but a voice said:
“Lee, is that you? How is everything?”
“Phil,” I clung to the phone as if he were my lifeline, “how are you?”
“I just thought I’d check in and see if you’d found out where to buy milk and cookies and stuff?”
Poor Phil. He must have regretted dialing my number by the time I’d finished with him. I chattered on and on, telling him everything that had happened, about my meeting with Shotgun, about Franny and Dumpster and—
I stopped short of telling him about Scott. I remembered just in time that he didn’t know anything about Eliza.
“I still don’t like it,” he said.
“Don’t like what?”
“You being tied in to all this business with Shotgun Marriott.
You’re getting in too deep, Lee. Sooner or later you’re going to be implicated in some way. Can’t you tell him to wait to do the book until this whole murder thing has been cleared up?”
I knew he was right. Somehow I knew the Phillionaire would always be right and I should heed his advice whenever I could. He was my new best friend and wise uncle wrapped into one.
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But I couldn’t get Shotgun’s haunted face out of my mind and I could still hear him telling me how if I started work on the book with him, I’d be helping him more than I could possibly know.
The truth is I get a kick out of being needed by someone as much as the next person. I wanted to help Shotgun, I felt I could help him, and what’s more, I was going to.
“I know, I know,” I told Phil, “but I’m afraid I’m going ahead although I haven’t heard from him since he was arrested, so God knows what’s going to happen.”
“Well, don’t go visiting him in jail. I don’t want to have to deal with your mother if we read about your involvement in the papers. I like your Tommy, by the way,” Phil said softly while I was still trying to picture Shotgun sitting in prison.
“You do?”
“He’s straightforward and genuine and that rare thing, a stand-up guy who’s also loaded with charm. Maybe he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to the world of brilliant careers but does it really matter? He’s good fun to talk to and what’s more, he talks a lot of sense.”
“Did he say anything about me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Hard to say,” said the Phillionaire, “we only sat up and talked about you till two in the morning. He wants to marry you, Lee, but he’s apprehensive. He’s not sure he’s bright enough for you, he’s worried you’ll get bored with him in a couple of years. He’s feeling pretty vulnerable at the moment, he’s just lost his job, you know.”
“Everyone always sees things from Tommy’s point of view,” I said. “I’m the one who was dumped.”
“So rise above it,” said Phil, “don’t always make it about you.
Guys are allowed to be shaky sometimes too. Tell him you feel bad because he called off the wedding, tell him you think he
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made a big mistake but you’re willing to forgive him. Open the door a little, Lee. Although I gotta tell you something . . .” He stopped.
“What?”
“He was a big surprise to me, not at all the type of guy I’d have figured you’d be with.”
“What do you mean?” I was intrigued. “What kind of man did you think I’d go for?”
“Someone more—and don’t take this the wrong way—someone more challenging. I’d never have guessed a simple straightforward guy like Tommy would keep you interested but believe me, having met him, I’m delighted he has.”
I was about to quiz him further but it seemed he had another agenda.
“The other reason I called,” he said, “is that I really need you to go over and check on the construction. For me. I’ve got your mother on my back about it every day. She’s a pain in the butt, we know that. But it’s like with you and Tommy, I’ve got to rise above it and even though she’s the one who said she’d take care of it, I know I have to get involved and move it along a bit. For her. Because I love her. So will you go check on it for me?”
“Of course, Phil,” I said. “For you—anything.” And I meant it.
For the rest of the day I couldn’t get my mind off what the Phillionaire had said about Tommy being an unlikely partner for me. It resonated with me as I took my habitual walk along the beach because it was the first time anyone had registered the slightest doubt about Tommy’s presence in my life.
Anyone except myself, that is.
Secretly I had always thought Tommy and I were ill-matched with him so gregarious and me such a loner. But because I had been able to dictate when and for how long we spent time under
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the same roof, I had been able to get the best of both worlds as far as our relationship was concerned. I had needed him desperately in the beginning when my violence phobia and antisocial issues had rendered me almost impossible to be with. Nothing I did ever seemed to get him down and his unquestioning devotion to me had enveloped me in a warm cocoon of security.
But being warm and dependable didn’t make him exciting.
Tommy was the sensible wool coat I put on to ward off the winter cold but every now and then I yearned to risk contracting the flu by wearing something a little more flimsy and sexy that would take me just a little closer to the edge.
I don’t expect anybody to understand this—least of all myself. Because if you spend your life frantically anticipating violence to annihilate you around every corner, why in the world would you want a man who’d cause you that kind of excitement?
The Phillionaire had spoken of someone who was a challenge for me and maybe that was a better way of putting it. Until he’d called off the wedding, I’d had the upper hand with Tommy and therefore he’d presented very little challenge and the more I thought about it, I wondered if maybe that had been part of the trouble between us. Because we’d had rows and mini-breakups in the past and it had always been my fault. I’d get cranky and moody with him and I’d bait him until he was forced to defend himself and then all hell would break loose between us and I’d kick him out for a week or so.
But maybe the reason I became cranky in the first place was because he didn’t stimulate me. Mentally, I mean. The sex was fine. No problem there but could it be that he bored me—just a little? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not his fault. He is who he is.
Dear sweet adorable Tommy with his gentle nonjudgmental sweetness. I love him.Yes I do. And I always will.
Yet I kept coming back to what Phil had said.Tommy had can-
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celed the wedding because he didn’t think he was bright enough for me, because he was worried I might get bored with him. I was forced to admit there was a horrible glimmer of truth lurking there
.The simple truth was that I used Tommy and I hated myself for it. I used him because he let me. But over the past year I had resolved to become a better person. I had been adamant with myself that as Tommy’s wife I would work harder to appreciate what he did for me and I would try my utmost to give to him in return.
Only now he had deprived me of the opportunity and I think that was what upset me the most about him backing away from the wedding. But however hard I tried, there was no getting around it: we would still be mismatched. I was fretting about this as I walked barefoot over the firm sand at the water’s edge when my cell phone rang and I heard the unmistakable sound of Shotgun Marriott’s soft baritone.
“I think you and I need to go to work,” he said.
“You’re out on bail?”
“Even better. I had my arraignment and the judge threw out the case. There was not probable cause to arrest me in the first place, at least not by the time he’d heard all the evidence. But the icing on the cake was when one of Detective Morrison’s witnesses changed her story and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.”
“Franny Cook?” I couldn’t believe it. Franny had listened to what I had told her, she had come through.
“Right.You know her? Franny Cook, Dumpster’s mother. She said she wasn’t home the nights Sean and Bettina were murdered so she couldn’t say Dumpster was with her. Dumpster stood up and said he was with me here at Mallaby both nights, working late, so I was off the hook, although by the look on Evan Morri-
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son’s face, it won’t be for long. For some reason that man really seems to have it in for me.”
“That’s great news— Kip, ” I remembered just in time. “I’ll be there in the morning.What time’s good for you? I’m really looking forward to getting started.”
C H
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IGOT UP AT SEVEN THE NEXT MORNING AND AFTER A quick cup of coffee, I padded off along the beach to fulfill my promise to the Phillionaire and check on the construction. It was so mild that for a second I pondered taking a dip in the bay.
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