Joker in the Pack

by Elise Noble

  “And is that true? Be honest with me.”

  I faced him square on with my hands on my hips. “How dare you even suggest that! No, it bloody is not. Yes, my ex-boyfriend was well off, and yes, my mother gave me endless lectures on marrying well, but that doesn’t automatically mean I’m after cash.”

  “So, why would the locals think you are?”

  What little fight I had left leached out of me and I sagged back against the wall, using it to hold myself up. “Because of Tate.”

  “And who’s Tate?”

  “I met him in the pub the evening of the first burglary. We got talking, and he suggested we might go out for lunch. I had no idea he was a rich lawyer.”

  “So did you go out with him?”

  “I have been seeing him, yes. He’s one of only…” I counted on my fingers. “Three people around here still talking to me.”

  “Interesting. So, would you say you’ve become dependent on him?”

  “Not dependent, but he’s been supportive. He understands that the rumours are just that: rumours. I couldn’t have got through this without him. We were out together when the brick got thrown, and straight away, he arranged for the window to be fixed. I wouldn’t even have known who to call.”

  “Well, at least you’ve had somebody looking out for you. Who are the others?”

  “Others?”

  “You mentioned three people.”

  “Warren, the local taxi driver, and the landlord of the pub in Stonystead. That’s a village a few—”

  “I know where it is.”

  Of course he did.

  “And what’s your relationship with Warren?”

  “I don’t have a relationship. He’s given me lifts on occasion, and he asked me out for dinner once, but I declined.”

  “So you’re a customer of his?”

  “He’s never charged me.”

  “When was the last time he offered you a ride?”

  “He gave me a lift into town, maybe a week and a half ago. He said he was going anyway, but now I think about it, he was driving in the opposite direction when he first saw me.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “Uh… Once, I think. I was on my bike, and he asked if I needed a lift instead, but I declined.”

  “So he knew you had the bike, then.”

  “You can’t think… Not Warren, surely?”

  Nye nodded to himself. “Let’s go back to the kitchen.”

  He nudged between my shoulder blades to steer me in the right direction. Even when he took his hand away, the heat from his palm still seared into my skin. His touch was all I could think about when he sat down at the kitchen table and took a slim laptop out of his rucksack.

  “I’m going to take some notes. I want you to start right at the beginning with your life in London and talk me through to the present. Don’t leave anything out. Something must have triggered all this.”

  I took a seat next to him and leaned against the wooden back, trying to keep as much space between us as possible. The air seemed thicker than normal, and every breath was a struggle.

  Only when I managed to get enough oxygen did I begin my story.

  CHAPTER 20

  NYE JUST LISTENED for the most part as I spoke, occasionally tapping away on his keyboard. I thought I’d got off lightly, but it turned out he’d saved all his questions for the end.

  “So, your ex. Edward. Have you seen him since you moved here?”

  “No. I haven’t seen him since he came around to pick up the last of his things one evening in London. I never gave him my new address.”

  “Did you part on good terms?”

  I’d glossed over that part. “Not exactly.”

  “I need details, Olivia.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Someone’s terrorising you, and there’s a fine line between love and hate. I need to know if there’s any reason why he might be upset at you.”

  “Fine. I caught him at it with some floozy. Are you happy now?”

  His face softened. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I sighed and looked out the window. Nye’s steady gaze made me squirm. “It’s been over for a while now, and Maddie helped me to get my own back. Can’t we just drop it?”

  “What do you mean, get your own back?”

  Oops. I hadn’t meant to tell him about that. I shifted in my chair, measuring the distance to the door. Six steps, maybe seven. If I ran, would Nye come after me? Failing that, was there any way I could turn back the clock and erase, say, the last thirty seconds?

  He tapped his fingers on the table. Guess not.

  “We, er, went into his house and did a few things.”

  “What sort of things, Olivia?”

  Why was it that when he called me by my name, I felt like a five-year-old getting told off by the teacher?

  I gave Nye a quick précis—eggs, glitter, hair remover, chilli—and his eyes widened in surprise. So he was capable of emotion, then.

  “Remind me not to get on your bad side. I think we can add Edward to the list of suspects. That little lot would be enough to get anybody riled up.”

  Oh, sugar. Could this nightmare be my fault? I’d been so hell bent on revenge, I never stopped to think about the consequences.

  “I’m going to need all the details you’ve got on Edward. Where he lives, where he works, who his friends are,” Nye continued.

  “I’ll write everything down.”

  “I’ll also need a list of everyone you’ve come across in the village. If someone’s got a grudge against you, there’s every chance you’ve interacted with them at some point, even if it didn’t seem important at the time.”

  Nye jotted down the names as I walked through my time in the village, starting with my first visit to The Cock and Bull.

  “There’s Jean, the barmaid in the pub, and I met Warren there too. Then Floyd in the grocery store, who’s always been a bit grumpy, but I think that’s just his manner. And Betty from the post office, but she’s at least seventy years old.”

  “Who else?”

  “Daisy in the café. She was friendly at first, but then she turned after the rumours started. Same for Bob and Yvonne next door. A whole bunch of people came round to help tidy after the first burglary, but I didn’t even get most of their names. Yvonne might know. She was here part of the time.”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  “I went to the pub again, and that’s the night I met Tate. He stepped in when another man made inappropriate comments. Henry. And Graham the policeman was also there. Anyone else I’ve met, I only made small talk with.”

  And that was it, my sad life reduced to a series of interactions, many of them insignificant or unpleasant. Hearing myself talk through them out loud made me wonder once again why I hadn’t run for the hills.

  Nye typed a couple more sentences, then looked up. “That’s a good start.”

  “Is it? Half of those people are pensioners or girls.”

  “Women can do every bit as much damage as men.”

  “Really?”

  “You’d better believe it.” He paused, focusing on the screen in front of him. “Well, this is interesting.”

  “What? Did you find something?”

  “I’m not sure. A load of the residents of the three Foxfords have files on our system, but they’re all sealed. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  “Who sealed them?”

  “One of the directors at the company I work for.”

  A company? I realised I knew next to nothing about him. “I assumed you worked alone. Or perhaps you had an assistant. Like…”

  “Don’t even mention Sherlock Holmes. Please. I’ve heard every joke in the book, and it’s worn thin now.”

  “Okay, er, I just don’t know any other private investigators.”

  “I work for Blackwood Security. It’s one of the largest security and investigation firms in the world. I’m not a lone wolf.”

>   Phew. At least he wasn’t some cowboy. “What do the sealed files mean?”

  His mouth set in a hard line. “It means we’ve looked at these people before, but I don’t know why. I’ll try to find out. But in the meantime, can I have a look around?”

  “Of course.”

  I followed him as he poked and prodded his way through the house. He whistled as he saw what was left of the piles of peril.

  “Holy shit. That’s a lot of…shit.”

  I had to agree with him, even if he’d put it rather crudely. “My aunt was a bit of a hoarder, it seems. I’ve been selling it as quickly as I can. I was going to use the money to modernise the place, but I’ve ended up spending it on repairs instead.”

  In my bedroom, I blushed as Nye opened the wardrobe and stared at my clothes. Tell me he didn’t plan on checking my underwear drawer too? I breathed a sigh of relief when he headed downstairs, through the kitchen, and out into the garden.

  Our first stop was the woodshed, where he picked up the chain and padlock still attached to the support.

  “You can’t keep your bike in here anymore.”

  “I know that. I’ve been wheeling it into the hallway for the last few nights.”

  Nye shoved his way through the undergrowth around the perimeter with me tripping along behind. Then it was back to the house.

  “Your security’s terrible. I’ll get a man in to sort out decent locks for your doors and windows. And you should stay out of the garden until we’ve got to the bottom of this. It’s too secluded.”

  “I can’t afford new locks at the moment.” If I could, I’d have bought them already.

  “People owe me favours.”

  “It’s not fair to ask you to do that. I owe you already for coming at all.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m telling you—you’re getting new locks. And you don’t owe me anything. Coming out here was a favour to Soph.”

  Before I got the chance to protest further, his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

  “This is the call I’ve been waiting for. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Obviously, I wasn’t to be privy to whatever he needed to discuss. I paced the kitchen as he did the same outside the window, up and down in front of the old apple tree. How could I repay him for the security improvements he insisted on making? First Tate, now Nye—I hated being a charity case.

  Five minutes later, chilled air flooded in as Nye came back. He kept the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he sat in front of his laptop.

  “Okay, I’ve got access now. Put you on speaker?”

  The answer must have been yes, because he did just that, placing the phone down on the table.

  “Olivia, this is Emmy. She works at Blackwood, and it turns out she lived in Lower Foxford briefly a year or so ago. She’s going to try and help us out.”

  “Hi.” I hated speaking to strangers on the phone.

  A well-spoken voice filled the room, the accent British with a faint American twang, soft yet exuding authority. “Some of the things I’ll say aren’t public knowledge, so I’d appreciate if they didn’t go any further.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, I hear you’ve been having a few problems with the delightful citizens of Upper Foxford?”

  “They don’t seem very fond of me.”

  Her hearty laugh was unexpected. “Don’t worry about it. I got declared persona non grata when I lived there too. Let me guess, you’re dating an eligible bachelor?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Happened to me as well. Now, let’s go through your questions. I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Nye took over. “Right, for starters, we’ve got a guy called Henry.”

  “Ah, the village sleaze. Slimy as you like, thinks he’s God’s gift?”

  “That’s him,” I said. “He drives a Ferrari.”

  “He’s an arrogant fuck, but he’s harmless for the most part. If he gives you any trouble, knee him in the crown jewels. He shuts up then.”

  I couldn’t help giggling. “You didn’t?”

  “I did. He steered clear of me after that.”

  I still wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but just thinking about Henry getting his comeuppance made me smile.

  “Why are there system files on so many people in the three villages?” Nye asked.

  “A while back, a friend of mine got kidnapped from Lower Foxford, and I threw a lot of resources at the problem. Part of that involved basic workups on most of the locals.”

  “Where’s the kidnapper now? Could this be connected?”

  “Rotting in jail, and he won’t be getting out. I’ve unsealed everything else in case it helps, but I’m not sure you’ll find much that’s relevant. Most of it was targeted towards that one particular case—alibis, family connections, fingerprints, that sort of thing.”

  “You never know. Do you have any contacts around here? Police?”

  “The neighbourhood cops are fucking useless. But locals? Hmm… They don’t like strangers in Upper Foxford. The villagers get very protective of their own. Middleton and Lower Foxford aren’t so bad from what I remember. I’d try speaking to Carol. She runs a bed and breakfast in Lower Foxford, she’s chairwoman of the Women’s Institute, and she’s one of the main branches on the gossip tree. If she doesn’t know something, it’s probably not important. The biggest difficulty will be sorting out the facts from fiction and exaggeration.”

  “Rumours are already going around about me,” I said.

  “And believe me, Carol will have been instrumental in spreading them. When you speak to her, don’t tell her anything that you don’t want broadcast for a ten-mile radius by the next day. And if she offers you cake, my advice is to eat it. She’s a fantastic cook.”

  “Will she be willing to talk us?” Nye asked.

  “She’d talk to a shop mannequin if she didn’t have her glasses on. Your problem will be getting her to stop. I still know someone who’s a native of Lower Foxford, though. I’ll get him to give Carol a call and let her know you’re coming.”

  “Thanks, Ems, much appreciated.”

  “No problem. Give me a shout if you need anything else.”

  Nye hung up and scrubbed a hand through his mahogany-coloured hair, leaving it gorgeously messy. Dammit, concentrate on the task at hand, Olivia.

  “Emmy didn’t really hurt Henry, did she?”

  “Knowing her, it’s extremely likely.”

  “I feel I should bake her a cake or something.”

  “She’d love that. Emmy’s got a sweet tooth and a militant nutritionist, and they’re constantly battling over the amount of junk she eats.”

  “If I ever meet her, I’ll be sure to take cookies.”

  He chuckled. “I need to work this evening, but I’ll come back tomorrow morning, and we can speak to Carol.”

  “You’re going to work? At this time?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “But it’s almost five o’clock.”

  “Scum doesn’t keep office hours.”

  “Is it safe, going after those kinds of people?”

  “I’m careful.”

  “What about dinner? Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I’ll pick something up.”

  “I can make you a sandwich if you like? It’s the least I can do.”

  He looked as if he was about to say no, but then he shrugged again and one corner of his lips flickered. “Thanks. That’d be good.”

  I needed to do a grocery shop, but there was enough in the fridge for cheese-and-ham sandwiches, and I set them out on a plate with crisps and two big slabs of my own-recipe flapjack. Nye devoured the lot in record time.

  “Would you like some more flapjacks to take with you?” I asked.

  “Do you have spare?”

  For Nye? I’d give him every sweet treat I had to see that half-smile again. “I’ll bag them up.”

  Outside the cottage, Nye settled
astride his sporty beast of a bike, and the roar when he started it up turned my insides into a tumble drier, all hot and churny.

  He hesitated, helmet in hand. “I don’t like leaving you alone here. I’ll have a car do a drive-by a couple of times overnight, just to keep an eye.”

  “I’m going to Tate’s this evening. I won’t be back until late.”

  A black look flashed across his face, but it was only for a second, and I could have imagined it.

  “Just be careful, okay?”

  “I will, I promise.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I THOUGHT TATE would be happy when I told him I’d got a private investigator looking into my problem, but it turned out I was wrong. As usual.

  “Don’t you think bringing in another stranger might antagonise people in the village further?”

  I hadn’t considered that angle. “I suppose. But I couldn’t keep doing nothing, and it would have been difficult to turn down his offer of help.”

  Like with the locks, I got the impression that Nye would have ignored the request. He certainly seemed headstrong.

  “What do you mean, offer of help? You didn’t call him initially?”

  “Not exactly. He’s a friend of a friend, and she sent him round.”

  “So some strange old man showed up at your door, and you just let him in, no questions asked?”

  “That’s not how it was.” Okay, that’s exactly how it was. I’d been too busy looking at his face to even ask for ID. Okay, drooling. Drooling at his face. “He’s not even old.”

  Tate huffed and gritted his teeth, raising his eyes to his living room ceiling. “That makes it worse. What are his credentials? How many cases has he solved? If he’s young, I bet it’s not many.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You need to be more careful, Olivia. If you feel the need to engage a private detective, I strongly suggest you go down the route of getting recommendations and go from there.”

  Tate was right. Of course he was right. But I didn’t have the money to hire anyone else, and even if I did, it would make me look terribly ungrateful after Sophie and Nye stepped in to help. I made a mental note to call Sophie and ask a bit more about him, though. Hopefully, she could reassure me that he wasn’t totally incompetent.

  Tate still hadn’t unclenched his jaw, and I hated being on the receiving end of his disapproval.