Gus slowed to wait for a break in traffic. They were already in Potterne and leaving the A350. This story had better be brief.
“Mr Mercer reckoned the removal van with Mr Evans’s furniture was arriving mid-morning,” said Kassie. “We strolled up the lane at two o’clock with a few of my goodies and arrived just as the removal crew were heading back to South Wales. Vera rang the doorbell and explained who we were. She said if he needed a hand getting things straight, we were willing.”
“What did Rhys Evans have to say?” asked Gus. He parked the car outside the pub.
“Mr Evans was very polite,” said Kassie, “and invited us in. That’s when I noticed how short he was; he’s fit, I admit that, but he’s no man-mountain like you see on TV. Vera spotted a team photo on his Welsh dresser and asked what position he played. He said a scrum something, number nine.”
“A scrum-half,” said Gus, “traditionally they were short, wiry, and nippy, with a good pair of hands.”
“I wouldn’t know about his hands, Mr Freeman, but short and wiry sums him up well.”
“Did Rhys let you and Vera loose on his soft furnishings?” asked Gus.
“Unnecessary, Mr Freeman. Our police surgeon prefers the minimalist look. When Vera and I were on the doorstep five minutes later, Mr Evans told us that another twenty minutes tidying the place and everything would be where he wanted it to be. He planned to get his yoga mat out before driving into Devizes for a meal.”
“What happened to your goodies?” asked Gus.
“I carried them back home,” said Kassie. “You just polished off one of them earlier.”
“Very nice too,” said Gus. “Ah, there you have it, Kassie. Rhys Evans doesn’t cook for himself. Put the word out among your friends. Find out where he ate, what he ordered, and start planning a menu. Rhys may not enjoy cakes, but he has to eat. Perhaps you can find another way to his heart.”
“No, it’s time to move on, Mr Freeman,” sighed Kassie. “For me, and you. Suzie will wonder what kept you. And the curtain twitched at number 73 just now. It wasn’t to be.”
“We’ll find Mr Right for you in due course, Kassie,” said Gus. “Well, now I’m up-to-date with your hot gossip, I’d better make tracks.”
“That wasn’t it, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie, grabbing Gus’s arm. “I was just catching you up with the latest disappointment in my love life. No, I went into Devizes later that night and met friends for drinks. I was on a mission. When we fell out of the last pub I remember going in, I saw that detective friend of yours. He was working with you for a while.”
“Rick Chalmers?” asked Gus. “He lives locally, I believe, and his marriage ended a while back. He’s another one who doesn’t cook for himself and exists on takeaways. Was he out with friends too?”
“One female friend, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie. “That’s why I was pleased to have this conversation alone. She hasn’t breathed a word about a change in her relationship status and doesn’t have a clue that I saw them together. My hot gossip concerned Rhys Yogi Evans as far as she knew.”
“Amelia Cranston,” said Gus. “She would be Rick’s type. I’m not surprised. That young lady doesn’t waste an opportunity to latch onto a detective that might further her prospects of joining the Crime Review Team.”
“Amelia? No, it wasn’t her, Mr Freeman. It was Vera Butler who was all over Rick Chalmers like a rash.”
“That’s a turn up for the books,” said Gus.
“I had such high hopes, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie, shaking her head. “Now, Vera’s followed your lead and grabbed a younger model.”
“Good for her,” said Gus. “Right, time for me to get to Urchfont.”
“Will you tell Suzie the news?” asked Kassie as she extricated herself from the car.
“You can’t keep secrets for long in this town, Kassie; you know that. Suzie will hear soon enough. Vera and I are history, and whoever your colleague sees is her business. How do you think Suzie would react if Vera’s love life were the first thing I mentioned when I got through the door?”
“I see what you mean, Mr Freeman. Least said, soonest mended. Do you ever listen to that radio?”
“Sorry? That was a sudden change of subject, Kassie. It works, but I don’t enjoy the music they play in between the verbal diarrhoea.”
“I love Ariana Grande,” said Kassie. “What do you listen to at home then, Mr Freeman?”
“Sister Rosetta Tharpe would be my first choice,” said Gus.
“What, a nun, the same as Mother Teresa?”
“Not a nun, Kassie,” said Gus. “They both wanted to light the light on those in darkness on the earth. So, yes, I suppose they were similar souls,” said Gus.
“You’ve lost me, Mr Freeman,” said Kassie Trotter as she closed the door.
“Yes, I rather thought I had,” said Gus as he started the car and headed home.
CHAPTER 4
Gus parked the Ford Focus next to Suzie’s GTI and looked at the radio. Had he ever used it for anything other than a check on the weather or road conditions? If so, he couldn’t recall when. His satnav was in the glove compartment to avoid it getting nicked, and on the odd occasion he plugged it in, he muted the annoying voice.
How could anyone carry on a sensible conversation if the radio was continually thumping away in the background? He preferred the quiet that enabled him to think without interference, or the opportunity to exchange opinions with a colleague on a case. When he travelled with Suzie, they chatted whenever there was something to say, but they were equally happy to travel in silence.
Car designers had a
