I got a raised eyebrow. ‘Brother? I think I just threw up in my mouth.’
I shut the door and went back to the mess of Aunt Ida’s butter dish.
Buster was pawing at the internal kitchen door, Amber was meowing loudly at the door to the garden, and I felt like pouring a large glass of wine.
So I did. There is generally a bottle of something crisp, white, and overpriced in my fridge. My nearest supermarket is a Waitrose – the highest of the high end of regular supermarkets – so I always get the best of whatever I have on my shopping list, but one must pay the mark up for it.
Savouring a moment of peace as the chilled wine slipped over my tastebuds, I blocked out the sound of my pets. Moment over, I got on with getting them fed.
Amber eats on the kitchen counter, Buster on the floor. Any other combination has proven to be fatally flawed.
Feeling content, which you can translate to hoping fervently, that they would fill their bellies and retreat to separate corners of the house to sleep, I went upstairs to shower and change.
My table at the Wild Oak in Aylesford was reserved for eight o’clock, a time I felt was neither early nor late. I hadn’t eaten at the restaurant since before Archie died though I remembered their excellent steaks well.
I’m sure most women would shave their legs before going on a date. I did not for I was quite certain (thank you) that Vince would not get to see them. It’s not like I have hairy legs like a rugby player after all. In the same vein, I threw on the first items of underwear my hand fell upon.
This was a functional event where two people were going to eat dinner and have a conversation. It was nothing more than that. A rumble of emptiness from my belly convinced me to eat a cheese cracker. It went well with the last of the wine in my glass and would have to keep me going for a while because even though our table was booked for half an hour from now, I knew it would be most of another thirty minutes after that before I got to eat anything.
Perhaps some olives to nibble at the table would suffice.
Pausing at the door to my living room, I raised my voice to address Amber and Buster. ‘Can I count on you to stay out of each other’s way while I am out?’ I asked, a hint of warning in my tone.
Amber lifted her head and opened one eye. ‘Out? Where are you going?’
‘She’s mating,’ said Buster.
‘I am not!’ I spluttered.
Buster, spread across the rug by the radiator like a melted chocolate bar, rolled over to meet my eyes. ‘You’re going out to meet a man, right?’
‘Yes, but.’
‘Sounds like mating to me,’ said Amber, the cat and dog agreeing on something for once.
I was frowning so hard my eyebrows threatened to kiss my cheeks. ‘I am not mating. There will be no mating.’
Buster rolled back over. ‘Humans are so weird about mating.’
I started to argue but caught myself before I could stamp my foot in frustration. ‘Just make sure the house looks the same as it does now when I get back. I don’t want any torn cushions, Buster,’ he flipped his head around to shoot me a ‘Who me?’ expression. ‘And I don’t want my curtains shredded, Amber.’
Amber didn’t even bother to look up, scorning me with her indifference.
With an exasperated breath that this was my life, I snatched up my handbag, checked the contents and left the house. It would take me twenty minutes to get to the restaurant and though I didn’t want to go, I wasn’t rude enough to arrive late.
Or so I thought.
Thief in a Searchlight
Orion Printing is one of those places you drive by a thousand times without ever noticing. Until you have a reason to notice it, that is. I knew where the business was, of course, I have been there thousands of times to drop things off or to collect. It is less than a hundred yards from The Wild Oak, but only when I parked my car did I remember they shared the same carpark.
By the river in the small village, the small-scale, yet successful printing business was right there in front of me. It would be more accurate to say the back of it was as I was facing the rear of the building. Ahead of me, in a row that backed against the rear wall of a small line of businesses, several spaces were reserved for employees.
To my surprise and confusion, one of the spaces was taken by a large blue Range Rover. John Ramsey’s Range Rover to be exact. I felt certain it was the same one but moved in closer to satisfy my curiosity. The lights in the carpark beat away most of the dark, but behind the rear wall of the buildings, inky black shadows ruled. I needed the torch on my phone to be able to see the scratches Buster left with his claws earlier today.
Was he out of custody already? How had he managed that? I felt sure Joanne’s statement would be sufficient to convict.
Peering through the passenger window, I saw a mound of paperwork on the seat. It was loose leaves of paper; lines of numbers that looked like a profit and loss statement or a cashflow report. I had an accountant firm on contract to deal with mine. It was probably something I could do but subcontracting it out gave me more time to work on the business. Basically, I knew more or less that what I was looking at were financial statements but that was about it.
What I noted, when I shone my torch around, was
