‘I didn’t do anything to it,’ I protested, failing to mention that I stole paperwork from it.
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘That won’t matter either. Quinn is going to look for a way to catch you out. My advice is to go back to work, immerse yourself in your job and act as if nothing happened. Now, sorry, but I must dash. I really do have to be in court in an hour, Felicity. Is there anything you need?’
I needed a shower and a change of clothes. Something for breakfast would be nice and maybe a chiropractor to straighten my spine after sleeping on what the police believe can pass for a bed. I shook my head. ‘No, Shane. Thank you for coming to my rescue. You’ll have to send me a bill for your services.’
‘Nonsense,’ he laughed at me. ‘You are family.’ He shot his cuff to check his watch, grimacing when he did.
‘Go,’ I insisted. ‘I’m heading for home. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine now that I am out of that awful place.’
He smiled at me, but wasted no further words, hurrying away to get on with his day.
Standing outside Maidstone police station wearing yesterday’s clothes and with hair that must look a terrible state, I was attracting the attention of passing motorists. Goodness only knows what they might imagine had befallen me. I had to look a sight and needed to get out of the public eye before someone spotted me.
Of course, my car was still in Aylesford, parked behind Orion Print. I could walk there, but I was going to find a taxi instead. Aylesford is a quiet village so I wasn’t worried that anything might have happened to it during the night.
I got about three feet when a car about to drive by me in the road abruptly braked. The suddenness of it, with an accompanying squeal of tyres made me jump. It was on the two-lane ring road running around the city and nearly caused a pile up as the cars following had to slam on their own brakes to avoid a collision. Horns blared and the air turned blue with shouted insults as motorists told the driver causing all the fuss what they thought.
I had no idea why the car had stopped and was just starting on my way again when a voice stopped me.
‘Oh, my goodness! It was true!’
The voice made me cringe. There was a part of me that knew I ought to put my head down and run, but too dumb to obey my instincts, I let my anger rule instead.
‘Primrose,’ I growled, turning to face the woman now getting out of her car. Primrose Green owns and runs Kent’s second most successful wedding boutique and wants nothing more in life than to hold the number one spot. She’s six inches taller, twenty years younger, two cup sizes bigger, and has the face and figure of a former model because that is exactly what she is. She’s also married with two perfect children and none of it would be a problem if she wasn’t such a terrible person.
Drivers continued to blast their horns and offer opinion at the hold up she had caused, but Primrose was completely oblivious. She was coming toward me with her phone in her hand, but it was only when she started taking pictures that I realised what she was trying to do.
Primrose has no good way to beat me in the wedding game, so she resorts to dirty tactics instead. An image of me looking dishevelled outside a police station would somehow make it into one of her ad campaigns with an equally undeserved and unpleasant headline.
I threw my arms in front of my face to stop her getting what she wanted.
‘I knew it!’ she cackled happily. ‘I knew you were doing something criminal. There is no way you keep getting the top clients fairly. What is it, Felicity? Have you been finding out the celebrities’ dirty secrets and blackmailing them? Or are you doing deals under the table?’ She gasped. ‘Is it drugs? Please tell me it’s drugs. Hey!’
Her tone changed at the last word, her fascination and amusement vanishing to be replaced by indignant outrage.
‘Give that back!’ she demanded.
I had been hiding my face and attempting to get away as she pursued me down the street, but I risked a glance now to see what might be happening.
The impeccably dressed Primrose was being held at bay by one long left arm, the owner’s palm facing out to ward her off. At full stretch in the other direction was her phone, the top of it visible above the fingers of the right hand.
Both hands belonged to Vince Slater. I took a moment to look up at the sky and ask why I was being punished.
‘Give me back my phone!’ Primrose shouted. ‘I’ll scream for help,’ she threatened. We’re right in front of a police station.’
Vince laughed at her. ‘Yes, we are. I note you are illegally parked on a main thoroughfare and appear to be stalking Mrs Philips.’ He turned his head in my direction. ‘Here, catch.’
The phone was in the air the next second, my eyes flaring in surprise as it arced toward me. I had to dart forward to snatch it from the air, almost dropping it twice before juggling it safely into my palms.
‘You may wish to erase the pictures she took,’ suggested Vince.
Primrose was incensed. ‘That’s mine. The pictures on it belong to me.’ She was trying to go around Vince, but he was twice as wide, a hundred pounds heavier (at least), and
