She hit him with her handbag, and he burst out laughing.
The front door of the police station opened, two cops sticking their heads out. I recognised them as the ones manning the front desk.
‘Whose car is that?’ one demanded to know.
‘It’s hers,’ I supplied happily while pressing delete on the last of the pictures she’d taken. She’d managed to snap several terrible ones before I realised what she was doing and thought to hide my face.
‘Are you broken down?’ the cop enquired, his tone making it clear he didn’t for one second believe she was.
Primrose’s face coloured as she tried to bluff.
Vince asked, ‘Done?’
I handed him the phone.
He turned, grabbed Primrose’s left wrist, and slapped the phone back into her hand. Giving her as much attention as one might a piece of litter blowing on the breeze, he left her there, putting an arm out to guide me away.
His voice low, he told me, ‘I have a car in the car park along the street. Let’s be somewhere else, eh?’
I was going to get in his car, quite willingly, in fact. I could not, however, deny the feeling that I was the fly accepting the spider’s invitation.’
Mating
Acting in a manner which to me seemed uncharacteristically helpful and charming, Vince drove the threeish miles to Aylesford to drop me next to my car. It was, as expected, just as I left it.
I thanked him for his generosity and started to get out. It was then that a question occurred to me.
‘I took some pages from John’s car last night. They were financial statements. When I got to the police station they were no longer in my handbag. Did you take them?’
Vince did a good job of looking shocked by my question. ‘Goodness, Felicity. Of course not.’
I hurriedly apologised. ‘Sorry. I … it was wrong of me to ask. Thank you for returning me to my car,’ I thanked him again. ‘I’ll, um. I’ll just go. Sorry.’ Ashamed for thinking the worst of him when I had no good reason to, I got out of his car and dug around in my handbag for my keys.
Vince got out as well, hanging half in and half out to look over his door until I was getting into mine.
‘Do you want to hear about what happened to John Ramsey?’ he asked.
‘He crashed his car. I know that already.’
Vince shook his head, a knowing smile stuck to his face. ‘Yes and no. That’s not the full story.’
Narrowing my eyes, I bit the hook. ‘Go on then. What’s the full story?’
He didn’t give me an answer, he asked another question. ‘Are you going home now?’
Frowning, I said, ‘Yes. I need to see to my pets and sort myself out. I feel scuzzy.’
He started to duck back into his car. ‘Super. I’ll follow you. I’ll tell you all about it over breakfast.’
Before I could argue, he ducked back into his car to leave me staring at him through his windscreen. He winked at me.
When I didn’t move, he stuck his head out of his car again. ‘Come along, Felicity. It will take too long to explain it all now and I’m sure you want to get home.’
Not waiting for me to respond, he backed his car up and turned it around so it faced out toward the road again. Getting in my car while grinding my back teeth against each other, I resolved to find a way to make Mr Slater lose his interest in me. Yes, he kept saving me from various foes, but if I spent much more time in his company, I was going to get an ulcer.
Muttering under my breath, I slumped into my car, fired up the engine and led the way. My Mercedes SL500 is a nifty little thing, lightweight and flat to the road, it turns fast and takes off like a smacked cat when required. I put that to use, taking Vince on a countryside route where I promptly lost him behind the first tractor I could find.
Far slower in his big SUV, he didn’t have the acceleration to slingshot around it. You might think me ungrateful, but I laughed as I watched him disappear in my rear-view mirror.
Arriving home at what would be my usual time to get up, I was tired but wanted only to fall into my normal Friday routine – a swift shower, walk Buster, grab a quick breakfast, and head for work. The tenacious Mr Slater would undoubtedly turn up at my boutique later, but by then, and on my own turf, I might feel better equipped to deal with him.
I heard Buster woofing the moment my tyres crunched over the gravel and a twitch of the curtain showed me where Amber had just been.
What Buster had to say was not fit for repeating but did require a response when I got through the door.
‘I was not out mating all night,’ I insisted sternly.
Buster was barking and bouncing on the spot, but my statement stopped him.
Eyeing me quizzically, he asked, ‘Where were you then?’
Putting my bag down on the narrow console table just inside the door, and starting to shuck my coat, I replied, ‘I was locked in a jail cell, if you must know.’ Hanging the coat up, I took a pace to push the door shut.
‘Wait,’ said Buster, darting for the gap. ‘I need to go.’
He probably did, the poor thing. He missed his usual last-thing-before-bed excursion and had to have been holding it all night.
He shot through the door. Then just as I was going to close it to keep the cool air outside, he shoved his head back around the edge to look up at me.
‘When you go in the living room,
