‘I know what you told me,’ Joanne made it clear she didn’t believe him.
The sound of sirens in the distance drew our attention, all three of us straining our hearing to confirm what our ears believed.
‘You can tell the police,’ Joanne growled, throwing the brass candlestick to the ground.
John attempted to sidle to the edge of the car again, only to have Buster circle around and snap at him once more. There were scratches all over the car’s previously immaculate paintwork where Buster had dragged his claws.
‘Can you call off your dog, please?’ John asked.
At least he managed to find some manners finally, but the answer was still a firm, ‘No. I think Buster can keep you where you are for just a little longer. I’ll call him off when the police get here.’
With a sense of acceptance, I backed away a pace and took out my phone. I needed to call Justin because I wasn’t going to make it for lunch today.
A Challenge
It was cool enough outside for us to have been worried about Derek getting hypothermia. Leaving me to mind Buster as he in turn kept John on top of his car, Joanne and Tamara had gone to find blankets. He was still lying on the cold ground, but we didn’t dare move him for fear of spinal injuries.
The police arrived just a few minutes later, their hurry to get to us probably aided by the ambulance ahead of them racing to save Derek’s life. Both vehicles screeched to a stop in the lane beyond the Bleakwiths’ gate, the people inside seeing the driveway blocked and coming on foot.
I would have to shift my car to let them park, but it could wait until John was in custody for sure.
The paramedics, first to arrive with heavy bags over their shoulders, bore questioning looks.
‘In the back garden,’ I supplied in a tone that demanded their haste. ‘He’s in bad shape,’ I added to their backs as they ran for the front door.
Ten seconds behind them, two police officers came through the gates. They were both in their twenties – a tall, athletic-looking white man and a short, stocky black woman. They looked ready to deal with whatever they might find as if they were used to running into danger.
I believed the threat in this situation had been largely eliminated.
‘What’ve we got here?’ asked the young male officer. He came around the rear end of my car taking care to avoid stepping on some hellebores just coming into bloom. ‘Everyone stay calm, please. My name is Constable Hardacre, this is Constable Woods,’ he indicated his colleague.
John Ramsey spoke before I could. ‘I want this woman charged with assault and the dog terminated.’ He shot daggers from his eyes and glared at me the whole time.
‘Oooh, doggy!’ said the female officer, her eyes going wide when she saw Buster.
John moved toward the edge of the car, looking to see if he could get down now. Buster was distracted by the woman cooing at him. ‘I’ve been stuck on top of my car for fifteen minutes waiting for someone who isn’t insane to get here.’
‘What a lovely doggy woggy, yes!’ Constable Woods cooed, bending over. Buster was a sucker for anyone that would baby talk him, padding in her direction with his back end wagging so hard he almost fell over.
Until John attempted to step down from his car that is.
‘Whoa!’ exclaimed both police officers as Buster swung through ninety degrees, darted forward, and headbutted a tyre.
John scrambled to get his leading leg out of the way in time. Managing to get back to safety on the bonnet only to almost slide off when the whole car rocked from Buster’s impact.
Buster shook his head. ‘That one hurt,’ he whined.
Reassessing the danger, Constable Hardacre asked, ‘Can you put your dog on his lead, madam?’
Now that the police were here, John Ramsey’s innocence or otherwise was their problem, not mine. I called to Buster. ‘Come here, boy.’
He licked his face, his tongue slobbering out between his exposed canines. ‘I think I bruised my nose,’ he complained. He came to me though, wagging his tail still. It had been a fun game apparently.
‘I should check on the victim,’ I announced to the police officers once Buster was secure.
‘Your name, please?’ asked PC Hardacre.
‘Mrs Felicity Philips,’ I replied.
‘Is this your domicile?’ He had a small tablet in his hand and was making notes.
I shook my head. ‘I am just visiting. I am a wedding planner.’
PC Wood’s head snapped up to look at me. ‘Felicity Philips,’ she repeated. ‘Hey, weren’t you at that Sashatastic wedding that went horribly wrong last weekend?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said her partner. ‘I heard about that.’
With a sigh, I nodded my head. ‘I was there. The bride and groom chose to postpone the ceremony.’
PC Woods snorted a laugh. ‘That’s not what I heard. We had a bunch of colleagues there and they said Sasha was involved in some kind of murder cover up. They also said her fiancé ran off with an old girlfriend. I’m sorry I missed it; it sounded better than daytime TV.’
She wasn’t wrong. There had been a few issues with that particular celebrity wedding. I got paid up front, so the immediate damage was minimal. The longer-term impact was yet to be determined though, and my closest rival, an evil cow of a woman called Primrose Green, was having a field day with the news.
Primrose was only too happy to promote her business by using negative press tactics against mine. Mostly what she said wasn’t true so imagine the fun she could have when there
