Thicker Than Water (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 1)

by Jean Saunders

  Caroline Price’s bathroom was quite a revelation. From the rather dour, reclusive conception Alex had been given of her, and which she had totally accepted, here were expensive bottles of bath oils and perfumes and, even more surprisingly, a bottle of sensuous massage oil. And whose fingers would be busily using that, she wondered? And on whom?

  She took several pics of the bathroom from different angles, and noted the names and makes of the various oils. They gave her no real clues, for there was no consistency in any of them. Still, you never knew. Then she went into the larger of the two bedrooms. Here again, it was the bedroom of a far more sensual woman than she had been led to believe. The pristine coverlet was of white lace, and the twin white satin fun pillows were frivolous rather than functional.

  Silently, Alex opened several of the dressing-table drawers, and noted the silky underwear. The scent of an expensive perfume that hadn’t come from Woolworths, rose seductively from every drawer. Alex fingered the softness of a black satin night-gown, lifting the sensual fabric to her nostrils with a sense of vicarious pleasure. She wouldn’t mind a few of these items herself.

  As she replaced the nightgown, her fingers encountered something hard at the back of the drawer. She pulled it out, saw that it was a diary, and slipped it into her bag as she heard Norman Price laboriously coming up the stairs. There was also a large key in the drawer that she guessed was a spare key to the cottage, and she took that too.

  ‘Well? Any clues?’ he said, as if the solution to Caroline’s dis-appearance was going to jump out and hit her.

  ‘Not immediately,’ Alex said. ‘But once I get my film processed I’ll be able to study things minutely, and I’ll get back to you as soon as there’s anything to report.’

  ‘Fair enough. And here’s the album you wanted to see. There’s some good likenesses of Caroline in it.’

  He opened the album and pointed out several photos. Alex didn’t betray her thoughts, but in no way could she associate the woman who bought erotic underwear designed for a man’s pleasure, or the sensuous bath and massage oils, with the plainly dull woman she saw pictured here.

  The term Stepford Wives leapt to mind, partly because of her recent conversation with Nick Frobisher, but also because of the ankle-length Laura Ashley dresses that Caroline seemed to favour. The face wouldn’t have launched a thousand ships though, she thought, a mite uncharitably. The nose was too big, the jaw too square, but there was a determination in the face that stamped her as a fairly dominant person. She had probably had to be, with Norman as a role model.

  But all credit to Caroline for enjoying a more sensuous life than her father gave her credit for, Alex thought, mentally cheering womanhood en masse. And she wouldn’t mind betting that Norman had no idea of whatever alternative kind of life his daughter was leading. He would merely see the pristine white bedroom as virginal, ignoring the sensuous fabrics. But the woman was clearly more of an enigma than Alex had been led to believe.

  ‘Can I take a couple of these photos?’ she asked now.

  ‘Take the whole damn’ album if you think it’ll help. Though there’s nobody in there but childhood friends and family. The names are marked underneath in most places. She was hardly God’s gift to womanhood, as you can see, and I doubt that any man ever looked twice at her.’

  ‘That’s hardly a kind way to describe her, Mr Price—’ Alex said reproachfully, annoyed that she had been thinking the same thing herself, just seconds ago.

  ‘Maybe. But I think I know my daughter better than you do, lass.’

  And maybe you don’t, thought Alex.

  She was still thinking about the key she’d found tucked away at the back of the dressing-table drawer. If it wasn’t a spare key to the cottage, she’d be very surprised... and if she wasn’t going to make good use of it at some future time, her name wasn’t Alexandra Best, super-sleuth.

  She grimaced, knowing she was more likely somebody just floundering in the dark as always, until inspiration struck. She was sure there were PIs with magical methods of detection, but hers were just instinct. And luck. Sometimes.

  ‘We’d better have that lunch,’ she heard Norman Price say, somewhat grudgingly now. ‘I’m told the local pub here does quite good food, if you can bear to go native.’

  He was trying to cover his disgruntled manner and be more sociable, but it didn’t work. He didn’t have a gracious bone in his body. For all his business suit and his swish car, he was a brusque Yorkshireman at heart, and Alex guessed that he didn’t really want to sit and eat lunch with her, any more than she wanted to eat with him. All she wanted now was to get back to her office and take a good look through Caroline’s photos, and especially her diary, which would give her a good insight into her character. And maybe a lot more besides.

  ‘Would you mind awfully if we skipped lunch?’ Alex said, in her best Sloaney voice. ‘I’ve got another meeting this afternoon, and I’d also like to get started on a line of enquiry into Caroline’s disappearance right away. So if you haven’t actually booked a table anywhere... ’

  She left it vague, knowing damn well that he hadn’t. The village pub wasn’t that kind of place. And from the relieved look in his eyes she knew she’d said the right thing.

  They remained at the cottage just long enough for her to photocopy several crossword grids, and then she waited until he had locked the cottage door and shook hands with him. His were clammy again, and she was doubly sure that this investigation was not what he wanted at all.

  He wanted his daughter back, but he was resentful, maybe more than resentful, of the necessity to have someone probing into their private lives. Odd — and intriguing. Or, as Alice would have said — curiouser and curiouser.

  ***

  Alex drove back to London at speed, except during the inevitable hold-ups that seemed to occur on motorways, especially in the summer months. She reached her office by mid-afternoon. The anticipation of reading the diary had almost made her pull into a lay-by outside Wilsingham and take a look there and then, but that would have been careless, since Price might well have seen her on his own way back to town and stopped to see if anything was wrong.

  But once in the office, she tossed her bag onto a chair and took out the diary eagerly. She flipped through the pages, feeling a growing sense of frustration as she did so, because every page was written in some sort of code. It could be a relatively easy one to crack, but it certainly wasn’t one she could do instantly.

  She stared at it in disbelief, wondering what would make a reclusive woman like Caroline Price write her diary in code. Who would ever see it? And what could possibly be in it that had to be kept so secret?

  Unless she was running a call-girl service, Alex thought with a grin, remembering the underwear... but she dismissed the wild idea at once. For that kind of caper, the minimum you’d need would be a phone, and Caroline didn’t use one.

  She flipped through the diary pages and then paused with a sudden lurch of excitement. Every page had been written in a kind of gobbledy-gook, except one.

  The date of Caroline’s birthday was 30 August, which was when she was due to inherit a small fortune, apparently. The date was ringed in black, but not only that: in the space provided was one word — FREEDOM.

  ***

  It was too hot to spend hours in an office, even an airconditioned one, and Alex’s clothes were beginning to stick to her. The lure of a cool shower was irresistible, and by 5 p.m. she was heading home through the traffic. It would be more comfortable to try to decipher the diary and the crossword grids with the whole evening ahead of her, wearing something long and loose and with a glass of something cool by her side. And there was still the photo album to study. The leisurely anticipation of an evening browsing, even if it was work, gave her a squidge of pleasure.

  She shed her clothes in her bedroom, hanging them up carefully. She’d gone too long without being able to buy her things from expensive boutiques to treat them carelessly. She went into her bathroom, cover
ed her hair, and turned on the shower, letting the hot water run down her back before turning to let it caress her voluptuous curves.

  She gave a blissful sigh as she began to smooth the aromatic shower gel into her body. Her hands ran over her skin quickly, ignoring the small tingles of erotic pleasure that coursed through her. She didn’t intend to linger in the shower. As always, once bitten by the intrigue of a case, she was eager to do some detective work, and the missing Caroline Price was interesting her more by the hour.

  She wanted to know her, but so far she was a complete mystery from the various bits of information she had gleaned or been given so far.

  Half an hour later, wearing her red silk kimono over an over-sized T-shirt and with her hair tied up in a topknot away from her neck, Alex stretched out on her sofa sipping a vodka and lime. On the long table beside her she had spread out the several crossword grids, taking special note of the way Caroline worked.

  The pages were roughs only, and each of them had two grids at one side, with the majority of the paper left blank for working and writing out the clues. At a guess, Alex assumed that the crosswords were sent in with one grid filled in for the editor’s benefit, leaving the other blank for transcribing into the newspaper with the clues. It was probably not a unique method of working, but Alex hadn’t seen it before, and it certainly made for clarity.

  She couldn’t forget that diary entry though, still puzzling over what that word FREEDOM — in capitals — actually meant. Caroline didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would be over-interested in money, or acquiring possessions, so it didn’t seem reasonable to think that coming into considerable wealth on her birthday would warrant such a special note. And if she had intended to disappear, why hadn’t she waited for the loot to do it in style?

  Her intercom buzzed, making her jump, and she got up to answer it irritably. She didn’t want company tonight, but she couldn’t ignore it either. It could be something important.

  ‘Alexandra Best,’ she mouthed briskly.

  ‘Can I come up?’ said a voice she knew only too well, a rich, sexy voice.

  She hesitated, and then: ‘Gary, I’m busy. It’s not a good time—’

  ‘OK. Some other time then. I’ll call you.’

  ‘Oh no, wait—’

  But it was too late; he’d gone.

  She chewed her lip in annoyance. He could have said something... A few minutes later the intercom buzzed again. Before she could say her name, the voice spoke.

  ‘Have you changed your mind yet?’

  ‘It’s open,’ she said abruptly, pressing the button.

  She was mad and she knew it. Here she was, practically naked, if you could call an oversized T-shirt and a red silk kimono practically naked, and she’d just invited the sexiest man she had met in a long time up to her flat. And this evening had definitely been intended for work...

  He came into the room and stood in front of her, arms folded like a dark Colossus, a frown on his handsome features. There was a smear of oil around his chin and she guessed he’d been tinkering with his bike. Combined with his leathers, the whiff of it was not unpleasing. It was virile and manly — and she was weakening by the minute, dammit.

  ‘You’re a private dick,’ he accused her.

  Alex started. This was not what she had expected to hear, nor the way she had expected to be greeted.

  ‘A what?’ she said, starting to laugh at the unlikely description.

  ‘All right then, a dickette,’ Gary snapped.

  ‘And you’re a dick-head, if it bothers you,’ she said mildly. ‘How did you find out, anyway?’

  ‘Yellow Pages. Had to find a business address in the city to make a delivery, and came across you.’

  And not for the first time... but he was clearly not finding this in the least funny, or in the mood for seeing double entendres. Alex was shocked by the annoyance in his eyes. So what, she thought defensively? If he’d discovered she was the Queen of England it might have been different, but she was only doing an honest day’s work, for God’s sake. Even if some people might call snooping around other people’s private affairs a dubious kind of honesty.

  ‘It does bother you,’ she stated, sure that this was goodbye, and knowing it with a feeling of regret. They had been good together, and it didn’t have to end like this.

  ‘Sure it does. I’ve never fu— I’ve never slept with a private dick before.’

  She didn’t say a word. She just looked at him, unblinking, her green eyes wide and innocent, willing her laughter down, and willing him to see the funny side of it.

  And certainly not daring to say airily, ‘Oh, were all the others in public then—?’

  And wishing her quirky sense of humour wasn’t making a pig’s ear out of what was obviously a very serious moment to Gary... and then she saw his mouth twitch.

  ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.’

  ***

  ‘So now can I get on with my work?’ Alex said, a considerable while later.

  ‘Sure, if I can help,’ Gary said lazily, his arm sliding round her silk-kimono’d shoulders on the sofa.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Why not? Two heads are sometimes better than one, and I’ve got plenty of contacts in my job. Besides, I always fancied myself as a—’

  Alex grinned. ‘Yes, I know. A private dick. I’d say you’ve rather proved that already.’

  It was corny and Raymond Chandlerish, but she felt as if she could say anything to him. He was the most refreshingly open guy she had met in a long time. She knew next to nothing about him, but she was strongly attracted to him, and not just for his body.

  Though that helped, of course. That definitely helped. But she wasn’t falling into the trap of thinking about forevers, any more than she suspected he was, and even if it only lasted a few days or a few weeks...

  ‘So let’s get down to business,’ Gary said. ‘I presume it’s all to do with the old boy you were talking to at the Rainbow Club last night?’

  Alex blinked, trying to co-ordinate her thoughts away from the dreaming mode they had temporarily moved into, when Norman Price and his elusive daughter were the last things on her mind.

  But meandering would not do. She had to earn her money, and to start while the trail she intended to follow was simmering, if not yet hot. And if Gary wanted to help...

  For a moment she felt a strange sense of selfish resentment at the very thought. She had always worked alone apart from the nuggets of help that Nick Frobisher had occasionally thrown her way. She didn’t get much assistance from any other police source. They still viewed her efforts as those of the little female trying to do a man’s job. And she had always jealously and triumphantly thought of her successes as her personal achievements. Down to her alone.

  She eyed Gary’s strong young body, sprawled out on her sofa now, his shirt half open, his broadly tanned chest sparsely covered with dark body hair, and sighed.

  ‘OK,’ she said.

  Chapter 3

  It probably wasn’t ethical to show a stranger her client’s diary, but there were two things that made Alex easily overlook such a minor matter. One was that Gary was certainly no stranger to her now, at least, not in the Biblical sense; and two, because nowhere in the diary was there any mention of Caroline’s name.

  The first thing most people did was to fill in the details at the front of each annual record; name and address first; then their National Health number, blood group, doctor’s and dentist’s numbers, car registration and passport number. There was none of that in Caroline’s diary, despite the provision for it. It was as anonymous as the woman herself, and Alex decided to keep it that way, at least for the time being. In her business, it paid to be cautious.

  More disturbing thoughts cascaded into her mind without warning. How did she know how far she could trust Gary Hollis, anyway? Who was he? It was probably sheer coincidence that he’d turned up in her life on the same night that she had met Norman Price.

  But
what if it wasn’t coincidence? What if there was some connection? What if he was Caroline’s cousin, destined to inherit the loot if she failed to turn up in good health within the next six weeks, and he was monitoring her every move, and reporting back to Norman — or not, as the case may be? What if he was as anxious to find Caroline as her father, and for a much darker reason?

  God, she was really letting her imagination run away with her now, she thought in disgust, staring into space as Gary flipped through the pages of Caroline’s diary. Hadn’t they just made glorious love together? (But so what? a small inner voice mocked her. What did that have to do with anything?)

  She just about managed to resist the urge to snatch the diary away from Gary at that moment, wondering if she was going completely mad.

  ‘My dad used to take me to see spy movies when I was a kid,’ he observed, startling her. ‘They were his favourites. Our local cinema used to show them on Saturday afternoons.’

  ‘Oh? And is there a point to all this?’ Alex said, hoping her sudden attack of nerves didn’t show in her voice. But there was nothing to say that a private eye couldn’t have nerves, or be scared witless like any other person.

  He looked up from the diary. ‘Are you OK? You look kind of funny.’

  ‘Funny peculiar. or funny ha-ha?’ she asked, using one of Nick Frobisher’s boring expressions. ‘Anyway, if I do, it’s because of what you just said.’

  ‘What did I just say?’

  ‘Are we going round in circles for any particular reason, or are you going to tell me the point of mentioning the fact that your dad used to take you to see spy movies?’ she said patiently.

  But she felt her face break into a half-grin, because it sounded so nice and ordinary. A dad taking his son to the pictures on Saturday afternoons... her dad had never done any such thing — or been able to, she admitted. There were no cinemas within miles of the farm. But her dad hadn’t been interested in such things, anyway, and therefore it hadn’t come within her small range of activities.