Thicker Than Water (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 1)

by Jean Saunders

  He wasn’t slow to catch on and his voice was icy. ‘Are you threatening me, Miss Best? Do you seriously think I had anything to do with Caroline’s disappearance? Or that I would be so ludicrous as to call you in to investigate it?’

  ‘You might, if there was something in it for you. In my business, Mr Price, you realize that anything is possible.’

  She knew she was probably throwing away all chance of the winter cruise now. But a woman’s safety was more important. Even a woman she didn’t know. Caroline was still a living, breathing person — she hoped — with feelings and emotions similar to her own. They were all sisters under the skin, Alex thought, momentarily caught up in some latterday sense of being one of Mrs Pankhurst’s young ladies. Standing shoulder to shoulder, and all that.

  ‘I merely want my daughter back, Miss Best,’ Price said now, his voice low and full of sincerity. Whether or not it was genuine, she honestly couldn’t tell at that moment.

  ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly, using the shock effect. It didn’t work this time.

  ‘Why would any father want to know his daughter was safe?’ he said indignantly, and Alex realized he was growing in confidence now. ‘I’m paying you to find her, and that’s really all you need to know.’

  ‘Aren’t you in the least bit curious to know what was taken here? Hasn’t it crossed your mind that someone might have broken in to look for something specific? Letters, or documents, or something of that kind?’

  She realized she was asking him the kind of questions he should be asking her. If he truly wanted to know that Caroline was safe, it was on his own account. She was sure of that. The bloody inheritance was at the root of it. He needed that money, and he needed it fast.

  ‘I’ve already told you Caroline wouldn’t thank me for any interference into her private life,’ he said.

  ‘But she did have a private life, Mr Price.’ Alex knew it was time to open his eyes, however disloyal it might be to Caroline, and however shocked he might be.

  ‘What do you mean by that? She kept to herself—’

  ‘She had a very strong relationship with a male friend. There is some very fetching underwear in her bedroom and exotic toiletries in the bathroom. Do I need to elaborate?’

  Price laughed harshly. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve hired the lunatic! You should stick to reading trashy romances if that’s the way you’re thinking. Caroline and a man? Don’t make me puke!’

  Bastard! Alex thought.

  ‘Why is it so impossible?’ she demanded, increasingly defensive of Caroline.

  ‘You’ve seen her photos,’ he said with a shrug. ‘No, lass, you’re off with the fairies if that’s what you think. So if you’re going to suggest she’s gone on some holiday with this male friend, think again.’

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘How the hell should I know? I’m paying you to find out.’

  This was getting nowhere. Alex switched tactics. ‘Would you mind telling me how Caroline lives down here? Does she have independent means?’

  She didn’t dare let on that she had seen the bank statements in case he wasn’t aware of his daughter’s finances. He glared at her.

  ‘She was offered voluntary redundancy when she got ill, and she gets a good pension. Apart from that, she has an allowance from me, and whatever she earns from her piddling little cross-words.’

  Alex wouldn’t mind betting that Caroline hated him as much as she herself did. No wonder there was so little communication between them. She gave up.

  ‘Well, I’ve already said I think it’s a matter for the police now,’ she said curtly.

  ‘No, blast your eyes. How many more times? No police. And if you want to earn your keep properly, I suggest you clear up all this mess and let me get back to work.’

  Alex felt her cheeks burn. ‘I’m not paid to be a skivvy, Mr Price—’

  ‘You’re paid to do whatever I ask you to do,’ he said coarsely. ‘And while you’re doing it, start looking for clues, since that’s supposed to be your business.’

  He stormed out while Alex was still deciding whether or not to throw something at him. He was a pig, and she loathed him. The sooner she got out of here and back to the land of the living, the better.

  But the very intimation that this might be a house of the non-living, calmed her down. It would be hell for Caroline to come back and find the place in such a mess. On the assumption that she would be returning, then as a sister under the skin, the least Alex could do was to tidy the place. She’d probably mucked up any chance of the police finding fingerprints, anyway. Hers and Father Price’s were already over everything. But apart from the bank statements there was little of any real use. Except...

  ***

  By the time she got back to her flat that evening it was dusk. She quickly took a shower to rid herself of the dust in the cottage and the misery of driving back to town in the rush hour. But she was triumphant. The cottage was almost back to its pristine state, barring the ruined desk drawers, and although there had been no useful letters or documents or anything else, a sudden thought had produced dividends.

  She knew she should have thought of it before, but even the best of detectives knew there was always a lot of spadework to be done before you turned up anything significant. She comforted herself with that thought.

  First, though, she checked the half-dozen messages on her answering machine. Three of them were from Gary, and the last one was the important one.

  ‘God knows where you are, Alex, but if you want to get in touch, you can reach me on my mobile. And if you don’t, I’ll know it’s bye-bye.’

  As he reeled off the number, Alex scribbled it down and called immediately.

  ‘Gary. It’s me, Alex.’

  ‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you—’

  ‘I know. I had to go out of town, but I’m back now.’

  There was a short pause and then: ‘Was it anything to do with the case of the missing millions?’

  She laughed, her green eyes sparkling. ‘I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, but if you want to come round any time—’

  ‘Can a duck swim? I’ll be there in about an hour. Be ready for me, doll.’

  She hung up. She was still smiling, but she was beginning to tire of his way of thinking, and of his arrogance. They hardly knew one another, at least in terms of time, yet he was so sure of her. He expected her to be ready and waiting... and she still wasn’t totally happy with the way he had come into her life so fortuitously. But you had to trust some time. So she decided to trust him.

  ***

  After the necessary hugs and kisses and his inevitable manoeuvring towards the bedroom, she held him off.

  ‘Later,’ she promised. ‘I’ve made progress—’

  ‘Do you know what it does to a guy when you keep him waiting?’ He pushed her hand down to the evidence in his leathers. ‘It can do real harm, sweetheart.’

  ‘And I wasn’t born yesterday to believe in that old chestnut,’ she said crisply. ‘I didn’t ask you round here just for sex, Gary—’

  ‘I’ll go then,’ he said, starting to get up.

  She caught at his hand. ‘Please don’t go all stroppy on me. I thought you’d got as interested in finding the missing Caroline as I have. I need your help.’

  ‘In what way? And what’s in it for me?’

  She remembered just why she had brushed him off the first time she saw him at the Rainbow Club. He was great in many ways, but he was also brash and crude — not really her type at all — whatever that was.

  He also had an ego the size of Everest. and she wasn’t just referring to what was in his jeans either. His first love would always be himself. Oddly enough, she was somewhat relieved to know it. It meant he would always be ready to turn to some other adoring female whenever he got the push.

  ‘So?’ he persisted.

  ‘You don’t want me to pay you, do you?’

  He grinned. ‘Onl
y in kind, darling. Do we have a deal?’

  ‘You’re a slag, Gary, and before you say it takes one to know one, shut up and listen to what I found at Caroline’s cottage.’

  ‘So that’s where you’ve been.’

  ‘I found the cousin’s address. Or at least, I found the name of his theatre. It’s out of town. I accessed Caroline’s address file on her computer and there it was. She didn’t have anything much on there, though. It might have given us more clues, but she obviously didn’t — doesn’t — keep in touch with people. It was quite sad.’

  ‘Can you afford to get sentimental over your clients?’

  ‘I can identify with them,’ she retorted, ‘which is quite a different thing.’

  ‘So the next move is to contact the cousin, is it?’

  ‘That’s where you come in. Or rather, both of us,’ Alex said carefully.

  ***

  ‘No way!’ Gary said emphatically. ‘I’m not into classical music, and I can think of better things to do than sit through a whole evening of it. Much better things to do—’

  ‘You can stay the night afterwards,’ she said recklessly. ‘Please Gary, do this for me. I can hardly ask—’

  She almost said she could hardly ask Nick Frobisher to accompany her. He wasn’t into classical music, either, any more than she was herself, she admitted, but Nick would start getting curious, and she wouldn’t be able to worm her way into Jeremy Laver’s confidence in the way she intended. Whereas with Gary...

  ‘I can hardly ask Caroline’s father to go with me, can I?’ she amended.

  ‘And I can stay the night?’ Gary asked, still one-track.

  ‘After we’ve been to the concert.’

  She stared him out, bloody well determined not to let sex get in the way. She had work to do, and so far she was getting nowhere fast. The thought that Caroline Price might be in real danger was becoming ever more alarming to her now. The damage to the cottage had seen to that.

  She was sure it hadn’t been the work of kids. It was too deliberately targeted towards the contents of the desk. Whoever had done it knew exactly what he was looking for, and where to find it. She was also sure in her mind that it was a man. And just as sure now that her brainstorm notion of the villagers conspiring against a newcomer in their midst was no more than a fantasy. She’d got too caught up in the Stepford Wives syndrome — and she could thank Nick for that, whether he knew it or not.

  Gary finally saw that she meant business. ‘When is this bloody concert?’

  ‘A week next Friday. I looked it up in the Entertainment Weekly. It’s mentioned in the tiniest print, so I don’t think our Jeremy’s exactly on the world stage yet. Which means he’ll be open to flattery.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘So I’m going to call him and ask for tickets because I’ve heard good reports of his music.’

  ‘He’s hardly going to give them away to somebody he doesn’t know. And I’m not paying to hear that god-awful tuneless rubbish.’

  Alex grinned, assuming a drawling, Midwest American accent. ‘He will when I tell him I’m an American arts reporter interested in featuring new musical talent.’

  Gary laughed, his fingers nuzzling the back of her neck. ‘I still don’t think he’ll bite — but you’re pretty devious on the quiet, aren’t you, Miss Best?’

  ‘You have to be in my business,’ she said, and then gave up all thoughts of business for one evening. The phonecall could go on hold until morning, and there were other ways of celebrating a brilliant idea.

  ***

  ‘I’m sorry. Do I know you?’

  The voice on the phone was strong and pleasing. Alex spoke quickly in the drawling American accent.

  ‘You don’t, Mr Laver. I’m with a small American arts magazine based in Ohio, and I’m here because we’re interested in doing features on up-and-coming British artistes. There’s no money in it, I’m afraid, just a certain amount of exposure. I can’t even promise that my editor would use it, but I’d do my best for you,’ she added, giving herself an out.

  She could almost see him preen. Play to their vanity and it always got results.

  ‘Well, it so happens that you’re in luck. Miss—’

  ‘Barnes.’ She reverted to her real name, just in case.

  ‘Well, Miss Barnes, I’m holding a concert on the 18th. I’ll gladly send you a couple of complimentary tickets.’

  ‘That will be just darling. Let me give you my post office box number and I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘And you’ll come to the green-room for drinks after the performance, of course. You’ll want an interview.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said sweetly.

  She grinned at Gary as she put down the phone.

  ‘Told you. Like taking candy from a baby.’

  ***

  Jeremy Laver’s passion was the violin. He was the leading instrumentalist in the small ensemble of musicians who considered themselves far better than some of the big boys, and who were never going to get anywhere beyond playing to small select audiences. He knew that, but it didn’t stop the ambition seething beneath the surface.

  And if this American woman was going to be the catalyst to making his dreams come true, he was going to welcome her with open arms. Even so, he knew to his cost that working your way to the top took time. And time was something he didn’t have. Not if he wanted to save his theatre.

  The lease on it was up in three months’ time, and there was no way he could raise the money to buy it outright, even if a recording deal fell straight into his lap. This magazine feature didn’t sound exactly big-time though, and his brief feeling of elation was fading fast, the way it usually did.

  He was a pessimist by nature. He seemed to live on a diet of highs and lows — mostly lows. It went with the territory. Musicians were meant to be tortured souls, and he certainly fell into that category.

  In fact, the only thing stopping him from throwing himself into the Thames was the thought that there was one way to do everything he ever wanted, however distasteful it still seemed to him.

  He had always quite liked his cousin Caroline. He still did. He’d always been scared of her bombastic father though, and kept his distance from him except when it was vitally necessary. But he and Caroline had rubbed along quite well as children. The fact that she was about to come into money while he was not wasn’t something to be held against her.

  He would never get personally involved in anything unpleasant regarding her... Jeremy wasn’t into violence himself, and always managed to vindicate his own actions by telling himself as much. In fact, in what he knew would be his Uncle Norman’s words, he thought, you delegated.

  ***

  Nick Frobisher was worried about Alex. He always knew that one day she was going to bite off more than she could chew. Not that he doubted her ability in detection. There was a doggedness about her that he admired. She would never give in on a case until she got a result. Just like himself.

  It was a pity she couldn’t see how alike they were. They would make a great team, in more ways than one. But he admired her self-discipline too. If she needed his help she would ask for it, and not before. But this time... well, she wasn’t the only one who got gut feelings, despite her lofty assertion that her woman’s intuition was as good as any man’s logic.

  When it came to feelings, he had plenty for her, and not only in his gut. And it was so unlike her to call him at three in the morning from God knows where, that his concern for her overcame his reluctance to interfere. He called at her office a few days later, thankful to find her there — and in one delicious piece — without really knowing why he should feel such relief.

  ‘Alex, how goes it?’ he said breezily, noting the way she quickly slid a file over something on her desk.

  ‘Fine. And you? Is this a social call, or what?’

  He perched easily on the edge of the desk, large and hunky, and managing to look as if he filled the room.

  ‘Social. Any coffe
e going, or do I have to fix it myself as usual? And a biscuit or two wouldn’t go amiss. I know you’ve got some stashed away.’

  She laughed. She was already planning how she would conduct the interview with Jeremy Laver. It was her next project. It was giving her a buzz, and she could afford to play the little woman for now.

  ‘Haven’t you had any breakfast?’ she said, rummaging in a cupboard for the tin of biscuits she kept out of sight in the forlorn hope that it would deter her from eating too many.

  ‘I did, but it was so long ago my stomach’s forgotten what it was.’

  He swivelled idly around on the desk, ostensibly to watch her curvaceous rear as she bent down to the cupboard where she hoarded forbidden snacks, and in reality to slide the file across from what she had so deftly kept out of sight. His practised eyes quickly took in the details of the two poorly made theatre tickets before he slid the file over them again.

  ‘Have you quite recovered from your stake-out, Alex?’ he said casually.

  ‘What stake-out? Oh, you mean the other night. It wasn’t a stake-out. I was just feeling lonely, that’s all, and I shouldn’t have called you. It was stupid—’

  ‘It wasn’t stupid at all. I was flattered that you should think of me when you were feeling lonely. I wish you’d think of me more often in the middle of the night.’

  Alex dumped the two mugs of coffee on the desk and pushed the tin of biscuits towards him.

  ‘Well, don’t get too excited about it. I’m not thinking of involving you in anything. I can’t,’ she added abruptly.

  ‘Why not? Is that client confidentiality — or client’s insistence?’

  ‘You see too much, and sometimes you see things that aren’t there,’ Alex told him. ‘I’m just dealing with a domestic case and it doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘Unless it becomes ugly,’ he suggested.

  ‘Unless it becomes — became ugly — which it won’t.’

  ‘As long as you’re sure,’ he said, drinking the coffee with a speed that suggested he had a cast-iron stomach. He had already wolfed down two chocolate biscuits to her one.