by JL Merrow
I waited until he’d sat down opposite me before I hit him with another question. “So, uh, yeah, you and Jonathan—get on all right?”
“Of course.” He looked me straight in the eye, his voice low but distinct. “It was nice to have someone I could talk to. Hazel . . . She’s family, isn’t she? As in, the family business. I couldn’t exactly use her to vent about my employer being a bitch.”
“Don’t mince words, do you?” About Tallulah or her niece—seriously, use her? “But hang on a mo, Jonathan was family too.”
“Say that to Mzz Lovett and she’ll scratch your eyes out.”
“She didn’t like him?” I wondered if he’d mentioned that to the police. “Why employ him, then?”
“Because while she likes to think she rules the roost here, it’s Brian who really holds the purse strings. And he’s always been a little . . . short-sighted when it comes to Dinky Delilah.”
Interesting, the way he spoke about her. Using her porn name and all. And by interesting, I mean I got the impression he didn’t have too high an opinion of our Lilah. “You mean Brian Tarbox? Lilah’s ex? He’s still hung up on her?” There was a motive for the bloke to take out old Jonny-boy if ever I heard one.
“You’ll have to ask him about that.” Oliver leaned back, which I thought meant he’d decided he wasn’t feeling talkative after all until I realised our teas had arrived.
“Cheers, love,” I said with a smile as Sarah bunged cups and plates on the table between us. “How much do I owe you?” I asked, in case the reason Oliver hadn’t mentioned money up at the counter was that he’d expected me to fork out.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t charge people who work here, and you’re doing your bit, aren’t you? I hope you catch him.”
“‘Him’?” I asked, because, well, you would, wouldn’t you? I mean, chances were she was just assuming our murderer was male as most of ’em are, but on the other hand, if she had her suspicions as to who it was, then me and Phil needed to know about them.
“Whoever did for our poor Jonathan. He was a lovely boy, he was. Such a charmer. Not a bad bone in his body. I feel so sorry for his poor wife.”
I happened, not very accidentally, to cast a glance over in young Oliver’s direction as she spoke. He caught me looking almost immediately, and chimed in quick with “Yes, we all miss him” and an appropriately sad expression.
Maybe I was imagining it, but I could have sworn he’d had a sneer on his face a moment ago. Had that been for Lilah, or for old Jonny-boy? If they’d been best mates, there was a fair chance that young Oliver knew a lot more about Jonathan than, say, Sarah did. Shame the hasty cover-up suggested he wasn’t planning on spilling any beans, fair trade or otherwise.
On the plus side, though, boy was clearly what Sarah called all men under forty, so I wasn’t feeling quite so bad about it now.
I forked up a mouthful of carrot cake while I considered my next question. Not that I was being overly dainty; it just looked too gooey to manage with fingers. It was surprisingly good—not as sickly sweet as you’d think, and plenty of nuts added to the mix.
“Yummy, isn’t it?” Oliver said, taking up a forkful of his own.
Even the tea was all right, I discovered when I took a sip to wash down the cake. “Not bad. But we probably ought to get down to business. So . . . the last time you saw Jonathan was the day he left work here?”
There was a pause before Oliver answered, but it could have been due to cake. “Mm. Although he didn’t tell us it was his last day. He left a note for Ms. Lovett. The rest of us didn’t find out until the following day.”
“You must’ve been miffed, right? You and him being mates and all.”
“We weren’t mates. Just colleagues who were friendly.” Oliver carefully stirred half a little packet of sugar into his tea.
“And you didn’t have any contact with him afterwards?”
Another pause. Bloody cake. “There might have been a phone call or two.”
“What about?”
“He felt bad about going off without saying anything to me. As you said.”
“And did he explain himself?”
“He told me he couldn’t go on living with Lilah.” Oliver shrugged. “Well, obviously it would have been awkward for him to carry on working here, and he could hardly give Ms. Lovett notice and expect her not to tell her sister.”
“So you don’t think it was a spur-of-the-moment thing? Like, he decides one day he can’t hack it anymore, dashes off his resignation letter on a spare piece of paper and chucks it on the desk on his way out, then goes home to shove some stuff in a bag?”
A longer pause, and seeing as how Oliver had scoffed his cake already, he couldn’t put it down to having his mouth full. “Are you going to finish that? I didn’t have time for lunch today.”
“What— Oh.” I blinked down at my plate, which had all of my slice of carrot cake on it bar one forkful, and then slid it over to him, not without a pang. I know there’s a long and honourable tradition of investigators bribing witnesses to talk, but I hadn’t realised it’d call for this kind of sacrifice.
“You’re a darling. And I’m afraid I can’t tell you about Jonathan’s thought processes, but he did have a bag with him that day. He said he was going to the gym after work.”
“Oh? Was he a regular gym bunny, then? Lilah never mentioned that.”
Oliver grinned. It was slightly unsettling. “He used to tell the little woman”—and there was a sarcastic emphasis on those last two words which didn’t endear him to me—“he was going to the golf course. She was never all that keen about the thought of him getting hot and sweaty with a lot of pumped-up men. I can’t imagine why.”
Yeah, right. Young Oliver had a smirk on his face that told me he was only too happy to imagine why, most likely in HD and surround sound. Hah. Seemed my gaydar had got it right for once. “You ever go with him?”
“I’m not really the gym sort. How about you? I could tell by looking at him that your . . . partner likes to work out.” He’d clearly enjoyed making that observation and all. Just as well Phil wasn’t here.
I mean, confident is attractive in a bloke. Smug? Not so much. “Uh, yeah. He does.” Although not as much as you’d think from the size of him, unlike me, where the reverse is probably true. Genes can be bastards. “But, uh, Jonathan?”
“What about him?”
“Did you see him again after his last day at work? Go pay him a visit, or did he pop back up here for anything?”
“No. Why would I?”
Was he maybe a bit on the defensive side? “I dunno. Thought you might have, that’s all. So what did you think about him and Lilah? Were you surprised when he told you it’d ended?”
His nostrils flared. It wasn’t attractive. “I was more surprised it ever started.”
Me-ow. “You knew him before they got hitched?”
“No. What makes you think that?”
“Just asking. Uh—”
I broke off as Oliver stood up. “Break’s over, so it’s back to the grind for me. But it’s been lovely. Do come again.” He swept off, leaving me sitting there like a lemon with my cooling cuppa.
Great. I downed the tea, bunged a couple of pound coins on the saucer, and made for the door.
Then I spun on my heel and went back to carry my crockery over to the counter, because my mum brought me up better than that. “Cheers, love. That was smashing.”
Trade had slowed to a stop, and Sarah was wiping down the coffee machine. She paused to dimple in my direction. “Thank you, dear. Was Oliver able to help you— Oh, of course, I shouldn’t ask that, should I? I do hope you get him locked up.”
Or her, I didn’t say. “I expect you saw a lot of Jonathan. And Oliver, of course. Did they take their breaks together?”
“Oh, no, Ms. Lovett’s very strict about that. Can’t have the shop understaffed. But I know they were good friends. Oliver’s been so brave about it all.” She shook out a pape
r napkin. “Now, I saw you letting him have your cake, bless your heart. Let me wrap you up a piece and you can take it with you.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Shush. No arguments.” She cut two generous slices and made a parcel of them. “You take care. No getting yourself attacked again, you hear me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, love,” I said with a smile, because if you’re going to give in, you might as well do it gracefully.
Phil was home when I got in. I might or might not have done a double take when I walked into the kitchen and found him making a cup of tea.
“Forgot I live here now, did you?”
Oops. He’d noticed. “Didn’t think you’d be back so early. Uh, busy day? Mine was quiet, had a job go quicker than expected. Still, tomorrow’s booked up, so I can’t grumble.” I crouched down to have a poke around in the fridge.
“I dug up a few things about Lilah’s ex, Tarbox,” Phil said after a mo. He didn’t sound pissed off, although there was definitely a lacklustre tone to his voice.
I’d make it up to him. “Yeah? Anything good?”
“Maybe. They used to work for the same porn studio, although we’re talking some years ago now. There were a couple of incidents.”
I paused, leek in hand, from where I’d been rummaging in the veggie drawer. “Incidents?”
“There were complaints about coercion. Specifically, female models who’d been made to film stuff they weren’t comfortable with. One of them alleged he’d assaulted her, but the charges were later dropped.”
Well, that wasn’t good. I bunged the leek on the counter top. “What happened to the girl? Didn’t take a swim in any handy canals, did she?”
Phil huffed. “Nope. She’s now a divorced mother of three and working as a hairdresser. The coppers on the case reckoned he’d paid her off. There was another case where they heard he’d got a little more aggressive—this time it was with a distributor, a few years later when Tarbox was getting into the production side. Apparently he wasn’t happy with the deal he was getting. Again, all charges were dropped—and the alleged victim got out of the business so quick he left scorch marks.”
“Not a payoff this time?”
“Not unless you count Tarbox not breaking both his arms.”
“Ouch.” I straightened up, a packet of sausages in my hand. “You all right with plain stuff tonight? I’m not feeling like anything fancy.”
“Fine by me.”
I took the sausages to the grill and started unwrapping them. “I, uh, popped over to Pluck’s End this afternoon. Spoke to Oliver.” I braced myself for a furious barrage of Personal safety just an abstract concept for you, is it? Or at the very least, a sarcastic If you’re trying to get out of marrying me, there’s easier ways than offering yourself up to murder suspects on a plate.
“What did he tell you?” Phil said mildly.
Huh. That was it? I waited a beat, but apparently it was.
Okay, so what had he told me? “Well, I’m not sure I trust the bloke as far as I could throw him, but if anything, I reckon it’s Jonny-boy’s secrets he’s keeping. Apparently they were like that.” I held up two slightly greasy fingers in an illustrative and nonprofane fashion. “Oh, and our Mr. Parrot used to bunk off golf to go to the gym instead of the pub, like we thought. So he definitely lied to Lilah.”
Of course, we already knew Jonny-boy had been carrying on with Kelvin behind her back. If we could believe a bloke who said hello with his fists.
“According to a bloke you don’t trust.”
“Well, yeah.” I frowned. “I dunno, though. I think Oliver was telling the truth about that. He was too pleased about it for it not to be true. Not a big fan of our Lilah, young Ollie.”
“Wouldn’t be, would he? Not if him and Jonathan had a thing going.”
“Uh, what? I never said that.” I finished laying out the sausages and went over to the sink to give my hands a wash.
“No. I did.” Phil looked grim. “Just a theory.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on my extensive knowledge of cheating bastards.”
Both professional and personal, he didn’t add, and I couldn’t argue with that one. “So, what, does that mean Oliver’s a suspect too? Surprised you didn’t go off on one at me for paying him a visit on my tod.”
Phil’s gaze took on a flinty quality. “Were you on your own with him?”
“Well, no. We had a quick natter in the café, that was all. If he’d tried anything funny, I’m sure the lady behind the counter would’ve saved me. Oh, that reminds me.” I pulled an only slightly squashy parcel out from my jacket pocket. “I brought pudding. And no, it’s not poisoned. Unless it was Sarah what done it. Maybe Jonny-boy criticised her cakes.”
Phil huffed. “You know you can leave the investigating to me, right? It’s not actually your job.”
“You say that now, but next thing I know, you’ll be dragging me off somewhere to switch on the old spidey-senses. Again.” I slung my jacket over a chair and glared at him. “I’m beginning to think you only love me for my brain.”
“And the cats,” Phil reminded me, as Merlin slunk through the cat flap with perfect timing and wound himself around my fiancé’s legs, totally ignoring the hand that fed him, i.e. mine. Well, most of the time.
All right, it was about half and half between me and Phil these days. But still.
“Beans with those?” he asked.
I frowned at the cake, then realised he meant the sausages. “Nah, I was going to do a leek-and-tomato sauce. And grilled polenta.”
Phil laughed, carefully stepped over Merlin, and grabbed me round the waist, pulling me close and planting a kiss on my somewhat surprised lips.
“What was that for?”
“You, and your plain food, nothing fancy.”
And I hadn’t even mentioned the fresh basil and parmesan. I snogged him back for a bit, then pushed him away. “Later. Or it’ll be beans on toast after all.”
“Later? I thought we were shooting later. Or are you not feeling up to it?”
Oops. “Hey, who said anything about not feeling up to it? If you’d rather get up close and personal with a small bore rifle than with your own fiancé, who am I to judge?” I reached out to grab a handful of arse just to drive the point home.
Phil gave me a look, but kept shtum as he let me draw him in close.
We never did make it to shooting. And luckily I remembered to turn the grill off before the sausages burned to a crisp.
We hadn’t planned any more visits on Saturday—for a start, I was working all morning, sorting out a cesspit out in the wilds of Redbourn. Don’t ask, and don’t take any deep breaths, either. I ended up having a late lunch, mostly because there was no way I was eating anything I’d touched before having a shower.
First job on the list for the afternoon was disinfecting the van—I’d done my best with a dust sheet over the driver’s seat, but I’d have needed a whole different set of psychic powers to drive home without touching the controls. I’d just about finished that when Phil popped his head around the van door. “Fancy a trip up to Pluck’s End?”
“What for?”
“I want another word with Axel. Half-term’s over, so he’ll be back at school next week.”
“What about tomorrow? We’re not due anywhere for Sunday lunch, are we?” My big brother, Richard, and his wife, Agatha, had been threatening to invite us, but fortunately hadn’t got round to it yet. I was kind of hoping they never would.
Phil gave a brief headshake. “Axel’s going out with his aunt, remember?”
“Uh, no.” Actually it did ring a faint bell.
“Lilah mentioned it Thursday,” he reminded me. “So it’s now or never.”
“Do they know we’re coming?”
Phil looked shifty. “I rang Lilah, told her I wanted to have another go through Jonathan’s things. She said not to come on Saturday as she’d be working.”
“So you’re planni
ng to catch Axel home alone? Sneaky. Unless he goes out, of course.”
He huffed. “Did he strike you as the sort who’s keen on fresh air? Anyway, if he’s not in, we can drop in on Leanne.”
“At the salon? Sorry to disappoint you, but if I ever decide to go for some professional manscaping, it’s not going to be by my future sister-in-law.”
“Nothing like that.” He looked even shiftier. “We were spotted on Thursday. Mum reckons Leanne’s got the hump because we were in Pluck’s End and didn’t walk in the shop and say hello.”
“Oh. Right. We can do that, then. Maybe we could take her out for dinner?” I felt a bit guilty. So she wasn’t my favourite person in the whole world—I hadn’t forgiven her for embarrassing Phil by casually dropping a very personal piece of information about his first marriage into the conversation when we’d gone round to his mum’s for Sunday lunch a while back—but she meant well. Mostly. “She’s not still on the diet, is she?”
“She’s always on a flippin’ diet. No. We’ll go in and say hello. That’s it.”
I nodded. “Going there first, so we’ve got an excuse to dash off?”
Phil paused, clearly tempted, then shook his head. “No. Let’s do Axel first. It’s late enough already, and who knows when Lilah’s going to come home.”
As I locked the front door behind us, Phil pulled out his car keys. It was getting to be a habit, taking his car.
“How about we take the Fiesta?” I suggested. “It could do with a good run.”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
When I turned the keys in the ignition, the Fiesta sputtered into life like it’d been having a snooze and wasn’t too chuffed to be woken.
Phil huffed. “When was the last time you drove your car?”
“Uh . . . I refuse to answer on the grounds it may cause you to make a suggestion that’ll hurt her feelings.”
“Her?”
“Well, yeah. All cars are female, aren’t they? Like ships.”
“I think Lightning McQueen would have something to say about that.”