by Rachel Green
“Not so young and sweet if she divorced him. That must have cost a pretty penny.”
“What?”
“The divorce. The division of assets. I bet that cost him a fortune, especially if he didn’t want to fight it out in court and you wouldn’t, would you? If you were him, I mean.” The tires crunched on gravel as he reversed, narrowly missing the Jaguar again,
“I don’t follow.”
“Meinwen, I love you for your innocence, sometimes. Catherine would have threatened him with court to get as big a settlement as she could. If he was into all the things you say he was there’s no way he’d want that dragged into the papers. Sex in suburbia sells, remember, and a sex scandal sells doubly so. What would the Laverstone Times have done with a story about the late Sir Robert’s son being involved with a house of ill repute? All the anti-whips-and-chains brigade would be out in force, writing sensationalist pieces for all the Sunday rags in Fleet Street.”
“I didn’t think of it like that.” Meinwen caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Richard always seemed so confidant about money. Was that the trick to keeping one step ahead of the bailiffs? Confidence? “Do you think he was short of money then?”
“Bound to have been.” Dafydd backed into the road and pulled off. “Big house like this? Stands to reason it’d hemorrhage cash like a ten-dollar whore with a twenty-dollar habit.”
Meinwen tried to rationalize the young Catherine she knew with the sort of woman who would take her husband for every penny he had. It didn’t make any sense. They’d been so in love. “Would he have been insured?”
“Almost certainly. It would make sense for him to have a decent life policy, especially with that amount of responsibility. My guess is he’d have borrowed heavily against it to pay her off.”
“That makes sense then.” She couldn’t imagine being that much in debt. She fretted at night over her modest credit card bills.
“What does?” He turned the corner, following the garden wall before it segued into the smaller domiciles of less wealthy owners.
“Something I overheard when the phone rang. Mary was arguing about money with someone. It sounded like she was expecting a big payout.” She looked down at her phone. “I was hoping Sergeant Peters would have got back to me by now.”
Dafydd snorted. “During a murder inquiry? Good luck with that. For all the insurers know she did it herself for the money. Or he did. Something like that. They won’t pay out a penny until the police have finished their investigation.” He turned to look at her. “So don’t even think about bumping me off for the insurance money.”
“I doubt they’d give me much for you. I’d be better off recycling you for the minerals.” Meinwen straightened and happened to glance out of the windscreen and saw a figure step into the road. “Look out!”
“Shit!” Dafydd managed to hit the brakes and twisted the steering wheel to the left. The van careened across the road and mounted the curb, the nearside tire popping and tilting the van even farther forward.
Meinwen shrieked as he twisted the steering wheel the other way, the van lifting slightly as the front wheels fought for traction, then skidding on the pavement and clipping a streetlight with the back corner. The indicator panel shattered under the impact, though Meinwen barely registered the sound, so intent was she on the approaching stone wall. With a screech of metal the van hit the granite, the short bonnet crumpling under the impact.
The van lurched to a halt and stopped, steam hissing where the radiator had cracked. Meinwen stared at a seedling growing from a crack in the wall a few inches from her face and it was several seconds before she realized someone was calling her name.
“What?”
“Are you all right? That bloody lunatic stepped right out in front of me. I could have killed him.”
Meinwen patted herself down. “I’m fine. Bit of a headache, I think, but nothing a cup of willow-bark tea won’t cure. How about you?”
“I’m fine. I think the van’s had it, though.”
Meinwen twisted to look out of the back window. “And the streetlight. I think they make you pay for those.” She frowned. “Please tell me you’ve got insurance.”
“Of course I have.” He unclipped his seat belt. “If I ever find the bloke I almost killed I’ll kill him.”
He rubbed his eyes as a knock sounded on his door. He wound down the window to find an elderly man standing there. He looked at Dafydd then across at Meinwen. “Are you both all right? Shall I call for an ambulance?”
“No, it’s okay. We’re good.” Dafydd slid the door back and half stepped half dropped to the pavement. “Although if you wanted an ice cream you’re shit out of luck.”
Chapter 21
Meinwen looked across at Dafydd sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance. He held an ice pack to his face and even against his dark skin a bruise was already forming. Meinwen had fared no better with a lump on her forehead almost matching the vivid color of her hair.
The ambulance woman dabbed at it with a cotton bud dipped in witch hazel. “That’s going to be there a while. I’d be happier if you’d come to the hospital to have it checked.”
“Thanks, er...”
“Jill.”
“Thanks, Jill, but there’s really no need. I’ll treat it with arnica when I get home. It’ll be fine.” She looked past her to the ambulance, where the other medic was treating Dafydd. “How’s he?”
Jill followed her glance. “Just a bit shaken up. You’re both very lucky, you know. You could have been seriously injured. It’s a good job you were both wearing your seat belts.”
“It would have been better if someone hadn’t jumped out in front of us.”
“So you said.” She dropped the cotton bud in a clinical waste bag and stood. “Will you be all right?”
“Fine, thanks.” Meinwen smiled up at her. She could feel the damp of the stone curb soaking through her dress but suspected she’d fall over if she stood. A trip to the hospital had not been on her agenda for today. “You get off. I’m sure there are more deserving patients waiting.”
“I doubt that very much.” She winked and returned to the van, slapping her partner on the shoulder. “Come on, Jack. Chop, chop.”
“Jack? Really?” Dafydd winced as he stood, the ice pack pressed firmly to his head. “An ambulance crew called Jack and Jill?”
Jack laughed as he closed the van. “Sure, why not?” He patted the door. “Plenty of vinegar and brown paper inside this baby.”
“Thanks, mate.” Dafydd held out his hand but Jack slapped it.
“Anytime, man.” He grinned as he slid open the cab door. “Brother’s got to stick together, you ken.”
“Oh yes.”
“Laters.” Jack laughed and climbed into the seat.
“Sure.” Dafydd stepped out of the way as Jill climbed in as well then with a roar of the exhaust the ambulance was pulling away. He crossed over to Meinwen. “You okay?”
“I’ll live.” She looked back at the van. “Not sure about Mr. Whiplash, though.”
“Whipple.” Dafydd grinned and nodded to the officer checking the amount of tread on the three remaining tires. “The copper gave me the number of a garage. I called while Jack was checking me over.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Er...” Dafydd looked at his phone. “Two-three-eight-four-five-two.”
Meinwen frowned. “I don’t know the numbers. I have a friend who has a garage. He restores old cars mostly but does a bit of repair and servicing too.”
“Maybe it’s the same bloke. There can’t be that many garages in one town, can there?”
“You’d be surprised. The whole world is slave to the car industry. The landscape is shaped by it, the towns are chained by it and cars take precedence over people everywhere, so why shouldn’t there be multiple garages?”
“People will always need cars.”
“Indeed they will. Hey up.” She nodded toward the policeman who had finished his inspection of the van
and was heading toward them. “Here’s the officer come to make everything your fault.”
“Now now, miss. That’s hardly fair, is it?” The constable tried what Meinwen assumed must be a conciliatory smile. “I’m just here to get to the bottom of the matter. Blame is for the court to decide.”
“There you go, see?” Meinwen nudged Dafydd with her elbow. “In his mind’s eye he’s already got you in court, pleading your case in front of a bored judge who’s just convicted four drunk drivers and is looking forward to his lunch.”
The constable’s smile fell away as quickly as it had been plastered on. “That’s not the case at all.”
“Well then. Did the tires, tax, seat belts, indicators and number plates pass your inspection?”
The constable ignored her. “May I see your license, insurance document and MOT certificate, sir?”
Dafydd handed Meinwen the ice pack and opened his wallet. He pulled out a plastic card and handed it over.
“Do you have your part two with you, sir?”
Dafydd fished in his wallet again and extracted a sheet of paper, unfolding it to full size before handing it over. “Only in England would a driver have to carry a separate piece of paper to verify an officially sealed and verified plastic card.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, sir.” He checked the details, looking from card to paper several times, as if expecting them to change. “I’m sure there are many countries employing the security of a two part license. That seems to be in order, thank you.” He handed them back. “Insurance and MOT?”
“They’re in the van.” Dafydd got unsteadily to his feet and limped the ten yards to the driver’s side, then reached in for the documents.
“Do you believe a man jumped in front of us?”
The officer stared at her. “I believe that you believe it, madam.”
“That would be a no then.”
“Here you go.” Dafydd handed him two sheets of paper in a plastic cover. The officer made a note of the document numbers, glanced at the dates and handed them back.
“Thank you, sir. It makes a pleasant change to deal with someone who has all their paperwork to hand. May I ask what you’ll be doing with the vehicle?” He made the word into three separate sounds. Vee. Hic. All. “It can’t stay here.”
“Obviously not. I’ve called the number you gave me for the mechanic. We’ll have to have it towed either to a garage or...” He looked at Meinwen. “To your place.”
“I suppose.” She could imagine all too well what would happen if the broken down van was towed into the drive at the Herbage. There it would stay forever and a day, slowly rotting and being covered by mold, brambles and ivy until the council insisted she dispose of it or face punitive fines. She’d be forced to work a second job, Dafydd would never leave and she’d end up marrying him just to stop the ladies of the village shunning her and forcing her out of business.
“Meinwen?”
She jumped. “Sorry. What?”
“We lost you for a minute there. Can we have it towed to your place?”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Let’s see how much it will cost to repair it, first.”
“Plus the towing fee.” The policeman smiled. “Or I could get the police truck over from Salisbury but that would cost you fifty quid on the spot, plus mileage.”
Dafydd frowned. “And what’s the guy I called going to cost?”
“I don’t know. Let’s ask him shall we?” He gave an upward nod toward a truck turning into the road.
The driver pulled the tow truck into the curb and backed up with a rumble of the engine and several lungfuls of diesel fumes. A man climbed from the cab and introduced himself as Nick Boardman. His handshake was so firm Meinwen felt it was a display of dominance on his part. He slapped the officer’s back. “Wotcha, Keith.” He pronounced it “Keef.”
Meinwen brushed the dirt from the back of her skirt. “You two know each other then?”
“PC Bent here is my brother-in-law, ain’t you mate?” Nick mock-thumped the officer’s arm. He was a beefy man who could have played Rugby in his underwear and come to no harm. His head grew straight out of his shoulders with neither room nor need for neck and his arms and legs were caricatures of giant exclamation marks.
“I see.” Meinwen smiled, her teeth clamped so tight it made her jaw ache.
Dafydd grimaced. “I’m guessing this isn’t the guy you were talking about?”
“No.” Meinwen looked at the van, then back at Nick. “What’s your estimate then? For towing my friend’s truck to your garage and repairing the damage?”
“Ooh. Let’s have a look.” Nick pulled out a pad to make notes. “Front panel. Indicator unit. Radiator.” He sucked air through his teeth. “Oil leak, nearside wheel, rim and tire, nearside rear wing. Plus parts and labor. You’re looking at about two grand, assuming I can get the parts. They don’t make these any more, you know.”
“Two grand?” Meinwen’s heart sank, her future with an ice-cream van on her front yard solidifying.
Dafydd’s face fell. “I can’t afford that.”
“The insurance will cover it, surely?”
“I’ve only got fire and theft.”
Nick laughed. “Want me to torch it?”
“Wait until I’m off duty, won’t you?” PC Bent grinned but the humor didn’t extend to his eyes.
“No, thanks. “Dafydd stood in front of the van and stroked the line of the bonnet. “What’s it’s scrap value?”
“Whatever you can get.” Nick shook his head. “I could tow it to the scrap yard in Offley but they’ll only give you base weight for it. I’ll still have to charge you the towing fee as well.”
“This is so unfair. It wasn’t my fault. Why am I being penalized for not running someone over? If I hadn’t swerved it’d just be a case of making a statement and being on my way.”
“And washing the blood off the radiator grill.” Nick laughed. “That’s assuming you had a witness, which you don’t.”
“Yes. He does. I was in the van.”
“But you’re a woman.” Nick pulled a packet of gum from his pocket, unwrapped a stick and popped it in his mouth. He put the packet away without offering it around. “Women are notoriously unreliable witnesses. Everybody knows that.”
“Since when?”
“Since forever. It’s in the Bible, innit?”
“Good grief.” Meinwen pulled out her phone and began scrolling through numbers. It was an old phone and it took much of her concentration. She found the number, dialed and walked a few paces away from the men while it rang.
“Winston?”
“Yeah. What? Who’s this?”
“This is Meinwen Jones. From the pagan shop on Knifesmith’s Gate?”
“Yeah, right. What can I do for you?”
“A friend of mine has had an accident and his van is stuck on Cherry Tree Road with crumpled wings and indicators and a broken radiator. How much to tow it to your garage and fix it?”
“I’ll tow it for the price of an hour’s labor. What sort of van?”
Meinwen looked back at Dafydd. “What sort of van is it?”
“It’s an ice-cream van, innit?” Both Nick and PC Bent laughed.
Dafydd scowled at the other men. “It’s a seventy-seven Bedford.”
“Wait a minute.” Meinwen relayed the information to her friend.
“Classic van, but still pretty common. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Meinwen could hear Winston hissing as he totted up the price of parts. “Eight hundred plus labor? Cheaper if there’s no rush on the repair.”
“Brilliant.” She held the phone to her chest as she called to Dafydd. “He says eight hundred plus labor.”
“Magic.” Dafydd gave her a double thumbs-up sign. “Looks like we won’t be requiring your services after all, Mr. Boardman.”
“Your loss, mate.” Nick headed back to his truck. “Your friend might do cheaper work but I do quality.” He
climbed in and moments later the truck belched diesel fumes and pulled away.
“You’ve got until nightfall to get this shifted before it’s impounded, sir.” PC Bent handed Dafydd a slip of paper as Meinwen rejoined them. “If you’ll drop in at the station to complete an incident report any time in the next fourteen days, we can get your case sorted out with the minimum of fuss.”
Dafydd glanced at the sheet. “What do you mean, ‘my case’?”
“Get you in front of the judge, sir. Then you can plead your case and take your punishment.”
“Not that you’ve already assumed me guilty.”
“Of dangerous driving, driving without due care and attention and driving in a manner likely to cause an accident? Of course not, sir. Heaven forbid.” He nodded to them. “Have a good day.”
Chapter 22
“Are you still seeing Penny?” Meinwen leaned back against the desk after checking the edge wasn’t covered in oil, a mug of tea the color and texture of coal tar between her hands. Despite the sunshine it was generally cold and sitting on the side of the road had warmed her not at all. At least the rain stopped while they’d been at the Larches.
“Penny?” Winston grinned, his teeth gleaming against his dark skin. “Nah. Haven’t seen her for over a year, actually. I don’t think she’s even in Laverstone any more.” He opened the filing cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “Want some?”
Meinwen shook her head. “No thanks.”
“I will.” Dafydd held out his cup. He shrugged at Meinwen’s stare. “What? It’s not like I’ll be driving anywhere, is it?”
“I suppose not.” She looked through the grimy window into the workshop beyond, where a vintage Rolls Royce sat amongst the oil and filth like a Princess of Wales in Calcutta. “What do you reckon to the van then?”
“It’s fixable. It’ll take a week or two to get the parts together but it’s not as bad as it looks.” He slapped Dafydd’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, mate. I’ll keep the costs down. You’ll soon be back to your blue-skinned people.”
“That’s Scotland, Winston.” Meinwen couldn’t help the smile. “Dafydd’s from Aberdovey.”