by Ruby Loren
I said a rather bad word under my breath when I saw I’d received an email from the literary agent two days ago. I clicked open.
They’d written that they were visiting Cornwall for a vacation and were near to Padstow for a week. I’d told the agent that I was working, but they were asking if I could meet on the 25th.
I glanced at my phone and said another rude word. That was tomorrow's date!
I quickly typed out an apologetic reply. After a moment’s consideration, I accepted the meeting. It was in the afternoon, but as I worked freelance, I didn’t see why I couldn’t take the afternoon off and work overtime at the weekend to make up for it. Besides, I’d already cancelled on this agent before. I owed them a meeting so I could at least hear out the proposal.
I pressed send and sat back in my chair. Above me, there were a final few creaks of the old floorboards and then silence. Lowell must have finished making his calls and gone to bed.
I bit my lip, remembering what he’d said to me right before he’d run off upstairs. Was it just a slip of the tongue, or had he really meant it?
And had I just been the biggest jerk in the world by not saying anything back?
I was about to close my laptop and go up to bed and join him when it made a pinging sound as a new email arrived. I was surprised to see a response from the literary agent. They’d written that they completely understood that I was busy with work and they were thrilled to be finally meeting me tomorrow.
I raised an eyebrow. This agent was certainly determined to talk to me. I was beginning to wonder what I’d let myself in for.
The next morning, Lowell woke me up with an exclusive.
The detective who’d been so concerned that Lowell was hiding skeletons in his closet had plenty of his own.
Jack Toyne had been a rising star in the Leeds police force. According to Lowell’s sources, he’d been involved in an unsolved case, which had put the brakes on his promising career. He hadn't even been working as the lead detective on the case, but he’d apparently felt very involved and had taken it badly when they’d been forced to abandon it.
The case itself was horribly familiar. A woman had been receiving threats. Messages telling her she’d soon die were nailed to her door. Her house had been broken into, but nothing had been taken. All the culprit had ever done was leave more notes for her. Individually, these things were pretty weird, but when you added them all together, you got quite a scary picture.
Apparently, the police had done all they could to help the woman, but her case had never been a priority. No actual violence had been committed against her, so it sounded to me like it hadn’t been taken very seriously.
Detective Toyne had taken it seriously. According to Lowell’s informant on the force, he’d started out feeling very sympathetic towards the woman and had done all that was expected of him as a rising star. He’d thrown himself into his research but had drawn a blank.
As time went by and the leads dried up, he’d reached a different conclusion. His fury against the perpetrator of the crime turned to suspicion about the victim. He’d become close to obsessive and had begun watching the victim’s house day and night. Here, the source hadn’t been clear on whether Toyne had still been searching for a stalker or had decided once and for all that it was the woman doing it to herself, but in the end it hadn’t mattered. His superiors had warned him off the case for making it too personal.
Time had passed and he’d been put on other cases, but whatever shine he'd once possessed had worn off. Instead of writing him off, he’d been told to take some leave to calm down and forget about the whole business. Instead, he’d ditched his dreams of police stardom and had wound up in a sleepy Cornish village.
As I made my breakfast, I wondered about his reasons for coming to Cornwall and how he’d managed it. If he’d been the one to watch back in Leeds, I could definitely see why a small police force like Pendalay’s would want him to sign up. It had probably been enough for them to overlook a chequered past.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder about the serendipity of the case that had just fallen into the police’s laps. Was the strange way that Detective Toyne had behaved so far on this new case all rooted in the last case where he’d failed? Perhaps he saw this as a chance for redemption.
While I could see his reasons for wanting closure solving a case that was reminiscent of the past, I also thought he’d been signed off work with good reason. Detective Toyne struck me as a loose cannon, and I didn't want to find myself in his path of destruction.
I placed a couple of slices of toast on my plate and sat down at the kitchen table. I'd thought about making some for Lowell, but it didn't seem fair to wake him again. He’d been up super early to answer the phone calls from his sources, when they’d called him before their daily commutes to work. He’d then crashed back into bed, pulled the covers over his head, and was snoring again before I knew it. He hadn't been lying when he'd claimed he was too old for all night parties.
I'd just taken my first bite of toast when I heard a phone ring. I looked around for a second, not knowing where it came from. It wasn’t my ringtone and it wasn't the one I recognised as Lowell’s either. Following the noise, I walked over to the sofa where Lowell had crashed out the previous night and felt behind the cushions. My fingers found the edge of something smooth and I pulled out a slim, black phone. One missed call showed on the screen.
I pressed call back before it could lock me out.
“Hello, MI5, how may I direct your call? … Hello?”
I pressed hang up and dropped the phone back onto the sofa.
Was this Lowell’s idea of a joke, or had he really just received a call from someone at MI5?
I dug my laptop out of its bag and placed it on the kitchen table. My fingers shook a little as I typed in the name of the fashion outlet that Lowell was working for. I found the contact number for the store and pressed it into my phone.
“Hi, I met with one of your colleagues a few days ago and he promised me that he'd show me the best stock you have to offer. I just wanted to make sure I came back on a day he’s working. His name’s Lowell Ainsley," I said, using the rather simple alias that Lowell had shared with me.
"When was it you saw him?” the voice on the other end of the line enquired.
“I don’t know, a few days ago? Maybe a week? I'm so busy, I just lose track.”
“It must have been over a week ago, Ma’am. He’d only been working here a day and a half when there was this big disagreement between him and two of our regular workers here. All of them were dismissed. One of our other staff members would be happy to show you around. Are you looking for a new supplier for your business?”
“No, never mind,” I said and hung up before the man on the other end of the line could reply.
Lowell had lied to me.
At first, I felt like running up the stairs, tearing the duvet off him and demanding an explanation. After a few seconds, I just felt empty. He'd promised me that we’d always tell each other the truth. Now all of the facts pointed to that not being the case. Not only had he lied about being stuck on this fashion theft case, he was potentially involved with MI5. I was no longer sure that he’d come to Cornwall and accepted a boring case simply to be with me. I thought that both our relationship and the fashion job made an excellent cover for something else entirely.
My mind snapped back to Ms Borel, one of a pair of agents working for the British government. I’d assumed they were international police but I knew enough about espionage to know that MI5 was the department of internal affairs. Had Lowell been recruited when we were out in France, or - more worryingly - had he been working with them all along?
I looked back at the sofa where the phone that had triggered my suspicions still sat out in the open. I pushed my glasses higher up my nose and I pulled myself together. I was not going to waste my day worrying about what Lowell may or may not be getting into and the lie he’d been spinning me. I had a job to do and a lite
rary agent to meet. I had a life.
I'd been perfectly fine on my own before I'd met Lowell and I knew that if it came to it, I would be fine on my own again.
6
Failure and Success
I entered Cherry Trees Coffee Shop in Padstow in a better mood than I’d imagined I would be in at the start of the day. Things at the zoo had gone pretty well. The lions were now all well-used to their platforms and the lodge, and I’d decided to take the next step and try to get them moving. Their keeper had noted that they were eating a bit more, but I still hadn’t wanted to try them with one of my ‘treat balls’. In the past, I’d filled a rubber ball with pieces of offal. The rubber had a hole large enough for meat to be dispensed, if it was pushed until the hole was pointing down at the ground.
I knew that wasn’t something these lions were ready for, but that didn’t mean that balls were a bad idea. I had a few ideas up my sleeve, but today I’d decided to try my most revolutionary one.
It was a cat toy Tiff had bought for Lucky that had given me the idea. He was just starting to play, and she’d got him this little motorised ball that zigged and zagged in random unpredictable ways. Lucky, still being little, had mostly fallen over his feet instead of pouncing, but it had fascinated him.
I was hoping that a scaled-up version of this toy would be just as appealing to the lions.
Today, I’d had the chance to test my theory with two of the balls. They had a remote control that switched them on and off. I'd tossed both over the side fence of the enclosure. It had taken a few tries, as they were pretty sturdy balls and not small either! Then, I’d switched them on and held my breath.
At first, nothing had happened. The balls had started wiggling their way around the enclosure, while the lions continued to doze on their new platforms. I’d bitten my nails until one of the balls had randomly ended up banging against one of the legs of the platforms. One of the male lions had opened one eye. Then he’d opened the other and leant over the edge of the platform to see what was moving down below.
What had happened next was one of those fascinating animal things that, being human, I knew I’d never understand.
It was like a lightbulb had gone on in the lion’s head at the sight of something moving and bumping around like injured prey. The lion had stood up and stretched before jumping off the platform to investigate.
After a few pokes of the ball, he tried biting it. He’d let out an enraged snarl when the stupid thing had kept moving despite his killing bite and had batted it several metres away with one of his giant paws.
That was when one of the lionesses had noticed his actions and had joined the hunt. She’d flopped off the platform and loped over, sparking the male lion to turn and snarl again, warning her off. After years of suffering together in the pride, she hadn't taken too kindly to this, and a small disagreement had broken out. It had been resolved when the lioness swatted the male’s face and he backed off. She’d then run after the ball and rolled over with it while he’d been forced to watch, heartbroken… until he’d spotted the second ball.
It hadn’t been long before more of the pride had joined in the chase and there were yet more scuffles. I watched it all with interest, wondering if the pride had never had a chance to figure out who the dominant members were when they'd all been fighting for their lives together.
“Cool! Look! They’re all fighting and running around!”
I’d turned to see a small boy standing near me, accompanied by a tired looking mother.
She’d clocked my uniform and turned to ask me if it was okay for them to be doing that. I in turn had assured her it was natural lion behaviour and that it was a big step for them on their recovery. I’d then explained about the plight of the animals in the zoo and the help we were trying to give them.
“I’d thought a lot of them looked a bit down in the mouth and skinny,” she’d said. “You know, I was going to tell my friends this is a zoo to stay away from because it’s a little upsetting, you know? Now you've told me that, I think I’ll share it. They might not be the prettiest animals around but saving them is important. You’re like an animal rescue centre,” she’d said.
I’d nodded, intrigued by her view of the zoo, which reflected my own. Every word she’d said had gone into the ‘urgent’ section of my review, which consisted of things I wanted to speak with the Johnsons about before my time at the zoo was over. This had been yet more evidence that the zoo needed to acknowledge its past in order to have a future.
“Madi? Hello? Are you Madi?”
I shook myself out of my memories of the morning and remembered I was standing in the middle of a coffee shop with a blank look on my face. Great.
I looked over towards the sound of the voice and nearly let my mouth drop open.
The man sat at the table in the window, calling my name, was absolutely stunning. He had very dark blonde hair, cut into a classic, but not incredibly trendy, short back and sides style. His cheekbones were ludicrously high and he had a pair of intriguing hazel eyes that looked gold in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the coffee shop window. The dark blue suit he wore didn’t exactly detract from the image either. I immediately felt like a scruff-pot dressed in my zoo uniform, which definitely had all kinds of dirt on it.
“Hi, I’m Madi,” I said, walking over to him and holding out my hand. I hoped that in the time it had taken for me to walk three strides, I’d got my initial reaction under control. I was not some hopeless teenager who got giddy over every cute guy she saw. I was a woman in a relationship, I started telling myself and then stopped when everything that had happened after I’d woken up came back to me.
I mentally picked up all of those nasty little thoughts and tossed them into a box before shutting the lid and adding a few padlocks. I'd marinate in my misery later. Right now, I owed it to the man in front of me to be suitably grateful for this meeting.
“Hi, I’m Jordan,” he said.
“Jordan, right," I said, sitting down opposite him. I did my best to keep my face blank, but it must not have been as successful as I’d thought.
“A lot of people assume I’m female until they meet me,” he said, with an understanding smile.
“I bet they change their opinion pretty fast when they meet you, huh?” I said and then wished the earth would swallow me up. Why had I just said that?!
“I would hope so,” Jordan said with another knowing smile. He looked across at the board of specials and I wondered if he was well aware he was giving me a few moments to collect myself after the surprise. I thought he probably was.
“What would you like?” he said, and I ordered a caramel latte.
When we both had our drinks, Jordan got down to business.
“So, I love your comics. You are a really talented artist and writer. I’d say I can't believe you aren’t doing it full time, but anyone who reads the comics would understand why that is.”
I nodded, pleased that Jordan already seemed to understand more than I’d expected him to. “I love my job. The comic was only ever meant to be a fun hobby - something to do when I was home alone in the evenings,” I confessed and then felt heat rise to my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to be so honest with him but looking back, that was exactly what the comic had been. It was a tool to combat the loneliness I hadn't even realised I’d felt. With a pang, my thoughts turned to Lowell again before I slammed the lid down once more.
“I know it sounds like quite a commitment if I do manage to get you a deal, but nothing happens particularly quickly in the world of publishing, so we’ve got that on our side. If we get a good deal, it might be a year or two before anything actually gets put in print.”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad,” I confessed.
“How’s packaging all of those orders from the crowd funding going?”
I was surprised to be asked that question. It was something Tiff would have asked, but no one else. Lowell had always been supportive, but he’d never really taken that much of
an interest, I suddenly realised.
I was guilty of the same thing. Beyond his work, I didn't really know that much about Lowell. He’d once told me he liked to paint, but I’d never seen any of that either.
“I’m still working on finding a printers," I said. “I don’t know whether to get it done in Cornwall and then pick it up, wait until I get back and do it, or just have it all shipped back home and pick a printers based on something other than location.”
“I think I might be able to help you there. Remind me later and I’ll give you information for a few printers I’ve worked with over the years,” Jordan said, brushing a strand of hair back from his lightly tanned forehead. “Anyway, let’s get down to business…” he said and launched into exactly what he was offering me and exactly what he needed from me in return.
An hour later he was handing me the details for his recommended printers and also his personal number.
“Think about what I've said and then drop me an email or give me a call if you have any questions. I’ll get a contract done and sent to you. Don’t worry, it’s nothing scary, and I fully expect you to read it through just to check I’m not stealing your soul,” he said with a wink that made me flush and then curse my obvious reactions.
“What you've said sounds great. I think this may actually be brilliant,” I said, a little cautiously.
Jordan gave me a big grin. “That’s good. From now on then, I’m your agent. That means if you want to know anything or if you need help, even if it’s not directly related to our publishing deal, you give me a call. I’m not just your literary agent, I’m also your friend,” he said and then winced. “That sounded like a bad sales pitch.”
I found myself giggling and he laughed back.
“I mean it though. If you need anything at all, give me a call.”
I couldn't help but wonder if he’d have extended that offer if he’d known my history of getting into sticky situations with some very nasty people. Somehow I didn’t think so.