‘Correct.’
‘Is she pretty?’
Doherty’s eyes tightened when he looked at her and small wrinkles – hinting at both pleasure and amusement – radiated from the corners.
‘You jealous?’
There hadn’t really been much time or room for jealousy in their relationship thus far. OK, Doherty worked with female police officers, but she’d never let the fact fudge her feelings.
‘Of course not.’
‘You’d love her. All fluffed-up hair and a pair of matching …’
He moved his arms and hands like men do when they’re about to describe a favourite part of a woman’s anatomy.
The look on her face must have said it all. Throwing back his head he burst out laughing.
‘A pair of Pekingese!’ he said, revelling in his schoolboyish humour.
‘Dogs?’
He nodded. ‘Dogs.’
Feigning contempt, she pretended that there were better things to see in the club and took a gander around – not that you could see much.
The air in the Zodiac Club whirled in its blue and smoky way, heavy with the smell of grilled steak, onions, and garlic prawns. Around one or two in the morning she’d leave this place smelling of it all.
Judging by Doherty’s demeanour Cynthia Wright was made out of the same mould as her brother. Better than that, Doherty had not found her attractive. He would never have described her as he had if she was. Neither would he have used the over-flamboyant description for what turned out to be a pair of Pekingese dogs.
Dogs brought Bobo to mind. Somewhere in the city Bobo would be tiddling with excitement on someone else’s floors. OK, she’d get round to finding the little mutt, but in the meantime her Turkish rugs and flagstone floors would be safe from Bobo’s excitable nature.
‘You’re not mad with me?’ Doherty didn’t like silences. He didn’t like long silences and he didn’t like short ones either. She’d learned fast that Doherty didn’t like confrontation in his relationships. He liked everything to mosey along, but it didn’t hurt to throw a little gripe now and again.
‘I might be.’
Suddenly he grabbed her chin between forefinger and thumb and looked deeply into her eyes. She managed to focus but felt as though she were swimming.
‘You’ve got come-to-bed eyes.’
‘Beats having to say anything.’
She held her breath as she awaited the question she thought he would ask her which was, ‘ I’ve got half a bed to spare. Are you in it or what?’
But he didn’t ask that.
‘Now, Honey. I want you to think very carefully. Did this mad jogger you met mention a name when he asked you about these letters?’
OK, she was disappointed. Cuddling up to Doherty would round the evening off nicely. She pulled her thoughts together – or as together as she could.
‘I don’t recall him mentioning any name – his own or anyone else’s. He reckoned I could get hold of this letter and was just pretending that I didn’t know anything about it. He kept pressing me, I kept denying, and eventually he nicked Bobo.’
‘I see.’
Letting go of her chin Doherty frowned and looked away. She couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, partly because he wasn’t looking in her direction, and partly because he was going all blurry around the edges.
Taking a deep sigh, she mused on the imagined scenario at the place the kidnapper called home.
‘Oh, boy! Is he going to regret that! Did I tell you that Anna left behind a pack of babies’ disposables? Did I tell you that Lindsey fitted one on to that dog? Bet you that guy doesn’t have a pack of them in his place. Bet you he’ll be out buying some pretty damned sharp!’
She laughed but refrained from sipping what remained of her drink when she saw the way Doherty was plucking at his bottom lip, his eyelids half covering those delicious dark blue eyes of his.
She kept looking at him whilst juggling her thoughts into some kind of cohesive order. Something was going down here. Doherty hadn’t laughed and didn’t look amused. In fact he looked dubiously thoughtful – which was very worrying. It meant that the doggy kidnapper had hit on a sore spot.
‘There is a letter? Is that what you want to tell me? There is a letter?’
He gave her that melting look, the one that superseded the serious detective bit and made her go weak at the knees.
He took a deep breath. ‘There are three letters, all signed and all from people in receipt of one of his reviews. Cynthia Wright has letters from all over. It is possible that this guy you met might have been from out of town when he wrote his letter. Perhaps he had a hotel elsewhere but moved here, saw Wright, and took his revenge.’
Honey’s humour died an instant death. She’d taken another look at the letters, viewing their provenance in a more positive light. Three letters, three identities, and three addresses; they couldn’t help but find the yellow-haired man who was holding Bobo to ransom and now a lot more. They would take some going through, checking on the whereabouts of the letter writers, but eventually the people Doherty had at his disposal might very well hit the right one. The upside was that she might be instrumental in solving the murder. The downside was that the dog would be back in the fold in double-quick time.
‘Has he phoned you, contacted you at all?’ Doherty asked.
Honey shook her head. The fuzzy head brought about by the drink she’d consumed wasn’t feeling so good now. ‘Well … he has and he hasn’t. He doesn’t have my mobile phone number. He’s been ringing the Green River. I told him again that I knew nothing. I mean, anyone can ring there and he knows that I’m Crime Liaison Officer for the Hotels Association. He insisted that if I didn’t get hold of his letter and hand it over I would never see Bobo again.’
‘You shouldn’t look so pleased about it. Your mother won’t be happy.’
‘That’s a point.’
‘So how come he didn’t give you his name? If he wanted the letter back that badly, surely he would have given you that?’
She shrugged. ‘Beats me. It’s almost as though he expected me to know who he was.’
‘Your description is pretty imaginative: a tall, skinny blond bloke wearing diminutive clothing and sporting a fake orange tan.’
‘Did I say it was a fake orange tan?’
‘It sounded as though you didn’t quite believe it was real.’
‘I didn’t think he was quite real. He was odd. Really odd.’
Doherty ordered himself another drink, jerked his chin at her by way of offering her another. ‘Tonic water only.’
Her brain wasn’t quite in tune with her mouth so she didn’t argue about the drink he was ordering for her.
He passed her the glass. ‘Here. I’m going to be generous. You can have a double tonic water.’
‘You’re so kind.’ She knew it made sense. Her lips were like rubber and moving without direction.
He gave her that knowing look that seemed to say, ‘I like a woman who knows her limits.’
Honey swiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Her head was hot, the back of her hand was cool. Normally she was fully aware of her limits. If only she’d instigated the ruling a lot earlier in the evening. Drinking too much in her profession could mean entering a downward spiral that was nigh impossible to escape. She’d seen plenty of others take to the bottle though usually as a result of personal problems. Infidelity and marriage breakdown came top of that particular list as a reason for hoteliers overindulging in the stuff they were supposed to sell. Another reason was lack of business. She’d known one guy who couldn’t work out where his wines and spirits were going – until he realized that his bar was empty of customers and he’d been standing there, bored beyond belief, helping himself.
Honey screwed up her eyes. ‘I wonder what turned Wright to drink?’
Doherty shrugged. ‘Could be anything. Divorce, bereavement, unfulfilled expectations … or even something happening that left him feeling guilty. Per
haps all these people he upset.’
Honey frowned at him. ‘Nah! Not him. Wright didn’t have a conscience. He had a lot of other things, like wandering hands and an inclination towards kinky sex, but not a conscience. Not him.’
‘One last drink?’
She nodded. While Doherty went out to the men’s room she got the barman to make hers a double vodka, reasoning that the two straight tonics had sobered her up no end. So why are you drinking, she asked herself? She provided an instant answer. ‘To forget.’
‘What was that?’ Doherty had come back.
‘I was just thinking out loud. Wright might have drunk to forget.’
It was an outright lie. She was thinking of the kidnapped dog. The question of Bobo was suddenly a lot more worrying. There was something about Dora’s will … and the dog. Adding both items together it was safe to say that her mother would not be pleased. Now what could she say to explain why Bobo wasn’t around? Not a lot.
She slurped back the drink – down in one.
Doherty was saying something but she struggled to hear.
‘The thing is, I’ve already …’
She pretended that she knew where this was going.
‘Wright?’ she murmured blearily. Her head fell against his shoulder.
Doherty rested his chin against the soft, dark hair, drinking in the scent of apple blossom shampoo mixed with garlic prawns and chargrilled steak.
‘I’ll take you home.’
He managed to get her on to her feet, her cheek resting on his shoulder. She let him think she was far worse for drink than she actually was. It was nice to have a strong man to lean on, though her legs did feel …
‘Did I ever tell you about the dog I had when I was a kid? His fur was the same colour as your hair. Did you know that?’
She didn’t know and she didn’t hear. Doherty smiled to himself. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’
Placing her arm up around his neck he passed his across her back.
‘I want to go to bed,’ she said mournfully.
‘That’s exactly where I’m taking you.’
A few people heard and smiled knowingly.
He didn’t bother to say that he was taking her home to her own bed and that they shouldn’t have such filthy minds. He didn’t really care what they were thinking, and besides he might not take her home to her own bed. Whatever bed she ended up in it was pretty certain that all she’d do was sleep.
Clint, Honey’s oft-time washer-up, wasn’t on the door tonight. Doherty was grateful for that. He could do without a snide comment or smirk and Honey could do without the gossip it could cause amongst her employees.
Fitting Honey into the front seat of his Toyota MR2 wasn’t the easiest job in the world. For a start, space was confined, the bucket seat set low down, and Honey’s head kept flopping to one side. On top of that her legs seemed to have a mind of their own. They just wouldn’t go where he placed them. One bent knee consistently flopped outwards. The other knee rested on the gear stick. He didn’t like to leave her with her knees splayed and vaguely resembling a crippled frog, besides which it would be one hell of a job to change gear.
Growling under his breath he made another attempt to put her right. ‘Other people just pass out and go floppy like a rag doll. Do you have to be so bloody awkward? Even when you’re drunk?’
‘Is it midnight yet?’
‘Not quite yet.’
‘Do I smell of garlic?’
He sniffed. ‘No. Not yet.’
He knew what she was getting at. If you stayed in the Zodiac beyond the witching hour you ended up smelling like the food being cooked but he was too kind to say so. Anyway Honey was gently snoring.
Doherty smiled down at her. ‘Your place or mine?’ He flipped a coin. ‘OK. Mine.’
The action was flippant. He didn’t know whether she was needed to cook breakfast in the morning. He knew there was a duty roster at the Green River but didn’t know who was doing what or how many guests were currently in residence. After thinking it over, he decided it made sense to phone the Green River Hotel and enquire who was ‘it’ in the morning. Hopefully one of the employees would answer. He hoped it wouldn’t be Lindsey. He and Honey had been an item for a while. So far Lindsey had seemed unfazed by their relationship, which had mostly been kept at a distance from her though she was far from being that green. However, he was about to say that he was taking Honey back to his place and lying her down in one half of his bed …
It was a very nice bed – a French sleigh-type bed, six feet wide and made of solid walnut. He’d bought it on a weekend trip to the September street market in Lisle, courtesy of the Channel Tunnel rail link. Because of its bulk it hadn’t been possible to bring it back on the train so he’d paid to have it transported from there, but the bed’s size and ambience had been worth it. You could fit six in that bed and it still wouldn’t be crowded; not that he’d ever had six in that bed, and not that he ever planned to do so. There was a pretty thick line between fact and fantasy. Anyway, Honey looked pretty good in it all by herself. Her hair was splayed out all over the pillow like the rays of the sun – though dark of course, but still, nice.
When he pulled a sheet over her, she made a noise closely resembling the purring of a cat and curled down, making herself comfortable.
Doherty sighed. ‘And now. For my next trick …’
He looked at the phone long and hard before picking it up. With a bit of luck it wouldn’t be Lindsey who answered, but unfortunately for him his luck had gone walkabout. Lindsey answered the phone.
‘Shit.’ That was to himself.
‘Linds!’
The idea was to sound hale and hearty. Instead he sounded nervous.
For Chrissakes, why?
He reminded himself that Lindsey was an adult. These were modern times. OK, he was having a thing with her mother. So what?
‘Hi, Steve. I take it my mother is with you?’
His tongue tripped over the words. ‘Kind of. She just doesn’t know it at this moment in time.’ That sounded OK. Cool. In control.
‘Is she staying with you tonight?’
Sleeping! She meant sleeping.
He gulped. Come on. Bring on the macho male.
Well, he kind of went halfway to that.
‘That depends. Tell me, is she scheduled to cook breakfast in the morning? If she is, I’ll get her back to you. If she isn’t I think it’s best she stays in bed.’
‘No. Let her sleep it off. Doris is in and Smudger has also promised to be in early. He has to prep for the Agatha Christie lot.’
‘That’s great. I think she needs to sleep it off.’
‘I take it she told you that she lost that dog?’
‘Yeah. I think she’s been celebrating the fact, which is why I thought it best that she sl – stays with me.’
He threw back his head, exasperated that he’d tripped over the obvious word, the one he should have seen coming.
It’s OK, he told himself. It’s OK. You weren’t lying. He’d tripped over the word sleeping, but he was just being considerate. That was the picture he was trying to paint and Honey had definitely been drinking swifter than usual, so everything was cool, everything was OK, and … shit … Lindsey was saying something.
‘That’s terrible. That poor dog. Honestly, my mother can be so selfish at times.’
Lindsey’s criticism of her mother surprised him. She’d always seemed so good-natured, so in tune with whatever her mother was doing.
‘You sound sympathetic to the missing Bobo. I thought it had problems, not trained properly from what I understand. Not like police dogs. They’re very well trained. Best trained in the world.’
The truth was that he knew nothing about dogs, but at least talking about dogs took them away from the subject of him and Lindsey’s mother.
‘Well, Bobo wasn’t trained. She just didn’t get brought up properly at all. Her mistress didn’t get round to exercising and training her right.’
‘Are you kidding? Did you ever meet Dora in the flesh? Exercise was never on her agenda.’
Doherty replied that he had never met the woman so couldn’t really say. He wanted to end this call. He wanted to snuggle up beside Honey even though she was out of it. Most of all he wanted to end the call because Lindsey made him feel guilty.
However, Lindsey had opinions about everything, knew a lot and sounded very knowledgeable on the subject of dogs. Come to think of it, Lindsey was pretty knowledgeable on a lot of subjects.
‘So you’re OK about your mother staying over here?’
‘Sounds as though you’ve got no choice, and Steve …’
‘Yeah?’
‘I am over eighteen. And so’s my mother.’
‘I know that. What I meant was …’
He didn’t know what the hell he meant. Honey had once said that her daughter sometimes made her feel as though she were the one who was eighteen and Lindsey was the mother. He now knew just what she meant.
Lindsey was still giving good advice. ‘Give her a hot glass of milk, a couple of aspirin, and tuck her in. Then run for cover in the morning.’
‘You’re telling me she’s going to be grouchy.’
‘Well you know that film where the cute creatures turn into ratty little critters when they’re put in touch with water? That’s what my mother’s like after taking too much booze on board.’
He pulled a ‘so what’ face because what she said was no great surprise; everybody was grouchy if they awoke in the morning with a hangover. He was even feeling more at ease with his girlfriend’s daughter – until she said what she said next.
‘Undress her first,’ Lindsey added.
Doherty blanched. Lindsey was actually telling him to take her mother’s clothes off! Feeling the heat rush to his face, he rallied his nerves and decided where this should go. Firstly he needed to divert the conversation, to lay on the excuses as to why this was happening thick and fast.
‘I’ll do whatever you say.’ He bit his lip. ‘I mean,’ he said, frantically searching for a plausible get-out clause, ‘carrying her across Reception in a less-than-sober state doesn’t show a good example to the staff or the guests.’
Wicked Words: A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Page 16