Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1)

by S. E. Shepherd

  ‘A drink?’

  ‘Yeah. Just to chat, you know.’

  Lottie gave it some thought. Could she sit in a pub with Chen and chat about all this stuff, without remembering the times they’d been together in the woods, or thinking about the horrific way her dad had treated him? ‘I umm …’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yeah. But, if I can move on, can’t you?’

  ‘Jesus, Chen, you’re like a friggin’ mind-reader.’

  ‘I know. It’s a gift.’ He laughed.

  ‘Can I think about it and let you know?’

  ‘Sure. You know where I am.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lottie hung up. For some reason she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. Despite the fact that Vincent was out there somewhere spending the money that by rights should’ve been hers, it was okay. Life was okay.

  ‘Two bacon and egg butties, one with loads of brown sauce!’

  Lottie raised her hand. ‘That’s me. Thanks.’ She stood up.

  Walking to the till to collect the order, with her back to the window, she missed the sight of a short man with a large dressing on the back of his head and a new deodorant stick in his hand, hurrying out of the branch of Boots next door and dashing past the café. By the time Lottie emerged onto the street, holding the delicious smelling food, the man was gone.

  78

  Hannah – 2019

  With Lottie out of the way, Hannah felt able to settle into the stakeout. This was like Marmite; you either loved it or you hated it. Lottie only saw an empty boat and a discarded suitcase, and Hannah understood that her friend had become bored. But Hannah saw something else – she saw possibility. The possibility that Vincent could round that corner at any minute and board his boat. He could collect his suitcase and begin walking back to his car; he might even walk straight past the place that she had chosen to watch from, far enough away to be inconspicuous, but close enough to pounce if necessary.

  Hannah could see how others found this tedious. She would be the same if someone asked her to go … birdwatching, for example. But for her, this was like hovering close to the edge of something amazing. It was well worth the twenty to get rid of Lottie for a while. Hopefully she’d take her time getting the butties. Hannah knew that at any moment everything could change, and all that she’d learnt during her training would come to the fore. Win or lose, crack the case, catch the baddie, it was all up to her now. A thought occurred to Hannah, for the first time in forever, she didn’t wish she was still a police officer. She was a PI now. This was her world, and she loved it. She kept her eyes focused on the Cristina.

  79

  Vincent – 2019

  ‘I’m confident we can find something suitable for you, Mr Royal. Here’s a list of all the yachts we currently have available. But we get new vessels in every week. You won’t regret buying from us.’

  Vincent took the list and replied, ‘Merci beaucoup.’ Practically the full extent of his French language skills. His limited education in a provincial town in Italy had most certainly not run to French lessons as well as English. Still, some of the ignorant bastards he’d met back in England could barely speak their own language, never mind bother to learn another.

  Leaving the shop, Vincent was like a schoolboy let loose in a toyshop. He was back on top! Soon he would have a new yacht, and then, perhaps a new girlfriend. The women here seemed to adore his Italian charm. Thankfully, they all appeared to speak English.

  Vincent let himself into his new apartment, in one of the most sought-after streets in town. Hanging up his jacket in the hallway, he gave a sigh. Considering it was now well into autumn, it was bloody hot out there. He hadn’t needed the jacket after all. His hands felt uncomfortably clammy and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Since arriving in Nice, Vincent had chosen a few favourite bars and restaurants and begun making the odd acquaintance here and there. He’d put the word out that he was a rich, single Italian man, and was confident it wouldn’t be long before he had a delectable companion like Grace. Sadly, he still had a scar on the back of his head, which was annoying; he hated imperfection. But the hair had grown back where the incompetent British doctor had insisted on shaving it before applying the glue. Anyway, no matter, women were more interested in his handsome face; why would they waste their time looking at the back of his head? He now made a point of conversing only with older, well-maintained women – no more young airheads for him.

  He’d moved his money again and had found an English-speaking solicitor who had efficiently sorted all his affairs. Now it was on to the task of enjoying life. Vincent was feeling settled and at home. His apartment was stylish and modern; it portrayed exactly the image he was going for. Glancing around at the tasteful pieces of furniture, all chosen by the best interior designer money could buy, Vincent was reminded of dusty old Mulberry House. In all honesty, he’d never felt right there. It had been more of a mausoleum than a home. He remembered all the tedious meals in the large dining room, during which he’d endured Catherine’s boring stories of Lottie’s childhood – like he gave a toss about any of that.

  This led him to think of all the times he’d taken his wife out to dinner and had to blatantly ignore the admiring looks he’d received from beautiful women, instead playing the part of the doting husband. Worst of all, he remembered Catherine’s pitiful face when she’d gazed at him from her bed, so grateful for his sexual attention. God, she was irritating. The things he’d had to do for money in his time! Thank goodness he was rid of all that.

  Vincent chided himself. He must stop thinking about that time in his life. He was giving himself dreadful indigestion. He poured himself a glass of cold milk to ease the burn.

  As he took a gulp, his hand shook slightly. Spilling some milk on the counter, he was reminded again of the stupid English expression. Still, there was no one here to ask what it meant; most of his new acquaintances were French – they’d find the saying about crying over spilt milk as senseless as he did.

  Reaching for a cloth to clean up the mess, Vincent noticed that the shaking was increasing. A second later, ridiculously, he was too weak to keep hold of the cloth. Just about managing to put it down on the worktop, he started to make his way over to a chair. Fanculo, this indigestion is unbearable! He clutched at his chest with both hands.

  As the weight of a fully grown elephant suddenly pressed down on his chest, and the sickness of a thousand hangovers flooded his body, it occurred to him that it was only the women in his family who enjoyed such rude health and longevity. Vincent had never thought to question his dad’s early demise. Until now! His dad’s heart attack at fifty-five was not the norm, and perhaps some research into hereditary heart conditions might not have gone amiss.

  Without warning, his legs gave way, and as he hit the marble floor, he lost all feeling in his arms. Vincent had just a couple of seconds to resolve that he’d done a good thing by writing a will. Half his wealth would now go to Cristina, and unlike him, she would evenly distribute it amongst the family. She would be fair to all. My beautiful Cristina.

  As pleased as he was to ultimately put things right between himself and his estranged family, he now regretted the person he’d left the other half of his money to. He had been far too generous. A decision born out of a moment’s weakness. He should not have let guilt cloud his judgement. Guilt was for the feeble, like his stupid wife. Vincent had always prided himself on being strong.

  As an inky blanket engulfed his brain, a final thought attempted to cross his mind. If only I could rewrite my will, I’d cut out that little bitch and …

  Before the thought was complete, Vincent’s heart stopped beating. There would be no changes made to his will.

  80

  Abbie – 2020

  ‘Push. That’s it, Abbie, you’re doing so well.’

  ‘It fucking hurts.’

  ‘I know, darlin’. But you’re doing brilliant. I’m so proud
of you, and so is Dad.’

  ‘Dad just wants to find Vincent and … arrggh … rip his fucking head off.’ After some gas and air, Abbie added, ‘Mum, I’m never gonna get this baby out.’

  ‘You are. It’s coming. Don’t worry about that useless little Italian twat. He’s history.’

  ‘I know. I wouldn’t let him near me or my baby if he … arrggh … fucking begged me. But that doesn’t stop Dad from wanting to kill him.’

  ‘He’ll get over it. Once he sees his grandson.’ Abbie’s mum took her hand. ‘Just push with the contractions. You’re so close.’ She asked the midwife, ‘Isn’t that right, hun? She’s almost there?’

  The midwife agreed. ‘Yep. A couple more contractions and I reckon he’ll be here.’

  ‘Arrggh.’ Abbie continued to try.

  ‘It’s so funny that you know the sex already. I waited the full nine months to find out that you were a little princess and not a little prince. Nowadays it’s all gender reveal this and gender reveal that.’

  ‘That’s fucking interesting, Mum, but it doesn’t get this bowling ball out of my vag, does it?’

  Abbie’s mum apologised to the midwife. ‘Sorry, hun. She’s got her dad’s mouth.’

  ‘No worries.’ The midwife had been delivering babies for twenty years; there was nothing she hadn’t heard.

  Five minutes later, accompanied by a torrent of swear words, Abbie pushed her baby into the world.

  ‘They were right at the scan, darlin’, it is a boy. Isn’t he adorable?’

  The midwife handed Abbie her son, so they could make immediate skin to skin contact. The baby had delicate hands and feet and the face of a cherub.

  Looking at the bundle of new life in her arms, Abbie couldn’t help herself; she fell instantly in love with him. ‘Oh God, Mum. He’s fucking gorgeous. I’m gonna call him Dwayne.’

  Vincent spun in his grave.

  81

  Hannah – 2020

  ‘Han! Where are you?’

  ‘I’m here.’ Hannah rushed down the stairs. ‘What the hell’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. It’s just …’ Lottie was clearly trying to catch her breath.

  Leading her over to the sofa, Hannah told her to sit down. ‘Right, breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.’

  ‘All right, all right. I’m okay. Let me just tell you.’

  ‘Tell me then.’

  ‘It’s this.’ Lottie produced a letter from behind her back. ‘It’s from a firm of French solicitors. Apparently, they’ve been trying to trace me for a while.’

  ‘I could’ve helped them with that. I wonder who they use?’ Hannah queried. ‘Anyway, why were they trying to find you?’

  ‘Listen to this …’ Lottie read from the letter. ‘We need to speak to you in connection with the death of your stepfather, Mr Vincent Rocchino, also known as Mr Vincent Robinson, Mr Vincent Russell and Mr Vincent Royal.’ Lottie raised her eyebrows, ‘We didn’t know about that surname, did we?’ She returned to the letter, ‘Please contact us at your earliest opportunity.’

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘He’s dead, Han.’

  ‘So it would seem. But … why write to you?’

  ‘Do you think he’s left me something?’

  ‘Like what?’ Hannah spread her hands wide.

  ‘Like the bloody small fortune he robbed from me!’

  ‘What have you got to do? Call them? Write?’ Hannah tried to look at the letter.

  ‘There’s a phone number.’

  ‘So, what are you waiting for?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘I’m waiting for my heart to stop trying to climb out of my mouth.’

  ‘Just don’t get your hopes up though, hey?’

  Lottie frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Knowing what I do of the arsehole formerly known as Vincent, insert any surname that begins with an R here, it would not surprise me one bit if he’s left you to settle his debts or something fucked up like that.’

  ‘Let the bastard try. I’ll dig him up and kill him again.’

  ‘I wonder how he died.’

  ‘I reckon someone bumped him off. I mean, that whole thing with the yacht was odd, wasn’t it? The suitcase just lying there. How long did we spend on that stakeout?’

  ‘Ha! Not long at all. One thing you are not, my lovely, is a private investigator.’ Hannah laughed.

  ‘I wanted to stay longer, but it wasn’t as exciting as I’d thought it was going to be. Just staring at an empty boat like that.’

  ‘Guess you’ll have to leave the detective work to me.’

  ‘Yeah. It was weird though. You were convinced he was going to show up.’

  ‘I was. I just couldn’t believe anyone would disappear and leave an expensive suitcase lying about like that.’

  ‘Well, it would seem that he hightailed it straight to France. That explains why he dropped off the radar. We were really close, and then … pufft … gone again!’

  ‘I know.’ Hannah said. ‘I thought it was suspicious when I staked out his apartment and some other bloke was living there. We thought he’d just moved somewhere local again. And now he’s dead.’

  Lottie grabbed her phone from the coffee table. ‘Right. I’m doing it. I’m calling.’

  Hannah listened as Lottie conducted a conversation in perfect French. Not speaking the language herself, it was difficult to follow. She got the odd word here and there; mostly ‘Vincent’ and ‘Lynton Haven’, but the main way she got the gist of the call was by watching her friend’s face. The news was definitely exciting.

  When the call ended, Lottie grabbed Hannah and danced her around the lounge. ‘The thieving git had a heart attack.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Hardly!’

  ‘And …?’

  ‘I’m one of the beneficiaries in his will. They wouldn’t confirm who the others are, but I’m guessing it’s his family. Probably Cristina or his mum.’ After a pause, Lottie jumped about some more.

  Hannah yanked herself away. ‘You’re making me feel a bit sick. Stand still.’

  ‘I can’t. I just …’

  ‘It’s almost unbelievable, isn’t it? Vincent left you some money.’

  ‘Not just some, a sizeable amount. That’s what the guy on the phone said – a de taille montant! I told them about the yacht still being in the marina. Apparently, they need to check into it. It may be a further asset.’

  ‘You’ve got a wonderful French accent.’

  ‘I have my mum to thank for that. She made sure I did my homework and practised my pronunciation.’ Lottie paused. ‘She just forgot to mention that my dad was a dégoûtant déviant.’

  Hannah gave a quizzical look.

  ‘A disgusting deviant!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Hannah couldn’t hide how awful she felt for her friend.

  ‘Don’t pity me, please. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘Okay. Instead I’ll congratulate you. Sounds like you’re going to be rich again.’

  ‘Yes. I have to go to a solicitor in London. They’re like a sister company. They can deal with all the paperwork there.’

  ‘Are you going to be like those people who win the lottery and still go to work? I mean, what do you plan to do about the auction house?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think. I do really like it there, but …’

  ‘Well, there’s no rush. You can make decisions like that when the money’s in your bank. I’m guessing you won’t need to lodge here though.’

  Inexplicably, Lottie began to cry.

  Hannah pulled her into her arms. ‘Shush, shush. You can stay here if you want to.’

  ‘It’s not that. I know your mum and dad would never ask me to leave. It’s just … it’s hard to explain. There were so many times in that lonely little flat when I had no money and I was genuinely hungry, and all I could think of was the fortune that man had taken from me and my family. I used to lie awake thinking about getting th
e money back. Obsessing about the fact that Vincent got our home. I used to imagine going to the bank to collect my fortune. What would I spend it on? What would I treat myself to first? And now that time has come. I’ve got money. Not enough to buy back the family estate, obviously; I wouldn’t want that anyway. But maybe I can buy myself a house or a car or start a business. Depending on what they mean by “sizeable”, I can do whatever I like.’

  ‘So, are those happy tears?’

  ‘Yes, and tears of disbelief. Vincent left me money. I can’t figure it out.’

  ‘I guess he had a conscience after all.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Lottie shook her head. ‘Who knew?’

  ‘You’re rich Lottie again!’

  ‘No amount of money could buy what you and your family have given me though. I want you to know that.’

  Hannah smiled. ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘I’m not. Honestly, you guys have shown me more love and kindness than … well, than anyone else. I never appreciated things before. But now I’ve known what it’s like to be so down you can’t imagine ever being up. I’ve been totally alone, and I absolutely recognise how much you’ve all done for me.’

  ‘We only did it because we knew you’d be loaded one day.’ Hannah joked.

  ‘Well, your plan worked; I am!’ Lottie grabbed her and began dancing around the room again, and that was the sight that met Jacqui and Dixie as they returned from their walk.

  82

  Lottie – 2021

  ‘Remind me, what is this cocktail called?’

  ‘Umm … dances with something,’ Lottie guessed.

  ‘Shall I ask the cocktail waitress?’ Hannah twisted her head around, looking for the girl.