by steve higgs
Just then the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock by my bed. It was too early for Brett. At least I thought it was, but perhaps he was just really keen. I moved to the window and glanced out. I could not see a flash looking car in the street.
The doorbell rang again before I could get to it. It wasn’t Brett outside though, it was Tempest, holding a large bunch of flowers and a bottle of Dom Perignon.
‘Good evening, Amanda. I hope I am not disturbing you.’
‘Not at all, Tempest. These are lovely,’ I said, taking the flowers from him. It was a large spray of stargazer lilies, a few of which were already open, their fragrant smell instantly recognisable, ‘Come in, please.’
I took the flowers to the kitchen to find a vase to place them in. I was certain I owned one. Tempest shut the door as he came through it.
'Are you sure I am not interrupting your evening?'
'Not at all,' I replied.
‘Okay. When I solved my first case it was just me at the business and I had no one to celebrate with. It felt appropriate to acknowledge your success.'
‘You are very generous, Tempest,' he had followed me into my flat and was standing holding the champagne in a way that suggested he was waiting for me to take it. I placed the flowers in the sink, popped the plug in the hole and ran some water. I would deal with them later when I had found the damned vase's hiding place. I took the bottle from him. It was cold and ready to be savoured.
I glanced at the clock. I still had a while before Brett was due, ‘Would you like a glass with me? Toast our future success?'
‘Are you not going out?’ I guess it was clear from my outfit that I was not dressed for a night on the sofa watching soap operas.
I smiled and started fiddling with the cork. I might let Brett come in for a glass and some snogging after dinner with the excuse that I had an open bottle of champagne going flat. I doubted I would need an excuse though.
‘Do you have time?’ I asked Tempest, just before I levered the cork out.
‘Sure. I'm not going anywhere for a while.' With a pop and a gentle fizz, the cork came free. It pinged off the ceiling and hit the end of a spoon next to the sink where last night’s discarded bowl of soup was sitting. The spoon jumped and sprayed Tempest with icky red tomato-based gloop.
It seemed to happen in slow-motion with the pair of us watching the red liquid flying through the air. Some of it hit his face, but the majority of it landed on his expensive-looking white shirt.
Typical.
‘Oh,' he said, ‘Do you, ah… Do you mind if I get some water on this?' His fingers were already on his buttons, but hesitating, waiting for my answer.
‘Of course,' I replied feeling clumsy. I quickly took the flowers back out of the sink, so he could get to the water and seconds later I had a half-naked man in my kitchen. I had not seen him with his shirt off previously – I have to say it was a sight worth seeing. I knew he spent time in the gym and watched his diet but seeing his muscles move beneath his skin as he wet and quickly scrubbed the red marks on his shirt made me forget Brett for a moment.
My doorbell rang.
Of course, it did.
Tempest looked up in question. I gave myself a mental slap. I was certain without looking that it was Brett at the door. We were going out on date number two; he was clearly just as interested in me as I was in him, and here I was with a topless man in my flat and two glasses of champagne on the side. Added to this was the unavoidable fact that Tempest and Brett did not like each other.
I opened the door. Brett held a large bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne. I could not see the label on his bottle, but I would I was willing to bet its price tag fell somewhere between really expensive and damned extortionate. The bunch of flowers was twice the size the ones Tempest had bought me.
I hadn't gotten around to telling Tempest I was going out on a date with Brett yet. I had been sort of avoiding the subject since he was being so nice and disliked Brett so much. Now though, I was stuck on my doorstep struggling to work out what my next move was.
Brett smelled wonderful; he always did. Part of me wanted to get his shirt off so I could reassure myself that he compared favourably with Tempest. I could not see how I would pull that off though.
‘Err. Hi, Amanda,' Brett said still stood on the doorstep with his hands full. I had just been staring at him while I tried to work out what to do.
‘Sorry. Sorry, Brett. Please come in. This is so nice of you,’ I said taking the flowers and leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the lips.
‘You told me you solved your first case. I felt that warranted a celebration. So, I… Ah,' Brett had come into my small flat and instantly spotted Tempest stood at the sink. With the kitchen counter in front of him, I realised that Tempest looked like he wasn't wearing anything at all and had dived behind the counter to hide.
There was a brief pause. I wanted to say something, but my mind had gone to utter jelly. I could feel the tension mount. Brett’s grip on the champagne bottle was turning his knuckles white.
Tempest moved first, ‘Brett, good evening,' he said extending his hand and coming around the counter to show that he was actually wearing trousers, ‘I see you had the same idea. The lady will only solve her first case once.' The two men shook hands, Brett seemed very wary. If Tempest picked up on it, he was paying it no attention, ‘I managed to spill on my shirt,' he said, by way of explanation as he held up the damp item.
‘You were just leaving?’ Brett asked, sounding surprised.
‘Indeed. I just popped in, so I could congratulate Amanda in person. It looks like you two are going out for the evening, so I'll get out of the way.' With his wet shirt in his hand, he headed for the door.
‘Won't be a moment.' I headed after Tempest to see him out, leaving Brett in my living room. At the door, Tempest was already letting himself out. I felt really awkward. I knew that Tempest was attracted to me, I felt some of the same about him.
‘Sorry, Amanda,' he said quietly, ‘I hope I have not embarrassed you. I really should have called first instead of just turning up,' he was right in that he should have called, but he was also being a friend and making things easy for me.
‘Thank you, Tempest,’ I replied as he went out the door, ‘I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.’
As I turned to go back inside, I heard old Mrs. Stone from the floor below squeal in surprise. ‘Good evening,' Tempest boomed at her, probably dashing past her still half naked on the stairs.
‘Sorry about that,’ I said as I went back through to find Brett relaxing on my sofa.
He hit me with a smile that went straight to my stomach and made it squirm, ‘No problem.' If he wanted to comment on Tempest's presence in my flat, he found the strength to keep quiet instead. His eyes were on me as I moved across the room to snag the open champagne. I had got no further than popping the cork earlier.
‘Can I offer you a glass?' I asked. He was still watching me, making me feel a little nervous. It was not that he was undressing me with his eyes, more that he had a hungry look to them like maybe he wanted to pour on some toffee sauce and eat me with a spoon. I could hear Patience's voice at the back of my head telling me that I should be whipping off my clothes to show him a slutty outfit beneath.
I brought the bottle and two glasses across to my sofa, we were going out for dinner, but I imagined the restaurant would wait for us if we were late. I would not be shocked to hear that he had bought the restaurant for that matter. He stood up as I came near, took the bottle from my hand and looped a muscular arm around my waist. As he pulled me to him a zip of excitement shot through me. We were going to kiss, and I was not sure I even cared about making it to dinner anymore.
The End
The Klowns of Kent
The Klowns of Kent
Blue Moon Investigations
Book 4
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2018 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
&n
bsp; The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copywrite law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘The Klowns of Kent’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Contents
The Eagle Tavern. Rochester High Street Saturday 22nd October 1357hrs
Maidstone Bowling Alley. Saturday 22nd October 1917hrs
Maidstone Hospital. Sunday 23rd October 0843hrs
My House in Finchampstead. Sunday October 23rd 0956hrs
Sunday Lunch at The Hen and Pheasant, West Farleigh. Sunday October 23rd 1351hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Monday 24th October 0900hrs
Mystery Men Bookshop, Rochester. Monday October 24th 1115hrs
Maidstone Hospital. Monday 24th October 1307hrs
My House in Finchampstead. Monday 24th October 1443hrs
Fenucci’s Italian Family Restaurant, Faversham. Monday October 24th 1900hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Tuesday October 25th 0922hrs
Maidstone Police Station. Tuesday October 25th 1413hrs
Outside the Blue Moon Office. Wednesday 26th October 0853hrs
The Coffee Shop. Wednesday 26th October 0957hrs
Maidstone Police Station. Wednesday 26th October 1117hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Wednesday 26th October 1426hrs
A Possessed Child. Wednesday October 26th 1705hrs
Evening Meal. Wednesday 26th October 2037hrs
Big Ben’s Escape from the Sex Dungeon. October 27th 0812hrs
Old Dears Home, Tonbridge. Thursday October 27th 1207hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Thursday October 27th 1512hrs
The Warren, Rochester. Thursday October 27th 1952hrs
Trip to Scunthorpe. Friday October 28th 0600hrs
No Friggin’ Clue. Friday October 28th 1201hrs
A Date with Sophie. Friday October 28th 2015hrs
The Big Fight. Friday October 28th 2053hrs
The Aftermath. Friday 28th October 2151hrs
Postscript. Sunday October 30th 1115hrs
Extract from Dead Pirates of Cawsand
The Eagle Tavern. Rochester High Street. Saturday, 22nd October 1357hrs
I took a long draught of my pint and set it back on the bar without letting go of it. I was confident the contents of the glass were not going to last long. To my right, my office assistant James was drinking his pint in a similar fashion and to my left sat Frank Decaux, the owner of a local occult bookshop called Mystery Men. He had downed most of his pint already. All three of us were staring into nothing, our brains still wired from the events of the last two hours.
I took another swig of beer, savouring the cool, crisp taste as it washed away the smoke, adrenalin, and dirt. A little less than two hours ago Rochester High Street had been subjected to a zombie attack. I need to clarify that though because the zombies had of course not been zombies at all. They had been perfectly ordinary people that had been doped with a neurotoxin and hypnotised. The drug ensured they stayed in the hypnotic state for an almost indefinite period and the hypnosis had been delivered courtesy of Dave Gough, a local hypnotist who went by the stage name The Great Howsini. The zombies were a smokescreen to distract people from the crime he was perpetrating: As people fled from their businesses, he and his wife were robbing the tills and setting fires to cover their tracks – why look in the cash register of a burnt-out building?
Frank, James and I had discovered and foiled the crime by the simple expedient of running towards the zombies instead of away from them. My name is Tempest Michaels and I am an accidental paranormal investigator. Not that I investigate paranormal accidents, I am a paranormal investigator and I came to that role by accident. I joined the British Army when I left school at seventeen and enjoyed a career as a professional soldier. I learned a lot and had no great desire for the career to end but the need for a large Army diminished, the Ministry of Defence offered pay-outs for volunteers to leave, so I handed my uniform back and entered the world of civilians earlier this year. Adrift in a sea of endless options, I had created my own next career as a private investigator but luck, or fate, or perhaps even God messed with the plan, my advert got misprinted and I was presented as a paranormal investigator instead. I had been angry at the time. I remember quite distinctly calling the paper and shouting at them for messing up my advert. But while I was shouting at them on the office landline, complaining that I was trying to make a living and now had no chance of attracting a customer until they could rerun the advert, my mobile began to ring in my pocket. It had been a client calling with a case to solve.
To my great surprise, there was an endless supply of people with problems for which they had determined a paranormal explanation and needed someone to investigate it for them. Suddenly that was me. The business has gone from strength to strength and recently a serial killer pretending to be a vampire murdered some people in my town and the case made National news. I solved the case, sort of, and the resulting publicity has boosted enquiries even further, forcing me to hire an assistant and another detective.
So, here I was in a bar in Rochester drinking away the confusion and horror of the last few hours flanked by two people I would probably call friends but could most certainly call comrades. Frank had arrived at my office on the morning the advert ran. His bookshop was located less than one hundred metres from my office. In it, he sold both fiction and non-fiction, comic books, toys, games, models and anything and everything that had a tangible link to the paranormal. Frank had been a sounding board for me on several occasions and often came with me on cases where I needed an extra pair of hands. He was an absolute font of knowledge and he had the heart of a lion. The lion's heart though was sheathed in the body of a middle-aged scrawny man. James was the chap I had hired as an office assistant just a couple of weeks ago. He used to pretend to be a vampire but had given that up. Not that he was entirely normal now. The day after I hired him, he turned up for work dressed as a girl and insisted he be called Jane. I could not condemn him for being a transvestite, or a cross-dresser or whatever the correct term is, it was not my choice of lifestyle but now each day on my way to work I got to have a silent bet with myself about which version of him I would see.
I took another sip of beer, the glass now nearly empty. Amanda arrived a few minutes later, entering the establishment looking around for us and spotting us instantly sat looking weary at the bar. The first pint was in my system now and the second one, once ordered would have an equally limited life expectancy. I was relaxed now at least.
‘Hi, Tempest. Hi, fellas,’ Amanda said as she reached us.
‘Hi, Amanda,’ the three of us replied more or less as one voice.
‘Had a busy day?’ she enquired rhetorically. ‘The high street looks like a disaster area. What did you do?’
‘You remember hearing about the zombies?’
‘Yeah. The police are all over the case but have no idea what is going on.’
‘Well, the case got solved. Frank, James and I just happened to be here when they turned up in Rochester. I'll tell you all about it later but suffice to say that it has been an eventful day and I have no one to bill for it.' Amanda was the other detective I had hired to share the caseload. Actually, she had suggested I hire her be
fore I had got around to advertising a position and I had taken her on immediately. We had met a few weeks ago when I was investigating the vampire serial killer case. At the time she had been a uniformed police officer and still was, I suppose, as she was working out her last few days’ notice in between putting in a few hours at the firm in her new role. She was proving to be a real asset. She knew how to interview or interrogate people, she knew what we could legally do in pursuit of a case, which meant I got arrested a little less often than I used to, and like me, she was able to assume that there was a perfectly rational explanation for every case we were presented with.
Unfortunately, I was also kind of just a little bit in love with her.
Amanda was unfairly attractive. Her blond hair fell to her shoulder blades in a flawless cascade of natural waves. She had blue eyes that might have been carved from the heart of a glacier and seemed to go on forever when I looked at them. Her skin was equally flawless, her teeth were perfectly even and white and her lips – my Lord, her lips – they were wonderfully full and pouting and it was only rigid discipline, and the fear that I might consider my life complete and just die on the spot, that prevented me from grabbing her and kissing them.
She was also dating a multi-millionaire playboy and I stood no chance whatsoever.
‘Sounds interesting,’ she said, bringing me back to reality. I had been staring at her face again.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked, indicating the array of options behind the bar.
‘Sounds great, but I have a shift in a few hours, so I had better not. Actually, I came in to check you were all alive and report on the restaurant ghost case.' Amanda had been in the nearby town of Faversham this morning looking into a restaurant that was in danger of closing because of ghostly goings-on.