she did win a gold medal at the Olympics,
she knew it would soon be forgotten, and wouldn’t be all that important in the
scheme of things.
She considered Mal’s big charity project. How did
he feel about being a civilian after serving in combat and trekking through the
Arctic under a military umbrella, so to speak? Would the charity thing be
enough to satisfy him?
At last, becoming tired of thinking on a large
scale, her mind wandered back to the jewel robbery in Pitkirtly. It seemed like
a simple enough crime. Get some forensic evidence, fingerprints, DNA, whatever,
and it would more or less solve itself. The police should manage it all right
without her help. She wondered vaguely why Charlie Smith had wanted to speak to
Lord Murray of Pitkirtlyhill. He hadn’t told them anything, of course, but
maybe there was some connection with the robbery, since all the officers
currently on duty were probably involved in the case. Would they be at work on
Christmas Day? She pictured them all sitting round a small electric heater in
the police canteen after a sketchy cold lunch of turkey sandwiches washed down
by cranberry juice in lieu of wine. For the first time in her life she felt
sorry for the police. They got all the hard work to do without the adrenalin or
the trips to far-flung places she and others like her had experienced.
Amaryllis suddenly realised that she was still
standing on the balcony and her feet were extremely cold. Knowing the weather
was too bad even for her to go for one of her moonlight treks, she had taken
off her Goretex walking shoes and big woolly socks when she got home. Bad
enough having to wear them to avoid frostbite when she went out; there was no
need to let her feet get all sticky in them in the flat, where she liked to
prowl around in bare feet. She closed the doors, regretfully, and switched on a
small electric heater.
Almost as if it had just been waiting for her to
need electricity, the power supply chose that moment to give out altogether. It
looked as though the latest wave of gales had finally brought the lines down.
She remembered reading stories the previous winter about people waiting for
weeks to get their power re-connected. Now she would find out what it was like.
This really wasn’t the kind of epic she wanted to be involved in. The quest for
power, although it might make a good title for a fantasy epic novel or even a
whole trilogy, wasn’t going to be much fun to live through.
She wrapped her cold feet in a towel, fumbling in
the dark to find one, put on the fleecy pyjamas she had been hoarding since she
decided to come and live on the east coast of Scotland, added a jumper over
them and went to bed.
About half an hour later, still in the dark, she
got out of bed again and found her way to the wardrobe. She needed an extra
layer.
She shone her torch on to the clothes rail,
looking for the old towelling robe she usually kept for visitors, but something
else caught her eye, and she pulled it out and studied it thoughtfully. It was
the pink bullet-proof vest someone had once given her. She turned it over so
that she could see the back, although she already knew very well what the
lettering said: Danger, PI at work.
Maybe the police would need her help yet again
before long. Maybe she should try and find real paying clients, and turn this
game into a business. It wouldn’t be world-shaking, but it would be something
useful and enjoyable for her to do, in the absence of a wizard coming by with
some bizarre story about a ring.
She put on the vest over everything else, found
some long socks in a drawer and got back into bed. She couldn’t make a mind map
by torchlight, but at least she could set her brain to work on it so that she
would be ready to write it all down in the morning.
Adding the vest made all the difference.
Chapter 14 Extreme knitting
Christopher was worried enough to call round at
Amaryllis’s apartment at eight on Boxing Day. It would have been still
she knew it would soon be forgotten, and wouldn’t be all that important in the
scheme of things.
She considered Mal’s big charity project. How did
he feel about being a civilian after serving in combat and trekking through the
Arctic under a military umbrella, so to speak? Would the charity thing be
enough to satisfy him?
At last, becoming tired of thinking on a large
scale, her mind wandered back to the jewel robbery in Pitkirtly. It seemed like
a simple enough crime. Get some forensic evidence, fingerprints, DNA, whatever,
and it would more or less solve itself. The police should manage it all right
without her help. She wondered vaguely why Charlie Smith had wanted to speak to
Lord Murray of Pitkirtlyhill. He hadn’t told them anything, of course, but
maybe there was some connection with the robbery, since all the officers
currently on duty were probably involved in the case. Would they be at work on
Christmas Day? She pictured them all sitting round a small electric heater in
the police canteen after a sketchy cold lunch of turkey sandwiches washed down
by cranberry juice in lieu of wine. For the first time in her life she felt
sorry for the police. They got all the hard work to do without the adrenalin or
the trips to far-flung places she and others like her had experienced.
Amaryllis suddenly realised that she was still
standing on the balcony and her feet were extremely cold. Knowing the weather
was too bad even for her to go for one of her moonlight treks, she had taken
off her Goretex walking shoes and big woolly socks when she got home. Bad
enough having to wear them to avoid frostbite when she went out; there was no
need to let her feet get all sticky in them in the flat, where she liked to
prowl around in bare feet. She closed the doors, regretfully, and switched on a
small electric heater.
Almost as if it had just been waiting for her to
need electricity, the power supply chose that moment to give out altogether. It
looked as though the latest wave of gales had finally brought the lines down.
She remembered reading stories the previous winter about people waiting for
weeks to get their power re-connected. Now she would find out what it was like.
This really wasn’t the kind of epic she wanted to be involved in. The quest for
power, although it might make a good title for a fantasy epic novel or even a
whole trilogy, wasn’t going to be much fun to live through.
She wrapped her cold feet in a towel, fumbling in
the dark to find one, put on the fleecy pyjamas she had been hoarding since she
decided to come and live on the east coast of Scotland, added a jumper over
them and went to bed.
About half an hour later, still in the dark, she
got out of bed again and found her way to the wardrobe. She needed an extra
layer.
She shone her torch on to the clothes rail,
looking for the old towelling robe she usually kept for visitors, but something
else caught her eye, and she pulled it out and studied it thoughtfully. It was
the pink bullet-proof vest someone had once given her. She turned it over so
that she could see the back, although she already knew very well what the
lettering said: Danger, PI at work.
Maybe the police would need her help yet again
before long. Maybe she should try and find real paying clients, and turn this
game into a business. It wouldn’t be world-shaking, but it would be something
useful and enjoyable for her to do, in the absence of a wizard coming by with
some bizarre story about a ring.
She put on the vest over everything else, found
some long socks in a drawer and got back into bed. She couldn’t make a mind map
by torchlight, but at least she could set her brain to work on it so that she
would be ready to write it all down in the morning.
Adding the vest made all the difference.
Chapter 14 Extreme knitting
Christopher was worried enough to call round at
Amaryllis’s apartment at eight on Boxing Day. It would have been still
Similar Books
