Risking It All by Ann Granger

above all that combustible material, but Norman was their landlord, and the tenants were generally the sort of people who didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. The house, from the outside, looked about to fall down. Norman had inherited it from his parents. He’d lived there all his life. If what might once have been a hobby had grown into an obsession, so what? Norman was a man satisfied with his lot.
     
    Only not so satisfied at the moment, owing to the absence of a copy of that day’s Guardian .
     
    ‘Hari may still have one at the shop,’ I said.
     
    But at this Norman looked sly and pointed out that he’d have to pay for it, wouldn’t he, then?
     
    We made our way down the street into the lengthening shadows, side by side.
     
    ‘You still living in that garage?’ he asked me suddenly.
     
    That’s another thing about Norman. You’d think he has no interest in anything but the national press. But he generally has a pretty good idea of what’s about.
     
    I told him I was.
     
    ‘I’ve a back room available,’ he said. ‘Very nice. Looks out on to the garden. A room with a view, as you might say.’
     
    I’d seen Norman’s garden, full of long grass, tangled bushes, an old privy festooned with ivy and inhabited, he claimed, by an owl, broken domestic appliances and rats. I’d also glimpsed from time to time some of Norman’s other tenants as they crept furtively back and forth. The company of the rats would have been preferable. I thanked him and declined the offer. He wasn’t offended. We parted company at the corner of the street. Norman went in further search of the Guardian . I went back to the shop.
     
    Hari was in the storeroom and Ganesh was alone, resting his forearms on the counter and reading Personal Computer World . His long hair was secured with an elastic band but a bit of it had escaped and hung down by his cheek. He was studying all the technology on offer intently and would have made a good model for someone like Rodin if he’d wanted to knock out another Thinker . Ganesh hasn’t actually got a computer, in case this obsession of his with computer magazines should make you think otherwise. The only technology around the place is the lottery ticket terminal and the till. But Jay, his brother-in-law, is seriously into the Internet and Ganesh is feeling a bit left out. He looked up.
     
    ‘Where’ve you been all day?’ he asked
     
    ‘I had a bit of business to attend to,’ I told him with dignity.
     
    Ganesh looked disapproving and heaved a sigh. ‘If you think I don’t know what you’re up to, Fran, you’re wrong.’
     
    I must have looked startled, because I didn’t see how he could know if I hadn’t told him.
     
    ‘You needn’t look so scared,’ he went on. ‘I don’t know exactly what it is, of course I don’t. Because you’re keeping all your cards close to your chest, aren’t you? But it’s something that will get you into trouble, and when it does, you’ll come running to me to help you out of it.’
     
    ‘I hate it when you’re smug,’ I told him.
     
    ‘So I’m right!’ he crowed.
     
    ‘I didn’t say that. I just said – forget it. If you want to know, I went down to the housing department.’ He had raised his eyebrows, so I shook my head and added, ‘No luck.’ He grunted. ‘Gan,’ I ventured, ‘has Rennie Duke been around here again, like this evening?’
     
    He shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen him.’
     
    ‘Have you seen a car like his?’
     
    ‘No. How could I, stuck in here?’ This was accompanied by a glower towards the back room, from which came scraping and rustling noises, indicating that Hari was busy about some kind of stock-taking exercise. Ganesh had probably been manning the fort most of the day.
     
    I told him I’d see him later. I went through to the back room. Bonnie jumped up from her cardboard bed and went bonkers welcoming me. Hari greeted me more sedately from the top of his stepladder. I scooped up