be entirely sure.’
‘So don’t tell them,’ said Gwen calmly. ‘Just let it all fade away naturally. If this pest doesn’t make any more approaches, then we’ll know it was either a stupid joke or a mistake, and we can forget the whole thing.’
Nicola put a hand on the older woman’s arm. ‘Thank you, love. You always say the most sensible things. She’s right, Davy, you know she is.’
‘Doesn’t look as if we’ve got much choice,’ grumbled Davy. She looked hard at Simmy. ‘Since we’ve not had any cooperation here.’
Simmy smiled weakly and said nothing. She kept reminding herself that she would probably behave in much the same way if the roles were reversed. She worried that if they stayed much longer, she would hand over the darned name just to see an end to the matter. She was trying notto repeat ‘Candida Hawkins’ to herself, for fear the words would slip out into the open air of their own accord.
But they were leaving. First Nicola made for the door, followed by Gwen and Davy. Not one of them looked back, until the first two were outside. Then Davy turned and nodded, in a wordless valediction that contained reproach, frustration and a smidgeon of respect.
‘Phew!’ sighed Melanie. ‘You were awesome, Sim. Really stuck to your guns. I don’t suppose they’ll be back any time soon.’
‘I hope not,’ said Simmy, feeling rather shaky. ‘I just wish that damned girl hadn’t chosen me to deliver those wretched flowers.’
Melanie gave a sympathetic grimace. Then she said, ‘And then Mr Kitchener wouldn’t have got his alibi, and we wouldn’t have given a thought to the murder. Ben wouldn’t like that. So one person is happy, anyway.’
‘It’s not really on for Ben to interfere with real murder investigations,’ Simmy worried. ‘I never should have told him about it.’
Melanie did a rare but unnerving trick of rolling her good eye, while the prosthetic one simply wobbled slightly. It left a person in no doubt that they were being treated to censure. ‘Come on, Sim! Ben’s in his element. He’s not
interfering
. The police have no idea he knows anything.’
‘I might believe you if he hadn’t marched into the middle of everything last time. As it is, I wouldn’t put it past him to go knocking on doors and asking questions.’
‘Whose doors? We don’t know anybody who was connected with Nancy Clark.’
‘What about her sister? And all her offspring?’
‘Yeah, but they all live miles away. And who else? There’s nobody else. And Ben doesn’t even know the precise cause of death.’
Something in her expression alerted Simmy. ‘But you do, right? Joe’s told you?’
‘Not really. It wasn’t anything as crude as a bash on the head, though. It was nastier than that. Something sneaky and clever. He’s dying to tell me, but they’ve told him not to.’
‘Oh dear. Why are we talking about it again? I don’t even want to think about Mrs Joseph and her annoying grandchild, either. I quite liked those daughters. I hate being part of something that’s got them so upset.’
Before Melanie could argue, a couple came in, wanting to order flowers for a spring wedding. For twenty minutes, Simmy was immersed in their wild ideas for a hundred lilac rosebuds and lavish sheaves of ripe corn, trying to explain that the former would be extremely expensive and the latter unobtainable in May. ‘I know that,’ said the bride, about the expense, but looked blank about the natural season for wheat and barley. ‘But I want it to symbolise fertility and abundance,’ she said without a blush.
‘We could probably find some grasses that had gone to seed,’ said Simmy doubtfully. ‘But they might have to be imported.’
The future bridegroom looked weary and bemused. ‘I think it’d look daft anyway,’ he muttered. ‘I keep telling her.’
‘
All
flowers symbolise fertility,’ Simmy tried to explain. ‘And a spring wedding is usually a time for blossom and buds,
J. K. Accinni
Mari Carr
Chris Kennedy
Ann Christy
Robert T. Jeschonek
Rachel Abbott
Michele Jaffe
T.W. Piperbrook
Sandra Sookoo
J.R. WRIGHT