Kincaid. I can’t be anything but a very temporary guest in your home, because I'm starting to hurt, starting to wish for things I just can’t have.’ Another kiss, this one soft and fleeting. ‘I'm sorry. And beyond that I'm grateful, because at least I got to experience a piece of you and it was wonderful, and beautiful, and I will treasure that memory the way it should be treasured. But I have to stop now.’
Adam nodded. He knew she was right. ‘No one gets hurt,’ he muttered.
‘Right.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Goodnight, Kincaid. Thanks for having us to stay.’
This wasn’t hurt. Or if it was, it wouldn’t hurt for long. Adam watched from the kitchen as Billie opened the door to the bedroom across from Cal’s.
Biggest lie he’d ever told.
By the time Billie walked into the pub the following morning she was already exhausted. Not a good start to any day and it didn’t improve with the arrival of the good Sergeant Turner half an hour later.
‘More questions?’ she asked wearily.
‘Just a couple,’ he replied. ‘You don’t look so good.’
‘Thanks,’ she said dryly. ‘But ask your questions anyway.’
‘I can’t help thinking there’s a link between what happened to Maude’s roses and the destruction of the instruments,’ he began. ‘I think there’s a pattern here.’
‘I had some car trouble earlier on as well,’ she said, remembering. ‘Someone let my tyres down. I didn’t think much of it at the time but it could be significant. I don’t know. None of it feels connected.’
Sergeant Turner scribbled in his notebook. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Weeks ago, on a Thursday night. The night of the first darts competition. I could look up the date for you.’
‘If you could,’ he said. ‘I’ve been asking around. Word is you’ve been making some changes around the pub. Maybe someone doesn’t like those changes.’
‘They’ve hardly been earth shattering,’ she said dryly. ‘We run a darts competition, sell a few pies. Keep the place clean.’
‘I noticed that.’ More scribbles in his notebook. ‘Tell me about these music afternoons.’
‘They’re on Tuesdays and Fridays straight after school until five-thirty in the afternoon. Cal and a few friends run through a handful of songs and I supervise. There’s no charge.’
‘And anyone can come along?’
‘No, it’s just for Cal and his friends.’
‘Ever have any trouble with any of the kids?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll need names.’
She gave him names.
He looked up from his notepad and smiled ruefully, his eyes older and a whole lot wiser than the face that framed them. ‘I can’t tell you I have any leads because I don’t,’ he said, closing his notepad and tucking it into his pocket. ‘Whoever’s doing this has a point to make, even if we’re not real clear on what that point is. Could be they’re not finished yet.’
‘Not exactly reassuring, are you?’
‘No. This doesn’t feel like random vandalism, even if it looks like it. So far, the violence has been directed at roses and instruments and, if we count it, your car. Inanimate objects rather than people. That may not last. You need to be careful. You and Maude both.’
Come three that afternoon, Billie was in the kitchen downing two aspirins and an enormous glass of water under Maude’s watchful eye when Roly came through from the bar bringing Celia Copeton with him.
Today, Celia wore a beige skirt and an aubergine twin set with her pearls and her diamonds. Not a hair out of place, thought Billie. Not one. How did she do that? Billie looked down at her own serviceable trousers and collared shirt, which had seemed perfectly fine when she’d put them on this morning but now seemed cheap and shabby in comparison.
‘I was just saying to Rrroland as we came through the bar room that it looks very inviting,’ said Celia, favouring her with a magnanimous smile. ‘You have quite a talent for decorating. Of course, you had some
Adam nodded. He knew she was right. ‘No one gets hurt,’ he muttered.
‘Right.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Goodnight, Kincaid. Thanks for having us to stay.’
This wasn’t hurt. Or if it was, it wouldn’t hurt for long. Adam watched from the kitchen as Billie opened the door to the bedroom across from Cal’s.
Biggest lie he’d ever told.
By the time Billie walked into the pub the following morning she was already exhausted. Not a good start to any day and it didn’t improve with the arrival of the good Sergeant Turner half an hour later.
‘More questions?’ she asked wearily.
‘Just a couple,’ he replied. ‘You don’t look so good.’
‘Thanks,’ she said dryly. ‘But ask your questions anyway.’
‘I can’t help thinking there’s a link between what happened to Maude’s roses and the destruction of the instruments,’ he began. ‘I think there’s a pattern here.’
‘I had some car trouble earlier on as well,’ she said, remembering. ‘Someone let my tyres down. I didn’t think much of it at the time but it could be significant. I don’t know. None of it feels connected.’
Sergeant Turner scribbled in his notebook. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Weeks ago, on a Thursday night. The night of the first darts competition. I could look up the date for you.’
‘If you could,’ he said. ‘I’ve been asking around. Word is you’ve been making some changes around the pub. Maybe someone doesn’t like those changes.’
‘They’ve hardly been earth shattering,’ she said dryly. ‘We run a darts competition, sell a few pies. Keep the place clean.’
‘I noticed that.’ More scribbles in his notebook. ‘Tell me about these music afternoons.’
‘They’re on Tuesdays and Fridays straight after school until five-thirty in the afternoon. Cal and a few friends run through a handful of songs and I supervise. There’s no charge.’
‘And anyone can come along?’
‘No, it’s just for Cal and his friends.’
‘Ever have any trouble with any of the kids?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll need names.’
She gave him names.
He looked up from his notepad and smiled ruefully, his eyes older and a whole lot wiser than the face that framed them. ‘I can’t tell you I have any leads because I don’t,’ he said, closing his notepad and tucking it into his pocket. ‘Whoever’s doing this has a point to make, even if we’re not real clear on what that point is. Could be they’re not finished yet.’
‘Not exactly reassuring, are you?’
‘No. This doesn’t feel like random vandalism, even if it looks like it. So far, the violence has been directed at roses and instruments and, if we count it, your car. Inanimate objects rather than people. That may not last. You need to be careful. You and Maude both.’
Come three that afternoon, Billie was in the kitchen downing two aspirins and an enormous glass of water under Maude’s watchful eye when Roly came through from the bar bringing Celia Copeton with him.
Today, Celia wore a beige skirt and an aubergine twin set with her pearls and her diamonds. Not a hair out of place, thought Billie. Not one. How did she do that? Billie looked down at her own serviceable trousers and collared shirt, which had seemed perfectly fine when she’d put them on this morning but now seemed cheap and shabby in comparison.
‘I was just saying to Rrroland as we came through the bar room that it looks very inviting,’ said Celia, favouring her with a magnanimous smile. ‘You have quite a talent for decorating. Of course, you had some
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