Worthless Remains by Peter Helton Page A

there’s movement,’ I lied, ‘got to go.’ I watched Dealey lock his car, propel himself to the house, up the ramp and into the house. The blinds were down and there was nothing more to see. I drove home. Dealey would keep. Naturally I would look stupid if the next time I checked he had moved to Brazil, so I’d swing by from time to time just to make sure. But my priority today was telling Annis in no uncertain terms just how much I hated having to stay at Mark Stoneking’s mansion all week, eating free food and rubbing shoulders with the stars.
    I found her in the studio by following the noise. Annis was staring at a blank canvas on her easel, loaded brush in hand. The paint looked suspiciously like the
caput mortum
I had left unused on my palette. On the floor our little ghetto blaster – designed for the smaller ghetto – strained to do justice to Karmic Fire’s megalomanical soundscapes.
    â€˜I downloaded the rest of their albums!’ she shouted.
    Oh,
great
. ‘Great!’ I shouted back.
    â€˜Horse’s head all cleaned up?’
    â€˜It was just a drawing!’ I bellowed.
    â€˜What?’ She relented and turned down the din.
    â€˜It was just a drawing but it shook him nevertheless. Mainly because it meant someone had been in his room while he was asleep. Now he wants round-the-clock protection.’
    â€˜Will he get it?’
    â€˜You’re looking at it.’
    â€˜Kidding!’
    â€˜I’m afraid not. They want me to stay the nights there. I said no but apparently it’s in my contract that I’m obliged to if it’s deemed necessary. And they’re busy deeming. They found me a dingy little attic room to sleep in.’
    â€˜Bum. Does that mean I won’t see you all week?’
    â€˜No, I’ll get time off for good behaviour. Right now they’re trying to fix the digger which broke earlier so I’ve come to pack a few things. I’ll leave you to your first stroke.’
    â€˜Sod that,’ she said and dropped the brush on to her palette. ‘I’ve been staring at it for an hour and nothing’s happening. Maybe this canvas is too small.’
    â€˜Erm . . .’ As I looked at the six-by-eight foot canvas my face must have betrayed a flicker of doubt.
    â€˜Yeah, I know, but I feel I want to spread my wings.’ She stepped outside into the sun and windmilled her arms to demonstrate. ‘I want to break out of the confines of the canvas and
soar
.’ She illustrated her feelings by running down the meadow, arms spread wide. ‘And I need more coffee!’ she shouted.
    Leaning in the bedroom door frame with a fresh mug of Blue Mountain in her hand she talked about the importance of scale in relation to movement in her paintings while she watched me throw what I considered a few essentials into my holdall: trousers, shirts, tee-shirts, socks, underwear, sweater, painkillers, toothpaste, electric toothbrush, charger for electric toothbrush, mobile phone charger, clockwork radio and last – because I had hoped Annis might take her eyes off the bag for a moment only she didn’t – but not least: my swimming shorts.
    Annis spluttered into her coffee. ‘Swimming shorts? Oh, right, you poor downtrodden overworked and put-upon shamus! Of course, there’s a pool, isn’t there? You managed to wangle a week at a luxury manor, waited on hand and foot, free gourmet nosh and hanging out by the pool all day. Leaving me in this bleak hovel with a blank canvas and a cupboard full of pinto beans! With nothing but sheep for company.
Typical!
’
    Bleak hovel? Since when? ‘It’s not quite like that. And I’ll be popping round here whenever I can.’
    â€˜Forget the popping. I want you to get me invited to Stoneking’s manor. I’m part of Aqua Investigations too, you know? And I bought a new cozzie in Corfu that needs airing.’
    I took the mug out