7 A Tasteful Crime (20 page)

‘I wonder, though...,’ he said, half to himself.

‘Come along, Giancarlo,’ said Amaryllis, alarmed for some reason. ‘It’ll be dark before we get our coffee at this rate.’

He slammed the frother into the metal jug harder than seemed necessary. ‘That’s the least of your worries,’ was what she thought he said to himself before the sound was drowned out by frothing, grinding and clanking as the monstrous machine went to work.

Amaryllis paid for the coffees, wondering what he was thinking. If only, she thought, not for the first time, we had found a way to put a wire into someone’s brain and find out what’s going on in there. Not going on in the sense of which synapses are working and whether people are left-brained or right-brained, but going on in the sense of what they’re thinking about. She half-wished she could be the scientist who worked out how to do that. They would probably win the Nobel Prize. On the other hand there would definitely be a downside. She wouldn’t want anyone eavesdropping on her thoughts. Particularly when she looked at Giancarlo Petrelli, who had always fascinated her even when she didn’t want him to.

Chapter 25 Jock and the women

Jock didn’t realise how much he had drunk in the Queen of Scots until he stood up to leave. He had certainly never seen Christopher in anything like this state before. It must be Deirdre’s bad influence.

Dave, on the other hand, was always impervious to any amount of alcohol. He
was standing there as steady as a rock when he took Jemima’s arm and said, ‘Is it too late to get ourselves a bit of fish for tea?’

‘It’s Monday,’ Jemima reminded him. ‘The fish shop’s shut.’

Christopher took three attempts just to get out of the chair. Charlie Smith came forward, looking anxious. ‘I’d better take him up to my flat. He won’t even get up the road like this. Can you give me a hand, Jock? Dave, could you look after the bar for a minute? This is a dead time – there won’t be anybody coming in for a while. I just need to have somebody in charge.’

‘No problem, big man,’ said Dave cheerfully.

Big man? Maybe Dave had been drinking more than usual after all.

Dave stationed himself behind the bar while Jemima perched on a stool nearby and Jock and Charlie half-carried Christopher up the stairs to the flat. The dog followed them, an even more worried look than usual on its face.

‘Should I stay with him to make sure he’s all right?’ asked Deirdre from behind them. Jock hadn’t noticed her following.

‘No, don’t do that,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ll put him in the recovery position and I’ll pop up and check on him a couple of times.’

But when they placed Christopher on his side on the spare bed, the dog jumped up next to him, curled up and growled when Charlie tried to move him.

‘That’s even better,’ said Charlie, doubt creeping into his voice.
‘The dog’ll take care of this.’

‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea leaving the dog in charge,’ said Deirdre.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Jock. ‘That dog’s more qualified to be left in charge than most of the people around here.’

‘He’s very alert,’ said Charlie just as the dog started to snore. ‘He’ll wake up and bark if he’s at all worried about anything.’

Jock laughed. Deirdre frowned.

‘I can walk you up to the hotel if you like,’ Jock offered. He wouldn’t have
suggested it if darkness hadn’t begun to fall. He didn’t think anybody would see him with her.

‘Thanks,’ said Deirdre. ‘That would be nice.’

Outside on the street that led to the harbour, they came across Amaryllis, Maisie Sue and Charlotte, who were just throwing their paper cups in the bin as Zak and Giancarlo closed up the coffee kiosk.

‘I suppose we’d better disperse and go home now,’ said Amaryllis to nobody in particular.

‘You’d better,’ commented Jock, ‘before the police come along and catch you breaking the curfew.’

Deirdre stared at Amaryllis. ‘You’re under curfew?’ She didn’t sound all that surprised. Jock hastened to correct her.

‘Just joking,’ he said.

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that,’ said Deirdre. She might at least have tried to sound as if she meant it, thought Jock.
‘Do you want to walk up to the hotel with us, Charlotte?’ she added. ‘Where’s Ken?’

‘Oh, he’s gone off to find a better pub,’ said Charlotte.

Jock laughed again. ‘Not much chance of that around here. Unless he wants to walk to Torryburn and back in the dark.’

‘How far is it
to Torryburn?’ Charlotte enquired.

‘Too far,’ said Jock.
‘And on the other hand, not far enough.’

He wasn’t sure what had got him into this skittish mood. Drinking wasn’t usually enough to do it.

‘Have you been drinking?’ said Amaryllis, almost as if she had read his thoughts.

‘No more than usual,’ he said. ‘Christopher’s in a bad state
though. We had to leave him in Charlie’s flat.’

‘Really?’ said Amaryllis.

‘No kidding!’ said Maisie Sue.

Deirdre put her arm through Jock’s and somehow he found himself walking away from the others.

‘We’ll just follow you, then,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Zak – do you want to walk with us as far as Christopher’s?’

‘No, thanks,’ Zak called. ‘I’m going round to Giancarlo’s when we’ve finished here.’

Various goodbyes were exchanged, and then, with Jock and Deirdre in the lead by some way, they all walked round the corner and up past the fishermen’s cottages again towards the High Street.

‘Uphill all the way, I’m afraid,’ said Jock to Deirdre apologetically.

She shrugged her lean shoulders. ‘Doesn’t bother me. I go to the gym five times a week. I’m in training for a marathon.’

‘You don’t say!’ said Jock. He tried for an admiring tone but knew he only managed to sound
horrified.

Somewhere around the top of the High Street, Maisie Sue said goodbye, although
not before inviting them all in for pancakes and maple syrup and the chance to see her new traditional British patchwork quilt. It was oddly tempting, and even Deirdre seemed to hesitate for a moment before declining politely.

Jock ran out of conversation somewhere halfway up the hill that led to Pitkirtly’s only hotel, one of a large chain.
He half-listened to Amaryllis talking to Charlotte somewhere behind them.

‘
... been to many interesting places in your line of work?’ she was saying.

‘We’re usually just based in Glasgow,’ said Charlotte. ‘But we’ve had to travel around quite a bit making Open Kitchen.’

‘Were you disappointed to be coming here instead of Blair Atholl?’ said Amaryllis.

‘Not really. One place is much the same as the next when you’re just setting up the techie stuff.’

‘Wasn’t there some sort of mix-up over the places? I heard that was why you came to Pitkirtly at such short notice.’

‘I don’t know anything about that side of things,’ said Charlotte. ‘I just go where I’m told to go.’

‘What about Ken? Does he just follow orders too?’

‘Yes, of course he does!’ Charlotte’s voice rose noticeably. ‘That’s what work’s all about, isn’t it? You do as you’re told until one day you’re in charge and then you can make up your own mind.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Amaryllis soothingly. What was she up to? Jock was very tempted to turn round and confront her with his growing realisation that she wasn’t just making idle conversation, but he was scared of what she would do if he blew her cover. He didn’t think any of the television people had a clue about her background and past career, otherwise they wouldn’t have engaged in idle chit-chat with her in the first place.

‘...
but wasn’t it a hoot though?’ said Deirdre.

Damn, now he had missed something.

‘I suppose so,’ he said, thinking that reply would cover most eventualities.

As a result he was drawn into an exceptionally boring conversation with Deirdre about reality
TV shows he had never even heard of. This lasted all the way back to the hotel, and he didn’t get the chance to eavesdrop on Amaryllis and Charlotte any more.

‘What was all that about?’ he asked Amaryllis once they had seen the two women into the hotel
and were on their way back down the hill.

‘Oh, just some deep background,’ said Amaryllis annoyingly.

‘Charlotte doesn’t look as if there was anything deep about her,’ said Jock.

‘Oh, you never know,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Giancarlo knows something
. He hasn’t told me what it is yet, but he will.’

‘What are you going to do?
Kidnap him and torture it out of him?’

‘Would I do a thing like that?’ Amaryllis’s eyes took on a faraway look.
‘Hmm. It’s an idea though.’

‘I’ll tell Christopher,’ Jock threatened.

‘Hmph!’ she said. She opened a garden gate and went inside. ‘I’m going this way now. See you later.’

‘But that’s – you can’t go that way!’

‘Are you going to stop me?’ she said, walked across the front lawn and disappeared down the side of the house. ‘Short cut,’ she called back to him. A dog started barking, and he heard running footsteps. If she imagined he would go to her rescue, though, she had another think coming.

Chapter 26 Christopher wakes up

Somebody was breathing next to him.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Somebody was snoring, and he felt a warm body lying along his back. He put an exploratory hand round behind him and touched warm fur.

Fur! He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or alarmed.

Either he had wandered through a time-
portal and into a bear’s cave – if bears had ever roamed Pitkirtly even during pre-history, something he wasn’t sure about and resolved to check on with one of the Folk Museum staff at the earliest opportunity – or he was on the infamous bench near the harbour with somebody’s dog. The latter option, while not exactly pleasant, was probably the lesser of the evils.

A dog barked.
Very close by.

He sat up and opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could see the whites of the dog’s eyes.

He could only think of one dog he liked enough to sleep with.

‘Good dog,’ he said, and reached out a hand to pat it.

A door was flung open and Charlie Smith put the light on and solved all the mysteries in one go.

‘Are you all right?’ he said.

The dog licked Christopher’s hand. He was all right. He wasn’t even on the bench but on a bed in a proper room with walls and a ceiling.

‘Bit of a headache,’ he croaked.

That was an understatement. Now that he had sat up, the room was spinning round and his head felt as if somebody had squashed it into an infernal machine that bore a resemblance to a trouser-press. If they increased the pressure any more it would be permanently flattened.

‘Want some lemonade?’

‘I don’t think so. Pain-killers?’

‘They might make you sick.
Water?’

‘I could try water. Sorry.’

‘It’s OK. It’s about time you had your turn at being a pain in the neck. Everybody else has.’

Christopher slumped down slightly and sighed. The dog copied his sigh.

After two glasses of water he decided he’d better leave, if only in order to get away before Charlie carried out his threat of obtaining from an unspecified source his guaranteed hangover cure, which turned out to be a deep-fried caramel wafer.

‘Has Deirdre gone?’ he asked Charlie on the way down the stairs.

‘Yes, hours ago. You’re quite safe.’

‘That’s something then.’

‘Are you all right to get home?’ said Charlie. ‘Only I can’t get away just now. If you hang around until closing time I could walk you there. I usually take the dog out last thing anyway.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Christopher. It was only a slight exaggeration, after all. He was on his feet, wasn’t he? ‘What time is it?’

‘About ten. I won’t be closing up for another hour or so. I might manage to get everybody out of here in half an hour – we’re not that busy.’

‘I might as well go,’ said Christopher.

When he got outside and the misty rain hit him, he felt better and worse at the same time. Better, because the cool air helped his head, worse because he only had a lightweight jacket on, having forgotten the essential weather rule of the locality: if it isn’t raining now, it will be soon.

He walked along towards the harbour. It wasn’t the most direct route back to his house, but now that he came to think of it Penelope and possibly Zak were still in residence there, so the longer he could delay his return home, the less chance there was of Penelope still being awake and ready to nag him about his drinking, or the fact that he hadn’t told anybody where he was, or whether he had put the bins out yet.

She was almost settling in as a substitute wife, but had so far stopped short of carrying out any other wifely functions – thank God! He shuddered.