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Authors: Mel Sherratt

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Police Procedural, #Traditional, #Romance, #Contemporary

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BOOK: Taunting the Dead
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‘Why?’

‘Oh, no reason in particular.’ She wasn’t going to tell him that she had a trip to New York lined up if she managed to stay out of trouble until Christmas. She knew he wouldn’t understand. ‘What time shall I meet you later?’

‘Seven, if we’re going to bed again.’

Kirstie came back into the bedroom and grabbed the rest of her clothing from the floor. It was surprising that she could find her belongings at all given the amount of Lee’s things that were on the floor too. He might sport the latest in designer jeans and footwear but he wasn’t a dab hand at looking after them. Items had been cast aside once worn, along with dirty cups, car magazines and a fit-to-burst ashtray. And the smell! She wished he’d change the sheets once in a while. Then she recalled with a grin the way she’d left her bedroom the previous evening, even if it did smell of perfume and deodorant rather than of teenage man.

Lee pulled back the duvet and patted the bed.

‘Nice try, cowboy.’ Kirstie pouted suggestively. ‘You’ll have to look forward to it later.’

Lee slapped her backside as he swept across the room naked.

Kirstie grinned again. Fucking hell! She still couldn’t believe she was going out with Lee Kennedy, one of the bad boys of the Marshall Estate. And, with both of them extremely good-looking, she knew they made the hottest couple ever. Wait until Ashleigh heard about last night and what they’d been up to. She would explode with jealousy!

She dressed quickly, trying to push all thoughts of her dad to the back of her mind. If he discovered that she’d been with Lee all night, never mind snorting drugs with him, he’d go ballistic. Not because she’d slept with him – at seventeen, she could sleep with whoever she wanted, which she did, and often. It was because he’d told her to stay away from Lee – she’d lost count of how many times – although she wasn’t sure why. He seemed harmless enough to her, if a little rough and ready.

‘Come here, bitch.’ Lee grabbed her on his way back to bed. He kissed her roughly as she resisted.

‘Leave me a-fucking-lone.’ She tried to wriggle free. ‘I have to go.’

Lee pushed her down to her knees. ‘You’re going nowhere until you’ve blown me away.’

‘But –’

He shoved his erect penis into her face. ‘Nowhere,’ he repeated.

Kirstie sighed loudly. Knowing that he wouldn’t let her go until she’d made him shoot his load, she ran the tip of her tongue up and down his shaft as he held her head in place. Might as well get it over with and then she could be on her way.

Once finished, she wiped her mouth and stood up, expecting at least a kiss of gratitude. But Lee got back into bed.

‘See you later then?’

‘Yeah, laters.’

Disgruntled with her dismissal, Kirstie turned sharply on her heel, making sure she slammed the door on her way out. Men!

Twenty minutes later, she cursed when she saw the black Range Rover parked in the driveway of her home next to the Mercedes that belonged to her mum. She checked her watch: quarter to eleven. Ah well, she’d have to lie if he collared her.

Once in the house, she stood in the kitchen, almost waiting for the study door to burst open and for her dad to rush out and go hell for leather. She squeezed her eyes shut. But… nothing. She sighed with relief.

After texting Lee to let him know how much she’d enjoyed their night together, she made a cup of tea and two slices of toast and curled up on the settee. She switched on the television.
Oh, great
, she smiled,
a repeat of
Jeremy Kyle.

 

Terry Ryder did hear his only daughter come in but decided to ignore her for now. He had far more important things to think about than where she had slept last night. Besides, he’d been enjoying the peace and quiet.

The study was one of the things that drew him to The Gables. Of course any house could have a room changed to suit, but this one had been perfect as soon as he’d stepped into it. The decor spoke of class, of good taste. It spoke of money.

He sat behind a mahogany desk, polished to perfection by the cleaner twice a week. His pens were set out in a line, his notebook next to them – without a scribble as it would look untidy. Lined up on the bookcases in front of him were books that the previous owner had left, although he’d rearranged them to be colour coded. He didn’t get spare time to read but if he had paperwork to catch up on, he’d sit in one of the two leather armchairs either side of the window and overlooking the garden.

Although he was considered a successful businessman to the people who mattered, there were parts of that business that he kept firmly under wraps. It was these things that caused him grief as he dealt with the many fuck-ups. Terry puffed heavily on a cigarette, hoping that he was almost rid of the recent headache he’d acquired. Before going to Derby overnight, clearing up the mess that Andy Maddison had left behind had taken him near on two days. The police had been swarming round Georgia Road as well as questioning him here, at home, twice. He supposed it was only fair, and routine. He was the landlord of the property where the murder had taken place. But he hated anything that could draw attention to him or his dealings, especially anything that could encourage the police to start digging deeper into his affairs. Or
any
deeper. Terry knew they wouldn’t stop until they caught him good and proper. But so far, with friends in high places, he’d managed to stay one step ahead.

And now that Maddison was out of the way, he could pick a new tenant. There was no end of people waiting for a place to shack up on Georgia Road – Ryder’s Row, as it was known locally – a fact that he was immensely proud of. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Everyone wanted to become part of his empire. Once the police gave the property clearance, he’d have the house occupied again – with a much more useful tenant this time.

Half an hour later, Terry heard the bed creak in the room above him as someone turned in it. Not for the first time he wondered if Steph was ever going to get up that morning. As it was nearing eleven thirty, it probably meant that she was so hung over that she couldn’t get up. It wasn’t unusual for her to stay in bed until after lunch because she knew that it pissed him off.

Lately her drinking had been getting out of hand. Her actions were certainly being talked about, if the phone call he had received earlier that morning while on his way back from Derby was anything to go by. Steph had been at The Potter’s Wheel last night. Nothing unusual in that; it was one of her regular haunts. But the caller had informed him that Steph had left with Phil Kennedy. It could have been seen as innocent, if the caller hadn’t told him he’d also seen them necking in the car park. And that he didn’t like.

The harsh winter light cast shadows across the desk, matching his mood. Maybe it was a good thing that Steph wasn’t up. She was better out of his sight right now or he knew there’d be another argument. But he did need to sort things out with her, and soon. Either that or he might easily slip his hands around her neck and squeeze until her eyes popped out of their sockets. She’d become such a liability, but he knew one false move would bring the police. Terry knew he couldn’t hide everything, no matter how careful he thought he was. It would only take one silly slip-up and his life could be fucked up forever. He wasn’t going to let any blonde tart do that to him, not even if the blonde tart was his wife of twenty years.

His mobile phone rang, the caller display showing the name Phil Kennedy. Talk of the devil.

‘What?’ he snapped.

‘Problem at number three, Guv.’

Stoke-on-Trent had been renowned the world over for its pottery industry but, as technology had had a hand in lowering production costs, local pottery firms were closing on a regular basis and production moved abroad to take advantage of cheap labour prices. Terry had bought six small pottery firms that had gone bust. Born and bred a local boy, he’d opened a base of Car Wash City
in each of the six towns. Number three was based in Longton, over in the south of the city. To the working public, Car Wash City
did a roaring trade on car valets and wash-downs. But what went on behind closed doors was what the police were really interested in. And why there was a problem now.

‘Go on,’ Terry said.

‘Looks like someone’s had their hands in the till again. They’re about two grand short on takings for the past three weeks.’

Terry ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’ He ended the call and threw the phone onto the desk. Trouble at the office was the last thing he needed.

A light knock on the door and Kirstie came in with a mug of coffee. ‘Thought you might like this, Dad.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve been working in here for ages.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, I have to go out.’ Terry stood up. ‘Where did you get to last night?’

‘I stopped over at Ashleigh’s.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes, we had a few drinks in Stoke and then got a takeaway.’

Kirstie’s smile was a bit too confident for his liking. Did she think he was born yesterday? She was a good-looking young woman in her prime, and Terry knew it would prove tough to keep Kirstie away from scrotes like Lee Kennedy, whom he’d seen her with a couple of weeks ago. Despite working for him, Terry couldn’t stand the lad and had only taken him on because his father, Phil, had said he’d keep him in line. Lee Kennedy was eighteen, a cocky little bastard and a no-good layabout who would amount to nothing. Besides, no matter how much Kirstie liked him, there was no way Terry was going to let his daughter get involved with the nephew of one of his rivals.

Terry continued to stare, long enough to watch his daughter blush. Luckily for Kirstie Ryder, he had other things on his mind.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

The sound of Terry slamming the front door woke Steph up. She listened to him racing off in his car, wincing at the sound. Lord knows what the neighbours would think. There might only be ten houses in their exclusive avenue, allowing far more privacy than when they lived back on the estate, but she knew the curtains would still be twitching.

Lying in the foetal position, she pulled her knees up further to her chest. Now that she was awake again, more of last night started to come back to her. She remembered being in the car park at The Potter’s Wheel. She remembered cuddling up to Phil to keep warm before getting into his car for a lift home.

Actually what she remembered was pressing herself up to him and shoving her tongue down his throat. Christ, how stupid they’d been. She prayed no one had seen them together. After all, Tracy Smithson had gone home early when her husband picked her up at eleven thirty and she knew better than to shout her mouth off anyway. Like the drunken fool that she was, Steph had stayed there rather than have a lift home. She’d sat with the regulars for a while until she’d sauntered over to Phil, acting all casual as if they were catching up on chat. But it only took one nosy git to spill and she would be for it. She had to get a grip on things.

She tried to focus on the bedroom. When they’d moved in, she hadn’t wanted to change a single thing. But when the recent fashion emerged for bold, flowery patterns, she’d hired an interior designer and created a room to die for: pale green walls covered in large floral patterns, a vivid green rug at the side of the bed that matched the petals of the flower in the paper precisely. In their previous home, there hadn’t been room for anything other than a bed and a small flat-pack wardrobe. In this room, she often did aerobics in front of the gigantic wide-screen television mounted on the wall. And that was just the bedroom – off that was an ensuite bathroom that was bigger than her previous living room. It was pure luxury.

Her eyes filled with tears. She’d been living in her dream home for ten years now, yet the minute she’d set foot in it she knew she’d ruin things eventually. Steph the fuck-up, she called herself. Having a powerful man for a husband, having money when she needed it and not having to get her arse up and out to work like most of the friends she’d lost wasn’t enough for her. If Terry found out that Phil had been here, her cosy life as she knew it would be over.

Some mornings she hated herself so much that she couldn’t bear getting out of bed. Let’s face it, what had she? Her daughter hated her. Her husband tolerated her. She had parents and a sister living nearby whom she didn’t have contact with. She’d mouthed off at them so many times they couldn’t forgive her outbursts any more. And her friends were few and far between since they had moved there – if they had ever been her friends to begin with.

Wearily, she pulled back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and stumbled across to the bathroom. Daring to take a look in the mirror, she gasped at her reflection. Christ, she’d need dark glasses to hide the state of her eyes today. At thirty-eight, weekly facials and monthly hair treatments went some way towards keeping age at bay but not as much as she would have liked. Her blue eyes seemed navy today, matching the dark bags underneath them. The blonde dye on her muddy brown hair made her skin tone look harsh. Still, once she had her slap on, she supposed she’d look half decent. And the cigarettes kept her thin – no appetite.

Not bothering to shower, she wrapped herself up in a dressing gown and dragged herself downstairs to the family room. Kirstie sat at the breakfast bar, magazine in hand, cake and a mug of coffee in front of her. Steph swiped the mug from underneath her nose.

‘Hey!’ Kirstie protested. ‘That’s mine. Make your fucking own.’

‘Do another one, Kirst, for your old mum,’ Steph slurped noisily. ‘I’m parched.’

‘What’s wrong with you? You look like fucking death warmed up.’

‘Don’t talk to me like that.’

‘Whatever.’

Steph shook her head trying to rid herself of its fuzziness. She lit another cigarette and threw the lighter onto the black granite worktop, sucking in hard and then blowing the smoke out noisily into the room. As it cleared in front of her, through the window she noticed ice still formed in patches on the lawn and the greyness of the clouds and wished she’d stayed in bed. At least the family room was tidier than she’d left it last night. It looked like she wouldn’t have to sit on the settee while Jeanie cleaned around her again.

BOOK: Taunting the Dead
7.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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