Taunting the Dead (6 page)

‘Ha, ha. You’d hate to see a white naked butt, or black roots at the top of my blonde hair, though, wouldn’t you, Mr Perfectionist?’ She threw the keys in the air and caught them on their descent. ‘I won’t be long. Shall we do lunch at The Orange Grove?’

‘Not today.’ Terry checked his watch. ‘I won’t be back until teatime.’

But Steph was already out of earshot.

Allie slipped a black dress over her head, pushed her arms through and shimmied as it dropped to just above her knees. Visiting her favourite dress shop in her lunch hour felt like a delightful treat as the weather had turned nasty. The rain pelted down outside the Intu Potteries shopping centre but Extravagance, which boasted one of the most charismatic changing rooms she had ever been in, made up for it. The walls were coloured with candy pink and white stripes, enough to look stylish but not sickly. A cream leather settee sat against the back wall. Underfloor heating ensured that toes were never cold while trying on strappy shoes.

She looked in the mirror and grinned. The dress was a halter-neck, showing off her shapely back and toned arms, and was low enough to make a statement and not a point at the neckline. It was pulled in underneath the bust and flared out lightly below. Allie held up her hair, stood on her tiptoes and twirled round.

Mary Francis, owner of Extravagance, was busy unpacking shoes from boxes at her side. In her late fifties, she wore a cerise two-piece shift dress and cropped jacket, thick cream tights and matching ankle boots suitable for the cold weather snap they were experiencing. Her immaculate hair was greying and cut in a trendy short, sharp style. Extravagance had been in business for seventeen years now, and was always Allie’s first stop. Even though Mary’s prices were often steep, Allie rarely made it to many more shops because of her fabulous stock. Besides, she liked having something different that she could wear over and over, despite the extortionate price tag.

‘Where is it being held?’ Mary asked. ‘Tell me again.’

‘The Moathouse. It’s a black tie event.’

‘Well, you keep out of Mrs Ryder’s way. She’s wearing even higher heels than these and she’s bound to be unsteady on them from what I’ve heard.’ Mary held up a pair of black, patent heels with a peep-toe. A slight platform sole would add further inches to Allie’s five-foot-six frame – always a good idea as Mark towered over her at six foot one.

Allie had met the infamous Stephanie Ryder on several occasions but had never been to one of the charity events until now. And despite all their intelligence on Terry Ryder, there was no doubt he had a knack of making charity events rake money in by the bucket-full. The last event, three months ago, had raised in excess of fifty thousand pounds and had included a live performance by local band Sapphire
.

Allie slipped the shoes on, knowing instantly that they finished the outfit.

‘Perfect.’ She smiled at Mary before swishing the skirt a few times.

‘Or I have these.’ Mary unwrapped a pair of strappy black sandals from vivid purple tissue paper and held one up. The straps were covered in diamante, the heel still high but black to draw attention to the detail at the front.

‘Mary, why do you do this to me?’ Allie huffed affectionately. ‘You know I can never decide if I’m given two choices.’

Allie came out of the shop twenty minutes later, clutching a paper bag containing the dress and both pairs of shoes – a fair few pounds added to her credit card. She was going to be the belle of the ball. Or at the very least, the apple of someone’s eye.

Phil sighed when he opened the door to find Steph standing there just after midday. Christ, if Terry found out she’d been round, he’d be a goner. And she was the last person he wanted to see anyway.

But he knew he wouldn’t turn her away.

‘Oh, God.’ Her eyes widened as she took in his new look. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Occupational hazard.’ Phil cocked a half smile, even though his lip was swollen and cut and he had a huge purple-black bruise on his chin. ‘Where’re you off to spruced up like a Barbie doll?’

Steph patted her hair – now in a chignon after her visit to Powder and Perfume – as she stepped into the hallway. ‘Charity do tonight. Do you like it?’

Phil smirked. You’d think by now he’d be used to Steph turning conversation around to herself.

They made their way through to the living room, Steph chatting ten to the dozen about what was happening that night and forgetting the real reason she’d visited. But after a moment, she stopped. All of a sudden, she felt awkward with him. She stepped nearer.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gently, she touched Phil’s lip with the tip of her finger. ‘Are you okay?’

Phil wouldn’t look her in the eye.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’ Phil shook his head.

She tilted up his chin, careful not to hurt him, and took a closer look. ‘Doesn’t look like nothing to me.’

‘It was only a bit of business.’

Still he wouldn’t look at her.

‘It was Terry, wasn’t it?’ Steph gasped. ‘Did someone see us together? Ohmigod, I’m so dead.’

Phil groaned as Steph went into panic mode. The last thing he needed right now was her suspecting anything. What Terry had asked him to do was wrong. He had to turn him off the idea. Get him to change his mind. Because there was no way he could kill Steph.

He reached for her hand. ‘It’s some bloke I owe money to.’

Steph pulled it away. ‘Watch me nails. I’ve only just had them done.’ Then she sniggered. ‘Some bloke gave you a beating? You must be losing your touch, old man.’

‘Yeah, I must be.’ Phil slouched down on the settee. He pretended to watch the lunchtime news on the television.

Seeing his forlorn face, Steph straddled him and put a hand on each shoulder. She could do something that would cheer him up. ‘We do need to be careful though, don’t we?’ She kissed him gently on the lips. ‘I mean, if Terry gets wind of anything happening between us,’ she moved to his neck, ‘we might have to stop seeing each other and,’ her hand rested on the buckle to his belt, ‘I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore.’

‘Don’t. I’m not in the mood.’

‘Precisely why you need something to take your mind off things.’

‘No! You’re not listening to me.’ Phil grabbed both her hands to stop her. ‘I said I’m not in the mood.’

‘Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Steph sighed dramatically. ‘Honestly, I’m only trying to give you a blow job. What sane man would refuse that?’

‘It’s all about sex with you, isn’t it?’ He pushed her to the side and got up.

Steph pursed her lips. She hated it when he went all moody on her. ‘Fine.’ She got up slowly. ‘You let me know when you’re ready to see me again, then, huh? Because I can call and see you any time, can’t I? Like, it’s so easy to get away.’

‘Steph,’ he cried as she barged past him. ‘Steph!’

She stopped at the door and turned back. The pained expression on his face made her relent.

‘Terry’s next in Derby on Friday,’ she told him. ‘I’ll call and see you in the morning.’

‘I have business to sort out then.’

She shook her head. There was no pleasing him at times. ‘Fine. I’ll see you whenever.’

She was out of the door before he could say anything else. Men! Why did they always think they were so important?

Still, what he had told her about Friday was perfect.

CHAPTER SIX

It was nearing two thirty when Steph finally walked into The Orange Grove restaurant. It had started to rain heavily during the last hour and, mindful of her hair, she quickened her step and almost ran through the door.

The Italian eatery was owned by her friend Carole and her husband Shaun, and had been there for twenty years now. Situated off Piccadilly in Hanley, it was in the city’s Cultural Quarter, a pedestrianised area that encompassed two theatres and a museum and tried to encourage its residents to enjoy a little class. Due to the economic climate, The Orange Grove was busy in peaks and troughs. A night out at the theatre could see the restaurant filling up quite quickly after a show had finished. No good acts, however, and the restaurant often had more staff than customers. Lunchtimes were particularly good for trade. Today, though, there were only two tables occupied. A party of six celebrating a fiftieth birthday were finishing a long lunch, and two women laden with Christmas shopping enjoyed a bowl of pasta, red wine and good conversation.

‘About bleeding time,’ a voice shrilled out.

Steph shook out her umbrella and pulled herself up onto a bar stool at the counter. Shopping bags fell at her feet. ‘Chill out, woman. I had an emergency earlier.’

‘Your life is one big emergency.’ Carole sighed as she slid a glass of white wine over to her. ‘I hope you have some gossip. It has been as dead as Barry White in here this week. I can’t wait for the panto season to get going properly. December always brings in the crowds. If it wasn’t for that, I don’t know why we’d bother.’

‘Honestly, I don’t really know why you bother at all.’

Carole ignored her cynicism. ‘Has that bug cleared up that you had?’

‘Kind of.’ Steph had been feeling off for a couple of weeks. Nothing too serious; sickness for a few days and thick headaches. ‘But I’ve been to see Doctor Turner and he did some tests. I still can’t shake it off altogether.’ She pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between her teeth. Carole pulled it out immediately.

‘Not in here, you don’t.’

‘But I need one before I –’

‘It has been great since the smoking ban came into force. I can actually smell perfume and aftershave and not have to wipe my eyes all day because they sting. So you’re not lighting up in here. Besides, it’s the law and you’re not getting me a hefty fine and a reputation.’

‘I’ll stand outside and freeze my nipples off,’ Steph snapped. ‘That okay with you?’

‘Look if you’ve come here to snipe, then piss off. I’m not in the mood for you and your silly games. I need to –’

‘I woke up to find Phil Kennedy in my bed on Saturday morning.’

Carole’s eyes couldn’t have widened any more if she’d used some mediaeval torture gadget. ‘In
your
bed?’ she whispered, glancing around madly even though no one was in earshot. ‘Jeez. How the –?’

‘That’s the problem.’ Steph sighed. ‘I can’t remember how he came to be there.’

‘You blacked out again!’ Carole’s tone was accusatory enough without the crossing of her arms to indicate her disgust.

‘Yes… no… hell, I don’t know.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘The Potter’s Wheel.’

‘Who with this time?’

Steph raised an upturned hand. ‘Is it my fault you let me down so much?’

‘I have to work most evenings, remember. Work?’ Carole laughed snidely. ‘No, you wouldn’t remember that now, would you?’ She wrung out a cloth and wiped the top of the counter.

‘If you can’t make it and I want to go out, then I have to make do. I rang Tracy Smithson and she got a babysitter.’

‘Tracey Smithson? The last time we saw her you slammed her up against the wall and threatened to bite her ear off if she so much as looked in your direction again.’

Steph snorted as she tapped a cigarette on the packet. ‘Did I? I can’t remember that either. No wonder she was so quick to get a round in.’

The eldest member of the table of six waved to get attention. Carole glared at Steph before heading over. ‘Don’t move. I want all the details.’

Steph grabbed the opportunity to go outside for a cigarette. As a double-decker bus lurched past yards away from her, she wondered why she bothered to light up at all. Flapping away the fumes with one hand seemed ridiculous with a fag in the other but she hated the stench of dirty diesel. Greedily, she took another drag and coughed loudly as she choked on it. By the time she regained her composure she had tears streaming down her face. She swiped away at them. Was someone trying to kill her off today?

Seeing Phil look such a mess had really given her the jeepers for a moment back then. But he’d assured her she wasn’t involved. Terry had been fine since the weekend and they’d had sex again that morning. So even though Phil had been annoyed with her earlier, she knew he’d keep his mouth shut. He’d be too worried not to.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Carole as she joined her back inside a few minutes later.

‘Only choking,’ Steph explained her teary eyes. ‘No need to do your agony aunt routine on me. My life isn’t that bad.’

‘Yes, it is.’

Steph snarled her top lip at Carole before grinning back. It broke the ice enough for them to continue.

‘I can’t believe you took Phil home with you. Terry will do his nut.’

‘Phil won’t say anything,’ she said, more to convince herself.

‘No? You must be mad to think that. He’ll be bragging it all over Hanley before you know it. He’s been trying to get one over on your Terry for years. Nothing better than screwing the Missus.’

‘He won’t say anything, I’m sure.’ Steph decided to change the subject, although she made a mental note to push the point forward again the next time she and Phil met. ‘So, you ready for tonight?’

Carole poured herself a coffee. ‘Not really. I can see you are, though. Nice do.’

‘Thanks.’ Steph patted her hair, wispy tendrils hanging down onto what would become bare shoulders in a few hours. Then she held out a plastic bag decorated with Christmas baubles. ‘I have this too.’

Carole reluctantly pulled out a long, red dress. It was strapless with one hell of a side split and she knew it would look fabulous on Steph. She watched her friend, eyes shining like a child’s with a new toy, and once again wished she could have half of what she had. Steph Ryder was a lucky bitch.

‘You got something new?’ Steph interrupted her thoughts.

Carole shook her head, brown curls shaking frantically. ‘I thought I’d wear my old faithful dress again.’ Besides, she thought, nothing would ever make her look
that
beautiful. She looked away in embarrassment.

Steph immediately took pity, but for the wrong reason. She knew that Carole and Shaun had ploughed so much into The Orange Grove that there was never any spare money. She studied Carole with sympathy in her eyes. Carole was thirty-eight, a month younger than Steph but, to anyone who didn’t know her, she seemed far older. Her hair was in need of a good stylist. She wore clothes on her plump frame that had seen better days – white shirt and black trousers – but they were practical for working in, she supposed. Steph glanced down at Carole’s feet: she would never be seen dead in flat shoes, especially those.