Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 (31 page)

“Excellent!” A massive hand clapped me on the shoulder. “I can see we’re going to get on splendidly, Tom. Now, to prayer.”

“Hang on a mo,” I blurted out before my better judgement could kick in. “What about the confession?” Christ, Paretski, never heard the phrase
least said soonest NOT murdered in your own bloody bed
?

“Oh, indeed. Thank you for reminding me. Yes, well.” The hand massaged my shoulder. I wondered if its owner was aware of it. “I realise it’s a great deal to ask, and I wouldn’t want you to go against your conscience, but if you could perhaps see your way to not mentioning this to Cherry?”

“Y-yeah, no problem.” I cleared my throat and hoped he hadn’t noticed the stutter. “Silent as the grave, that’s me.” God, not literally, I hoped.

“You’re too kind. I’m afraid I have been a trifle mendacious. The notes, I must tell you. A mere figment.”

“The…what?”

“The threatening letters. I’m afraid they never existed. Cherry was so worried about you, you see—or should I say, she was worried about your relationship with Philip. I decided it would be good to arrange an opportunity of observing him more closely.” The eyebrows softened. “I’m happy to say that my impressions have been entirely favourable.”

“Right.” I cleared my throat again. Must be an allergy or something. “So you were just checking out my bloke. In the, um, non-gay way, obviously.”

“Indeed!”

“But Cherry didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want to give her cause for more concern.”

“Course not.”

“But can you forgive me?” Big, worried eyes peered at me from way too close for comfort.

“Er, yeah. Course.”

He beamed. “Excellent. Now, as I said, to prayer.”

“Yeah. Fine. Um. Do you think you could…?” I shrugged the shoulder he was still crushing with his massive mitt. Or tried to, at any rate. It only moved about a millimetre, but Greg finally got the hint and let go of me.

I felt weirdly lopsided as Greg composed himself for prayer, which seemed to consist of taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly and smiling briefly to himself. Or, you know, the bloke upstairs. “Our Father…” he began.

Funny how you remember stuff. I managed to follow along with Greg pretty well, although we had the odd disagreement between
sins
and
trespasses
. It was easily the most bizarre thing I’d ever done in bed. Darren would be so disappointed in me, I thought, and only just managed not to snigger.

God duly bothered, I switched off the light.

I lay there for hours while Greg snored away like a buzz saw. Every time I dozed off, I dreamed of being smothered by enormous hands—all right, one time it was the chest hair—and startled awake, panting. Greg, true to his word, didn’t stir.

In the end, I decided that even if he was planning to wake up and murder me and Cherry in our beds, I was too bloody knackered to fight back or even, for that matter, care. I grabbed a blanket and staggered down to the sofa, where I finally managed to get a couple of hours’ kip.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Friday morning, my phone rang while I was still rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Not that it was all that early, I realised when my vision cleared enough to see the clock. Good thing I didn’t have any jobs on this morning. Next week was going to be a bugger, catching up with it all.

I lurched into the kitchen, where I’d left my phone on charge, and, wonder of wonders, managed to pick up before the caller rang off. Must be some persistent bastard.

Phil?

Nope. It was Dave, the other persistent bastard in my life.

“All right?” I asked, yawning.

Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “You heard from your sister lately?”

“Not since last night. Why?” I blinked at the kettle. Coffee, that was what I needed.

“We’ve been trying to get in touch with her. She’s not answering her phone, and there’s no one at the house either.”

“Yeah, there is,” I said, puzzled. “Both of us.”

“What, you’re at hers now?”

“No, she’s at mine. Has been since yesterday.” The cafetière hadn’t been cleaned out since last night. I managed to open the jar of instant one-handed and spooned some into a mug. Merlin tangled round my legs in his usual
feed-me
dance, and Arthur gave a pointed
meow
.

“And for fuck’s sake, it didn’t occur to
either
of you to bloody well let us know? Brains run in the family, do they? Jesus. Can I speak to her?”

“Well, she’s still asleep. I think. Told you I hadn’t seen her since last night. Why, you arrested someone?” Could I fill the kettle and still hear Dave speak? Probably not. Might as well feed the cats before they went feral and started munching on me.

“Not even close. But you were right about that bloody basket. I pulled some strings, and the lab just got back to me. The body lotion’s lethal. Nicotine again.”

My stomach dropped. “Jesus. Any signs of who sent it?” I stood there for a moment, then, remembering what I’d been in the middle of doing, I opened the cupboard and got out a pouch of Fisherman’s Choice. The audience went wild.

“Not as yet. Whoever’s doing this knows their stuff. Christ, what the bloody hell are you doing to those cats? Skinning them alive?”

Fair dues, the caterwauling had got a bit out of hand. If Greg and Cherry hadn’t been awake already, I was betting they would be now. “Feeding them.”

“What, to the lions? Listen, while we’re on, I had ’em check out Little Miss Morangie.”

“Yeah?” I tried to remember exactly what I’d told Dave about her, while ripping open the cat food and squeezing it out into the cats’ bowls.

Heads down, tails up. The sudden silence was deafening. “You weren’t so far wrong about it being a son. Elizabeth Morangie changed her name when she hit eighteen. Along with her sex.”

“Bloody hell. I guess Daddy wasn’t too chuffed about that. I mean, judging by the way he reacted. When I went to his house,” I explained, not sure if I’d told him this already or not.

“You were at this bloke’s house?” From his tone, apparently this was the first he’d heard about it. Course, he’d been pretty trollied by the end of that night in the pub. Maybe he’d forgotten.

“Well, yeah. I was supposed to be looking for that bloody will thing, wasn’t I? But then I asked about his son, and he threw me out.”

“Could have just been the natural effect of your charming personality, of course.”

“Piss off. Nah, I mean, it wasn’t like he was overjoyed to have me there anyway, but it was as if this was the last straw. He even threatened to call your lot in if I didn’t scarper. So what’s he calling himself now, then? Morangie junior, I mean.”

“Funny you should ask. Reckon you were right about there not being too much love lost between Morangie and the kid—she, sorry,
he
took Mum’s maiden name. Nair. Mum being of the Asian persuasion.”

Even in my sleep-deprived state, this was ringing more bells than Gary and his mates at a royal wedding. “What, like
Raz
Nair? From the Literati?”

“Exactly like. Bit of a coincidence, innit? Which, by the way, I don’t believe in. Right. You look after your sister, and don’t let her do anything daft. Don’t let her hang around with the fiancé either. There’s something funny about that bloke.”

He hung up while I was still wondering how I was supposed to bloody well stop her. But at least it saved me having to explain how I’d had him in my bed last night.

I shuddered. Not a good choice of wording, that. I hoped to God I never slipped and described it to Phil that way. Speaking of which… I dialled Phil’s number. He answered immediately, sounding brisk and professional.

I stifled another yawn. “Dave just rang. There was nicotine in the body lotion.”

“Right.”

“Right? That’s all you’ve got to say? Cherry could have bloody
died
. Again.”

There was a silence. “Yeah. But you couldn’t.”

Oh. Right. I felt a weird mix of emotions: touched, because his first thought was of me; still a bit miffed on Cherry’s behalf; and daft, because that hadn’t actually occurred to me. “I suppose it doesn’t matter about Morangie junior then.”

“What about her?”

“Him. He’s trans. Dave just told me. And get this: it’s Raz Nair.”

“Bloody hell. I
knew
it.”

“That’s more than I sodding well did, then. So that means… Actually, what does that mean? Really?”

“Buggered if I know. Not a lot, I suppose, now we know it’s not you they’re after. Unless of course someone’s doing a really callous bit of misdirection. How’d your sister take the news about the basket?”

I sighed. “Haven’t told her yet.” I heard a sound and looked around nervously in case Cherry had crept up on me and was listening in, but it was only Arthur, nudging his now-empty food bowl across the floor towards me in a pointed gesture. Greedy bastard. I shook my head firmly, and he stalked out of the room, his tail giving me the finger. Merlin had already disappeared somewhere. “Think I should?”

“Well, put it this way, if anyone ever tries to top me, you’d better bloody not keep quiet about it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… She’s already in a bit of a state.”

“She’s a big girl. She can handle it. Listen, I’m going to talk to Hannah Mudge today. You coming along?”

I hesitated. “Nah, I’d better stay with Cherry. Think she might be feeling a bit fragile after I tell her the news.”

I hung up and wandered back into the living room to eat my toast in front of the telly. I nearly dropped my plate when I saw Cherry curled up on the sofa with the cats. Had she been taking lessons from Merlin on sneaking downstairs? I wondered how much she’d heard of me talking on the phone.

She glanced up at me, her eyes red and her face longer than a Bank Holiday tailback on the M25. “Morning.” It came out with a shrug and a sigh. Her hair was loose, for once, and it hid her expression as she bent her head and focussed on Arthur’s twitching ears, but I was betting it wasn’t exactly chirpy. She had yesterday’s clothes on—well, the same baggy sweater; I couldn’t have sworn to the leggings. They all look alike, don’t they? Especially with a generous coating of cat hair.

I’d meant to tell her about the gift basket, but I just couldn’t do it. Not when she was miserable already. It could wait. At least until after I’d had my coffee. “Er, yeah. Morning. Greg up yet?” I asked, expecting a no.

“Oh, yes. He left to go back home about an hour ago.” Cherry looked even glummer now. She fished out a hanky from somewhere under the sweater and blew her nose.

I wasn’t too happy myself at the thought I’d slept right through him getting up, saying good-bye to my sister and leaving. Some bloody watch dog I was. “Want some breakfast?” I said, hoping to cheer her up a bit.

She blinked at my plate of toast and marmalade, then smiled faintly and held out a hand. “Thanks.”

Good thing I hadn’t already taken a bite. I handed it over, then realised with an unpleasant jolt I’d have to give her my coffee as well. I considered hanging on to it, but she’d be bound to realise then I hadn’t made the toast for her either.

Cherry took the mug, then made a face. “I have tea in the morning.”

“No problem.” I snatched it back, pleased. And maybe a bit insulted on my coffee’s behalf. Okay, it might have been instant, but it wasn’t like it was Morrison’s own brand or anything. “I’ll go and make you a cuppa.”

I found myself whistling as I boiled the kettle—probably a subconscious memory of Auntie Lol. I stopped whistling when I realised there was only enough marmalade left for half a slice of toast.

To add insult to injury, when I got back into the living room with Cherry’s tea and my toast, I saw she’d left most of the original plateful uneaten.

Maybe she caught my glance. “I’m just not very hungry. Sorry.”

“Hey, who do you think I am? Mum? You don’t want to eat it, you don’t eat it, all right?”

“You can have it if you want,” she suggested, and I was on that like, well, marmalade on toast.

It was a bit on the lukewarm side, but I’ve had worse. I munched away happily, only looking up when I felt Cherry’s critical gaze on me. “What? I get hungry in the mornings, all right?”

“Oh, it’s not your eating habits. Although now you come to mention it… No, I was just looking at those pyjamas. You look about fifty in them. Actually, no, you look like you’re from the
nineteen
fifties.” She smirked. “I hope you don’t wear them in bed with Phil.”

“Nope. I keep ’em for when I go to bed with
your
boyfriend, all right?” I smirked right back at her, glad she’d cheered up a bit. “Wanna borrow them sometime?”

I gave Phil a ring later in the day. Cherry had disappeared into the bathroom after lunch, although what she was doing in there I wasn’t sure, given that she was apparently allergic to all bath products. Also, who has a bath after lunch? “There’s something I forgot to mention earlier,” I opened with. “You’ll never guess what Greg confessed to me last night.”

“His undying love?”

I shuddered. “No, thank God. Those letters you’re looking into for him? You can stop, ’cause they never existed.”