Expose! (4 page)

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Authors: Hannah Dennison

BOOK: Expose!
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“We’ve got to move with the times,” said Edward. “It won’t be long until there’ll be virtual undertakers handling all the arrangements from Mumbai.”
“They’re called funeral directors, nowadays,” I pointed out.
“Not on my watch,” growled Wilf. “The
Gipping Gazette
is a traditional newspaper with traditional values.”
“How about this for a headline—GRAVESIDE GUERRILLA’S: GREED OR GRIEF?” I said, warming to my theme.
“Good idea, young Vicky. Let’s have a full report. Get to Plymouth. Find these guerrilla undertakers. Get photographs. Take them to lunch if you have to. See how they get their business.”
“Internet,” said Edward.
“A lot of the elderly don’t have computers,” I said.
“Don’t you think it strange that old Fleming should hire someone like that?” Annabel chipped in. “Sounds a bit fishy to me. Wasn’t Scarlet only in her sixties? What if her old man knocked her off?”
My thoughts exactly!
Blast!
I knew I should have spoken up.
“This is not the
Plymouth Bugle
, Annabel,” Wilf said coldly.
Thank God I hadn’t spoken up!
“We don’t want to start rumors. Dougie Fleming and I went to school together. He’s a decent chap. I was an usher at their wedding.”
Annabel turned a lurid shade of beetroot, which clashed horribly with her Nice ’n Easy natural copper red hair. Wilf really disliked her and it showed.
“You can help Barbara in reception, Annabel,” Wilf said. “Once you’ve gone home and got dressed properly.”
“Actually, I’m not going to be in the office much,” Annabel said quickly. “Am I, Pete?”
“That’s right,” Pete said. “She’s working on a big story.”
Wilf swung round to Pete and gave him the full force of his good eye. “And you think she’s got something?”
“That’s what she told me,” he said with a shrug.
“Facts? Photos? Evidence?” Wilf swung back to Annabel. “Well? What is this big story?”
“I’d rather not s-s-say,” she stammered.
“We work as a team or not at all,” Wilf said.
“I just don’t want to put anyone in danger,” Annabel mumbled.
“I suspect Annabel has an informer to protect,” I suggested.
Annabel shot me a grateful smile, “Yes. That’s right. I do.”
Wilf merely grunted, turned on his heel, and left the room.
“Right, let’s get on with our bloody day.” Pete’s face was grim. “Annabel, this scoop you are working on had better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good, all right.” Annabel gave a smirk. “It’s not really a scoop, I’d say it was more of an exposé.”
I wasn’t worried about Annabel’s so-called exposé. It was totally obvious she was lying to get out of fielding phone calls with Barbara.
We got to our feet. Annabel gave her dress a self-conscious tug and turned to me. “Vicky, can I talk to you somewhere private? It’s really important.”
As I followed her into the ladies’ loo, I suffered a flash of intuition. I immediately guessed what was so “really important.”
Annabel was still desperate for her elusive front-page scoop. With two nationwide exclusives to my name, she had become increasingly devious in her attempts to steal my thunder. Twice, I caught her following me on assignments and once she even tailed me to the dentist on my day off.
Annabel was going to try to muscle in on my investigation. I was
sure
of it! Fat chance!
I’d soon put her straight.
4
“Honestly, I am
not
going home to change,” Annabel said from behind the locked toilet door.
“I really can’t hang around,” I said. Call me prudish, but I hated conducting conversations in the ladies’ loo.
“Wilf is so transparent. It’s obvious that he fancies me. Men are like that. The meaner they are, the more they like you.” There was a rustle of toilet paper. “Did you know that seventy-five percent of sexually transmitted diseases are caught from toilet seats?”
“No, I didn’t. What’s so important?” To distract me from her ablutions, I took a closer look at the pale beige Gucci bag that Annabel had left on the wooden chair next to the hand washbasin. To my surprise, it was a designer knock-off, which was definitely a first. She usually only carried the real thing.
“I wanted to apologize.” Annabel started to pee. It was a delicate tinkling noise that made me cringe with embarrassment. “I know I’ve been a bitch to you from the start and I’m really sorry.”
This was completely unexpected. I didn’t know what to say mainly because I’d fantasized about Annabel apologizing to me for months, but not through a toilet door. She flushed, shouting, “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes!” I shouted back.
“I want us to be friends.” Annabel emerged from the stall to wash her hands. “I suppose I was jealous of you. Silly really.” She turned on the taps and studied her reflection in the overhead mirror as she pushed the soap dispenser and lathered up. “After you saved my life, I had this revelation.”
It was true, but it had been weeks since I’d rescued Annabel from almost certain death—weeks of having to put up with far more than her usual sarcastic comments.
“I know, I know, I should have said something sooner,” Annabel went on. “I was trying to pluck up courage.”
I was stunned.
Who would have thought!
“Is that why you’ve been following me?”
Annabel watched me via the mirror. Her green eyes widened with surprise. “Guilty as charged.” She laughed. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, you’re coming to the gala with me tomorrow night.”
“Are you joking? It’s hideously expensive.” It was also black-tie and I didn’t have anything to wear.
“Come on, we’ll have a laugh. I quite like the idea of flirting with Wilf actually—just to get him riled up.”
“What about Dr. Frost?”
“He’s working. As usual.” Annabel pulled a face. “He bought the tickets and told me to take a friend. You were the very first person I thought of.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I had to admit I was quite pleased.
“Just say yes.
Please
,” Annabel cried. “We’re both alone in the world, Vicky.”
I hesitated. She was right. It might be fun, plus it would be a good opportunity to see just how sincere her offer of the proverbial olive branch was. Besides, Dad always said,
“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
“Okay. I’d love to.”
“Excellent!” Annabel stepped closer and looked into my eyes. “Do you mind if I do something?”
“It depends,” I said instantly on guard. Topaz Potter, my so-called High Street spy and owner of The Copper Kettle café—was the last woman who had uttered just those words and she had tried to kiss me.
“I’ve been dying to do this.” Annabel reached for her handbag and pulled out a pink floral makeup bag. She grabbed a pair of tweezers. “Do you mind if I pluck your eyebrows? I’d love to make up your eyes, too. They’re the most incredible sapphire blue.”
“You’ve got nice green eyes,” I said lamely.
Annabel laughed. “They’re tinted contacts, silly. Seriously. People must compliment you all the time. Let me show you how to make the most of those cute little peepers.”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “But I’ve got a lot to do this morning.”
“Sit down there and just trust me, okay?” Annabel moved her fake Gucci handbag and set out her brushes on the narrow shelf.
As she plucked, applied shadows, powder, and mascara, we chatted about Wilf and Tony’s obsession with snail racing.
Annabel made me laugh. True, it was usually at someone else’s expense but, for those few minutes in the ladies’ loo, upstairs at the
Gipping Gazette
, I felt I had a friend at last. Maybe she really
had
, suffered a revelation? It was only fair to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Just a touch of blusher and lip-gloss and . . . voila!” Annabel stood back to admire her handiwork.”
I gasped. The face that looked back at me in the mirror was actually quite attractive. “Is that really,
me
?” I couldn’t stop staring at myself.
Annabel whipped out her mobile phone. “Mind if I take a picture?” And before I could protest, she’d taken a quick snap. “Of course, if we had more time I could have done something with your dreadful hair.”
“It’s illegal to ride a moped without a helmet,” I said defensively.
“You really need to buy a car,” said Annabel as she deftly touched up her own makeup.
“I’m saving up.”
Not everyone has rich boyfriends.
“Now we just need to revamp your wardrobe. That safari jacket has got to go. Who do you think you are? Christiane Amanpour?”
“It’s comfortable,” I mumbled. There was no question of me giving up my jacket. It had taken me months of traipsing around the flea markets in Newcastle, my hometown, in northern England to find one just like Christiane’s.
“Being fashionable is not about being comfortable,” Annabel scolded. “Anyway, I’ve got lots of clothes I never wear. I was going to donate them to the Salvation Army but you can have them. Thing is, they might be too big on top.”
As if to prove her point, Annabel plunged her hand down her neckline and started rearranging her breasts in her bra.
“Mrs. Evans is good at sewing,” I said hopefully.
“Why don’t you come over tonight?” she went on. “We could try on clothes.”
“That would be great!” I cried. “No, wait. I can’t.” I felt really disappointed. What a pity that I had this new look and no one was going to enjoy it.
“Hot date?” Annabel joked.
“I’ve already got plans.” For a second I fantasized that Lieutenant Robin Berry was not on maneuvers in the English Channel and that I was devouring him on a bed of monkfish medallions and drizzling chocolate sauce all over his—
“Are you all right?” Annabel said. “You’ve got a peculiar look on your face.”
“I was just thinking we could go to your place tomorrow lunchtime instead,” I said quickly.
“No can do.” Annabel picked up her handbag and brushed imaginary dust off the bottom. “I’ve got business in Tavistock.”
“Whatever for?” I said, puzzled. “Tavistock isn’t Gipping turf.”
“It doesn’t have to be. As Pete says, there’s a whole world out there. And anyway, I’m aiming for the big time,” Annabel declared. “You did it. Twice!” She paused in the doorway. “Oh! I take it you’ll be writing the obit for Scarlett Fleming?”
“Yes, why?”
“It might be an idea to look into why Fleming picked that weird limo company. Sounds suspicious.”
“I was going to,” I said.
Annabel smirked. “Don’t worry, Fleming’s all yours. I’ve got my hands full with this other thing.”
“If you need a sounding board—”
“I just might.” She flashed a beautiful smile and left.
I was flummoxed. What a turn-up for the books! How strange that all this time Annabel had been jealous of me. The Gastropod Gala tomorrow night was going to be fun—especially if she agreed to do my makeup, again.
I studied my reflection one more time. Surely it wasn’t that difficult to put kohl pencil around my eyes. After all, Neil Titley from Go-Go Gothic had done a good job of it and he was a
man.
The assignment Wilf had given me was something I knew I’d enjoy—especially since he said, “Take them to lunch if you have to.”
For the first time I felt like a real investigative reporter. What’s more, if Douglas Fleming had hired Go-Go Gothic for sinister reasons, it would provide the perfect guise to discreetly ask some questions.
I pulled Mr. Titley’s business card from my safari-jacket pocket. There was a Plymouth phone and a post office box number. I didn’t expect him to answer so I just left a message telling him that I was interested in his services.
Next, I needed to prepare for my meeting with Douglas Fleming. He might think that a “short paragraph” about his wife was acceptable, but I knew otherwise. The obituary pages in the
Gipping Gazette
were read with great relish by the old biddies in the town and I wasn’t going to let them feel cheated.
The Flemings had been enthusiastic members of the Gipping Bards, our local amateur dramatic society. Since Barbara was heavily involved and fancied herself as the next Helen Mirren, I decided to start with her.
5

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