StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (14 page)

“Thus negating the point of having the food delivered.”

“Fine, then we’ll order from one of the others and you can go and get it. In the rain. And it’ll be cold…”

He threw up his hands. “All right, okay, go and get it. Do you want me to come?”

“I’m fairly sure I can manage to pick up a takeaway menu on my own.”

Luke gave me a look of deep sarcasm and I managed to almost ignore that, too.

Why is it that as soon as it starts raining, cars turn up all over the place? What about all the people who were already out walking? Or the ones at home. Do they suddenly decide that a trip in the car must be taken? I hate driving in the rain. The car never corners as well—and I’m driving someone else’s car now, too—or brakes as sharply, and the windows mist up, and my shoes squeak on the pedals.

I parked up behind my flat and went in through the gate to my little courtyard. And then I sucked in a breath and wished I had my gun with me, because there was someone sitting by my door in the lee of the fence.

He looked up, and it was impossible to tell if his face was wet with tears or rain.

“Harvey?” I peered closer. I could just about tell him and Xander apart—helped in no small part by a small scar on Xander’s forehead.

“Yeah. Sorry if I startled you.” His voice was dull, his face closed.

“No, you—well, yeah. You’re lucky I didn’t have my gun.”

“I guess.”

“Well.” I fit my key into the door. “You could look happier to see me. How long have you been here?”

He stood up, shrugging. “I dunno. Half an hour, maybe?”

“You must be frozen! Harvey, why didn’t you call me?”

He shrugged again. “Battery ran down. Have you seen Angel?”

I nodded as he followed me inside. “Yesterday. She told me about…about Rachel.”

Harvey sniffed and ran his hands over his wet face. “And?”

“And…I think you should have told her.”

“I was going to! God, I was going to. I’ve had this from Xander and my mom and even Shireen—”

“Who?”

“Rachel’s grandma. I called her and she said probably I should get Angel and Rachel together—my daughter should meet her stepmom, I guess…”

I was torn between anger that he’d hurt Angel so much, and that he’d been so stupid, and pity for Harvey. Really, I’d usually just stick with the anger. Angel deserves better, all men are scum, et cetera. But Harvey really was a lovely guy. Sweet and charming and funny and cute and clever and financially viable—not that Angel needed money, but it was nice to know he wasn’t after hers. I’d always been jealous of what they had, no sooner looked but they loved and all that. And now this. I guess no relationship is perfect.

“Sophie—” Harvey caught my arm as I reached out to unpin the takeaway menu from my overpopulated cork board, “—do you hate me?”

I frowned in confusion. “Of course I don’t hate you, Harvey, why would I?”

“Angel does.”

“Yes, well, Angel’s hurt and confused. She loves you, Harvey. She’s not going to let something like this get in the way of that.” I retrieved the menu and turned to face him. “Do you love her?”

It was right there in his face. Who doesn’t love Angel?

“You know I do,” Harvey said quietly.

“Well, then. I think you need to explain to her why you didn’t tell her about Rachel sooner and maybe, yeah, get them to meet up.”

“Easier said than done.” He shoved his hands moodily into his pockets. “She won’t talk to me. I went to the church—” he’s not crazy, Angel lives in a converted chapel, “—and she wouldn’t let me in. Won’t answer my calls. Will you help me?”

“How? I’m not going to take sides here.”

“Just get her to come over here or something so I can talk to her.”

I sighed. This plan had “disaster” written all over it.

“Okay,” I said. “But not now, all right?”

He looked belatedly at the keys and takeaway menu in my hand. “You’re not going to see her, are you?”

“No.” I rubbed my face with the heel of my hand. “I’m going back to Luke’s.” Harvey’s face registered surprise. “I mean—we were working on a case—that is, on something—did you hear about SO17?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m probably—I mean, I guess this isn’t going to please Angel much either, but I’ll still be with the CIA.” He put his head on one side. “You’re working on a ‘case’?”

Was that very nearly a smile there on his face?

“Yes,” I said, fighting my own smile, “and don’t look like that. Luke has another woman.”

“He does?”

“Well, had. She was a bit of a psycho. But there is
nothing
going on between us.”

Harvey looked utterly disbelieving. As well he might: I've protested about it before for absolutely hours, then jumped straight into bed with Luke.

“A girl was killed when we were in Cornwall,” I explained, “and I want to look into the case. Luke’s helping me. Might as well use contacts while we still have them.”

Harvey smiled at the “we”. “Okay,” he gave a facial shrug, “well, in that case, I’ll be off. Don’t want to interrupt your romantic evening.”

“Stop that.”

He grinned and ruffled my hair. “So nothing happened in Cornwall? Apart from this dead girl, I mean.”

Oh, boy.

“It was pretty boring,” I said. “You wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

Chapter Eight

I woke up the next morning feeling hungry and then confused. I’d easily eaten twice my body weight in dansak last night, and I still felt horribly bloated and fat, yet I was hungry. What, as Xander might say, was up with that?

I’d printed off another copy of the e-mail so Luke and I each had one, and I’d sat up underlining bits I thought might be pertinent. Especially the interview with Gavin Beasley. He said he and Molly had had a “bit of a fight” on the night in question, and when probed further, had said it was a small, trivial dispute and he couldn’t remember what it had been about.

Yeah, right.

All five of the people holidaying with Molly worked at the Eden Village in Norfolk. I loved Eden. When I was a little girl I went there with my family and loved it so much I made them take me back every year. It wasn’t far to go, we could take Norma Jean, didn’t have to learn a new language, and they had lots of vegetarian food. The “village” is based around a huge indoor pool complex, and then there are shops and restaurants indoors, a massive sports hall where Chalker and Dad spent most of their time, lakes and boats and acres and acres of forests. I’m hardly a city girl—I’ve lived most of my life in a village with five thousand other people—but even I appreciate the quiet nature of the place. Plus they have a beauty spa where I wanted to
live
.

I slouched downstairs and made some coffee, and fed Tammy and Norma Jean. Sitting at the kitchen table with all my notes spread out, I stared into space (actually, the back garden) and thought back on last night. I’d promised Harvey I’d get Angel over some time so they could talk, then
hared
back to Luke’s with the takeout menu. We’d ordered, then Luke had given me a penetrating look (I should not let myself think like that) and asked what was up.

“Why should something be up?”

“You’re quiet.”

Since I developed a reputation for talking too much pretty much as soon as I progressed from “ga-ga”, I’m a little sensitive to people telling me something’s wrong if I'm quiet.

“Can’t I just be thinking about stuff? Hello, murder case? Do I have to talk all the time? Am I supposed to be entertaining you?”

Luke took a step back.

“Or maybe you’re totally fine,” he ventured.

“Damn straight.” I flumped down on the chesterfield and folded my arms. Luke poured out a beer for himself and got a bottle of water for me and came over, sitting at the other end of the sofa. I took a swig and stared at the far wall for a while, the hidden door in the panelling where Luke keeps his guns and his old photos. I wondered if there were any of me in there. I seemed to remember a weekend spent with a disposable camera and not much in the way of clothes…

“Harvey has an eight-year-old daughter,” I said, and Luke nearly spilled his beer. Only nearly, though. He’d never waste beer.

“Harvey—Angel’s Harvey?”

“Who else’s? Her name is Rachel,” I said, parroting Angel, “and her mother died in a plane crash when she was a baby. When Rachel was a baby, I mean.”

“Obviously.”

I looked sideways at Luke. He looked shocked, but then he’d still managed to be sarcastic, so he couldn’t be that freaked.

“Does Angel know?”

“She does now. She came home yesterday. Alone.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Harvey?”

“Came home today. Locked out. Angel wants to break off the engagement.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Well, actually I guess she already has. If she doesn’t want to get married, then I suppose they don’t get married.”

“Jesus.”

“Yep.”

We were silent for a bit, then Luke said, “So I suppose I don’t have to be an usher then.”

“And I don’t get to be maid of honour.”

“As if you could fit into either category.”

“Hey!”

He grinned. “I’m speaking from personal experience here.”

“I—I can be honourable…”

Luke nodded, his smile softening. “Yeah, you can be.”

Thankfully at that moment the doorbell rang, and Luke went over to get the takeaway. We talked a little bit more about the case, but not about Angel and Harvey. I’d had to tell someone—just to hear the words out loud, I think—but I didn’t really want to talk about it. I didn’t want it to be true.

Although in a very small, perverse and petty way, I was slightly glad. It was one of those selfish impulses. My love life is a wreck, so why should I have to suffer other people’s happiness?

Now it was morning and I sat there sipping coffee and looking over the case notes. There were several rather grotesque pictures of Molly’s body as it had been found: white, bloated, cut in places and wrapped with seaweed. Her head hadn’t been washed much by the tide, so there was still a lot of blood on her face from where she’d been hit.

My hand went up automatically to the lump on the side of my head. Unless I was lying down, or brushing my hair or something, it was easy to forget. Likewise, the little cuts and bruises on my arms and legs. There was a bigger cut on my calf, where I think something with pincers had been having a go at me, but even that was healing pretty well. I guess salt water is good for that, even though all the cuts stung for days afterwards.

As I was getting dressed, I heard the phone ring and listened out for the answer phone message.

“Hi, love, it’s me—”

Mum!

“Oh, you’re probably not up yet, it’s dark where we are, I’m just ringing—”

I galloped down the stairs, nearly breaking my neck, and grabbed the phone. “Mum?”

“Sophie! Thought you were still in bed.”

“No, I was getting dressed…” I looked at the clock. Eleven a.m. Ahem. “Isn’t it really late where you are?”

“Well, it’s nine o’clock, just starting to get dark. All the insects are getting noisy…”

I smiled, picturing her shuddering. My mother hates insects. I can’t believe she went to a country so full of them. “Where are you?”

“Port Douglas. Sophie, it’s gorgeous here. Like a real Eden. We’re right up in the actual rain forest, the hotel lobby has no walls and there are parrots flying in and out all the time.”

“Is it warm?”

“It’s really balmy. What’s your weather like there?”

I looked out of the window. It was drizzling.

“Well, the garden’s getting watered,” I said diplomatically.

“Has the road been flooded?”

“Not yet. I—” I was just about to say I was driving her Corsa at the moment, so I hoped the road wouldn’t get flooded, and then I realised that to tell her that would be to explain where Ted was… Where was Ted? Didn’t Maria’s admirers say they’d have him back by today?

“How was Cornwall?”

“Oh, you know…” Hangings, drownings, people attacking me, the usual. “Cold and rainy. But very pretty. Maria’s aunt’s cottage is great. Maybe we should see about renting it in the summer or something. The village is really nice.” Even if my calves still haven’t recovered from the hills yet.

“I’ll tell your dad—what’s that?” Her voice got distant. “Oh. He says hello, and Charlie too.” My mother is the only person in the world who calls my brother Charlie. “Listen, love, I've got to go. This is costing a fortune.”

I said goodbye and hung up, looking out at the drizzle and wishing I was in a balmy open-walled hotel with parrots zooming in and out. Don’t get me wrong, I love England, and I really like autumn and winter, but I did wish that the weather would just do something, I don’t know,
proper
. Like heavy rain. Or even snow. Gorgeous white settling snow.

But no. The weather was grey.

I swaddled myself in outdoor clothes and dumped a stack of Norma Jean’s towels in the porch, saddled her up and took her out for a walk. This is why I prefer cats: when it’s raining they curl up somewhere and stay dry. They don’t need walking. And they don’t need drying. And they don’t smell.

My phone rang when I was about a mile from the house, and it was Harvey.

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good.” He sounded pretty cheerful for someone whose relationship was falling apart. “I spoke to Shireen last night and guess what? She thinks it would be a really good idea for Rachel to come and spend Christmas in England.”

I opened my mouth, about to ask if Shireen had been calling from a mental institution, then closed it, and tried to sound more supportive.

“Are you sure?” I said doubtfully. “I mean, it’s a totally new environment and you’re not—I mean, where are you even living right now?”

“Airport Hilton. She’ll love it. She loves hotels. And look, Angel loves kids, right? She and Rachel are going to get on really well. By Christmas Day we’ll be back together.”

I winced. I actually winced.

“Is it all final? When is she coming in?”

“This afternoon,” Harvey said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “Sophie, you should meet her, she’s such a great kid. Really smart. And she’s gorgeous, too. Looks just like her mother.”