- -
- 100%
- +
‘No, never,’ I smile. ‘I have a lot on at the moment, that’s all. I’ve just come back from a book tour and a couple of my author friends had their launches this week as well so it’s been a bit hectic.’ I sigh like it’s all been one big drama.
‘I see,’ he says, flicking the doughnuts over in the basket where they bob and glisten in the golden oil. A white flickering catches my eye – a Missing Cat poster on the nearest lamppost flaps in the wind. Suki Shortcake. Missing since July. It’s actually my Prince Roland. No wonder he ran off with a name like Suki Shortcake. The doughnuts finish frying and Johnny tips them out of the basket onto a tray covered with flattened kitchen roll, scattering their brown tops with sugar.
‘Five for a pound or, to you, four plus one free for one hundred pence.’
‘Five is good, thank you.’
He shovels my doughnuts into a paper bag and winds it up in two knots. I hand him £2 and he places the warm bag on my palm, retrieving my change from his belt.
‘They smell magnificent, as always, thank you Johnny.’ I venture a hand into the bag but they’re too scalding hot and my fingers burn on impact.
‘How are book sales for the last one?’ He leans on the counter top.
‘Good thanks. Sold it to Greece and… Belgium this morning, in fact.’
Two young lads scuff towards the van, reading their options from the board.
‘Ah, that’s wonderful! And have you met David Schwimmer yet?’
I told him a few weeks ago that David Schwimmer had signed up to be in the movie they’re making out of my book Lovers in War.
‘Not yet. I think he’s coming over in the near future so maybe I’ll meet him then.’
‘That’s fantastic. I love Ross. Could I be more of a Ross fan?’
‘That’s Chandler,’ I laugh.
‘Oh yeah,’ he laughs, louder. ‘Which one’s Ross again?’
‘The dinosaur guy. Three divorces. Someone ate his sandwich.’
We both laugh when we realise neither of us can do a Ross impression.
‘Thanks for the doughnuts, Johnny,’ I say, picking up the cold can of Lilt which soothes my overeager fingertips.
He turns to the two lads who both want doughnuts too. ‘Okay, don’t be a stranger now, Charlotte. Yes, lads, what can I get you?’
I use the doughnut man, I admit that. I use him to make myself feel better. And some days it works. But today, it doesn’t. The doughnuts are too hot to eat and he is too busy to flirt to the required level that makes me feel good about myself. I want to go back to the flat, cave up in my duvet on the bed and hide.
But I have to work. Afternoon shift.
There’s only one more byte of information I can learn about Tessa Sharpe’s death – her hands were bound with ‘reusable cable ties’. I overhear General Manager Kimberley talking to the detective sergeant with the lazy eye. She says Trevor only has single-use cable ties for the TVs in the bedrooms so whoever killed Tessa Sharpe must have brought their own.
Room 29 is still out of action and the police are at the hotel all day, questioning the rest of the staff. For some reason they don’t question me though and I wonder why until Trevor informs me they want to talk to staff members who were on shift between 7 p.m. and midnight on the night she died. This discounts me from suspicion, at least.
‘Have you finished?’ says Vanda as I’m craning my neck around the staff office to hear what she’s saying to the investigating officer.
‘No, I wondered if there were any more J-cloths? There’s none on the shelves.’
‘No. You have to open new box. And shut the door.’
So I do. Nobody tells me what is happening – not Sabrina, not Claire the temp, not Madge, and all Trevor says when I catch him lumbering through with boxes is, ‘It’s a police matter now, let them do their job.’
When was I not letting them do their job? I only asked if they knew who’d done it yet. Why won’t he tell me?
He’s mending the coffee machine in the breakfast room when I finish my shift.
‘Do they have any CCTV?’ I say. ‘You know, of anyone not staying at the hotel who sort of wandered in?’
‘Don’t know yet. The detective lassie who came yesterday mentioned an ex-boyfriend so I think they’re looking at him for it. They won’t keep us informed cos it’s nowt to do with us.’
‘Of course it’s to do with us. It happened in the place we work.’
‘Yeah, but we’re not involved.’
I bite down on my lip. ‘We might be.’
‘How?’
‘Well, what if it’s a serial killer? What if Tessa Sharpe is only the first?’
‘She’s not. I told you, they’re investigating the boyfriend.’
‘Might not have been the boyfriend.’
He stops what he’s doing and looks at me. ‘What are you saying here, Gen? You saying the murderer is still around, waiting to strike again?’
‘Could be.’
‘Well, who is it then, Miss Marple? Who you got pegged for it? One of the chefs? The guy who comes to clean the fryers? Me?’
‘I don’t know. Nobody knows. I don’t feel safe here, I know that. It said in the paper this morning that she was… raped.’
He points at me with his screwdriver. ‘A young lassie died in terrible circumstances. Everyone here feels awful about it. But you going round saying things like that will only make things worse. You’ll scare people.’
‘I don’t mean to scare anyone, Trevor. I’m telling you how I feel.’
‘Leave it alone. Let the police deal with it. The family are coming up tomorrow to talk to the police. We don’t want any hysteria.’
‘I’m not hysterical. I’m worried.’
‘Yeah well, I’m worried ’n’all. I’m worried about keeping me bleeding job.’
He had nothing else to say. I don’t know why he got so funny with me, I wasn’t accusing him. Vanda and the rest of them had obviously poisoned him against me. They all thought I was weird. I say weird things. I eat my tea break biscuits in an odd manner – Chocolate Digestives chocolate first, then halved, then quartered; Custard Creams scraped out, put back together, bitten into a circle and rolled around my tongue; Jaffa Cakes chocolate first, cake second then suck the orange disc. I’d seen how they all looked at me. It was the way a pack of lionesses look at a deformed cub before they abandon it under a tree. I don’t blame them.
On my way out through the car park, I see Lola and Kiki standing beside an estate car loaded up with suitcases and inflatables. I wave goodbye but they don’t see me. I’m still wearing the ring they gave me, except it’s on my fourth finger now. If anyone asks, I’m going to say it’s an engagement ring. But nobody’s asked yet.
I feel better once I’ve got Emily’s warm little body snuggled against me – and we walk the long way home past the gym on Tollgate Road, where I linger outside to see if Kaden’s around. He’s in reception with a new member by the looks, a young woman in a leotard with long blonde hair and very thin triceps. They’re sitting in the bucket seats, going through some form. He’s flirting easily with her. She’s smiling, tucking her hair behind her ear. My chest squeezes painfully as we walk on by.
If you get scared again, call me. If I’m not home, I’ll be at the gym.
I’m not scared right now though, am I? I’m sad. Because Trevor at work hates me now, and he was my one friend. And Scants doesn’t want me calling him unless it’s an emergency. And Kaden was flirting with that woman. I want to go home. Back to Carew St Nicholas. Back where I was known and loved.
But that’s not an option. So I go back to the flat. In the dying light I can see post in my pigeonhole. A leaflet about the new self-storage place that’s opened on the ring road. End of Summer Sale at B&M. Autumn sale at Harvey’s, fifty per cent off blinds. A circular from Vodafone about going contract rather than Pay-As-You-Go. And a catalogue. Addressed to Miss Joanne Haynes. A catalogue I know I haven’t ordered.
A coffin catalogue.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.