Page 45 of The Dead Come to Stay
“I didn’t, but I’ll pass it on.” MacAdams pursed his lips a moment. “There’s no other reason you were in Newcastle?”
“No? Why?” But she’d just managed to catch his sideways drift. “You thought I was getting involved in the murder investigation, didn’t you?”
“I thought you were gettingmoreinvolved,” he said, which—fair—Foley did die not far from her doorstep.
“At least I’m not a suspect. I’m not, right?” she asked. MacAdams let out a protracted breath.
“No. And I’ll drink to that. Whiskey?”
Jo kicked her heels and watched him dig ice out of a SMEG. He handed her a glass and poured a single.
“Caol Ila,” he said. “Distillery near Port Askaig on the isle of Islay. Copper stills, but only half filled to maximize contact.”
“Moving on from Talisker?”
“Expanding horizons,” MacAdams corrected, clinking the rim of her glass. Jo took a sip; it was less peaty than she expected, like salt and caramel and smoke.
“Oh fancy, I like it. Here’s to not being on the incident board.” She waited till after MacAdams finished his first taste before adding, “I might be investigating something in a not-murder-case kind of way, however.”
“Does this have to do with a butty van?” he asked. “Gwilym told Sheila.”
“Did he tell you about the vanishing hiker?” Jo asked. MacAdams had the whiskey glass halfway to his lips. Now he stopped, and Jo went on in a hurry. “It’s probably nothing. But we saw her walk to the van, and then when we arrived, no one was there. Gwilym thinks they just kept on, slipped out of sight while we weren’t looking. Except I saw a vanagain, a similar one, this time in Newcastle.”
“Hold on,” MacAdams said, pointing his index finger (while still holding the whiskey glass). “How can you be sure it was the same kind?”
“Because I knocked on the window. He got angry as soon as he saw me and called me a—a nebby hinny?”
“Nosy woman, more or less,” MacAdams said.
“Am I being silly? It’s here near where Roberta found the body, then a woman vanishes, then I see it again in Newcastle and—”
“Awoman. The hiker was a woman?” A subtle change had just come over him. It looked like interest.
“Oh—it’s important,” Jo said.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Your face says it is.”
“I am assured that my face says very little,” MacAdams insisted, and Jo laughed.
“Not true. Well, it is true. But the little details matter. That’s my whole life—I mean, yes, people accuse me of not reading a room. But actually, I’m the only one who reallydoes. Looking for the secret handshake you all take for granted so much.Youreyebrow just twitched up and your hand went so still the whiskey stopped swishing.”
The timer went off, announcing that their food was ready. MacAdams picked up pot holders.
“You missed your calling in life,” he said, pulling the pies out. “Foley had a girlfriend we’re trying to track down. She is a person of interest. But you were talking about the artist your uncle hired—”
“Chen. She’s an expert on Augustus John,” Jo said, hopping off the stool to hunt in her bag. MacAdams seemed to be hunting too—for knives and forks. “There’s an exhibition. See? I need to go to York tomorrow.”
***
MacAdams dropped the silverware. A knife managed to skitter under the refrigerator, but it could stay there. He retrieved a second set and plated dinner.
Jo was going to York tomorrow. Of course she was. For someone who wasn’t a suspect, she ended up in the most curiously suspicious places.
“An exhibition,” he repeated.
Jo handed him the brochure. “On the Slade art school. There are paintings on loan from all over. Have you been?”
