Page 24 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
I seriously didn’t deserve him.
I must have been a bit previous calling Cherry, as when she picked up the phone there were the unmistakeable sounds in the background of an after-church coffee morning going full swing.
“Want me to call back later?” I asked after we’d exchanged hellos.
“Oh God, no.” It sounded a lot quieter on her end now. I guessed she’d nipped off for a bit of privacy. “It’s horrible. All anyone can talk about in there is the fayre.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean the ferret racing.”
“I really don’t know why Gregory didn’t cancel coffees today. He said Amelia would have wanted us to carry on as normal and not make a fuss, which I completely disagree with. She’d have wanted there to be as much fuss as possible.”
“You’re not wrong there. Was it Greg’s turn to do the service today, then?”
“No, but the bishop asked him to take over as he was too distressed.” There was a sarcastic edge to Cherry’s voice on the last word.
“Yeah, he seemed to be coping just fine yesterday, didn’t he?”
“Mm. Honestly, you have to wonder just why some people even join the church.”
“Mi-aow.”
“Oh, shut up. I’ve had just about enough of all the falseness her death’s brought out. Everyone saying how dreadful it was, when they obviously only want to hear as many details as possible. It’s just ghoulish, and it’s horrible.”
Okay, so Sis was definitely a bit more cut up about it all than I’d thought. “You want me to come over later? Or you could come to mine?”
There was a sniff. “Thanks, but we’re having tea at Mum and Dad’s later. I’d say come over and join us, but you know how they don’t like too many people round at once.”
I did. “Yeah, no worries. Say hi from me, though. And Phil, obviously.”
“I’ll give them your love.”
“What, Phil’s and all?”
“Of course. You’re engaged now. Have you set a date yet, by the way? You know Mum will ask.”
“Uh, no. Thought we’d get you and Greg hitched first, yeah?”
“Oh, Tom. A wedding takes a vast amount of planning. Don’t leave it too late.”
I’d been expecting a call from Gary all day, seeing as I hadn’t spoken to him since the fayre and he’s not normally the type to shy away from delicate subjects like yours truly falling over another corpse. So when the doorbell rang midafternoon, I thought it might be him.
It wasn’t. A flash blinded me, and then some bland-looking bloke I’d never met before lowered his camera and asked if I’d mind answering a few questions about Mrs. F-M.’s death for the benefit of the local rag.
“Uh . . .” Actually, I did mind, and I was still trying to think how to say that politely but firmly when Phil loomed up behind me.
“He says No bloody comment, and you can quote me on that,” Phil growled, and slammed the door in his face.
Fortunately he didn’t have a foot stuck in the doorway, or we might have ended up with a few toes as a souvenir.
I turned to frown at Phil. “Oi, I could’ve handled that. You didn’t have to be rude.”
“Yes, I did. That’s all their sort understand. Did he ask permission before he took your photo?”
“No. Shit. Is that gonna go in the paper?”
“Maybe. We didn’t give him much of a story to go with it.”
I didn’t much fancy my customers finding out about my little habit of tripping over dead bodies. Funny how getting mixed up with a few murders can give people second thoughts about inviting you into their house. And I didn’t need any more publicity for my psychic bloody talents, either. “Can we stop them printing it?”
