Page 33 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
“Uh, yeah. Guess so. So you reckon that’s what happened? Amelia sold the real bling?”
“Did I say that? Vi seemed pretty well informed about the value of diamonds, didn’t she? It could have happened that way, though. I think we might want to start by having a look into Amelia’s finances.”
“‘We’?”
Phil smirked. “Meaning me. But if you want to help, you could start by pumping Greg for information on her relationship with his boss.”
“Hope you mean the bishop. I reckon her relationship with the bloke upstairs is something only she knows about now.” I frowned. “Hang about, though. Is that even relevant? To the necklace, I mean. Which, in case you’ve forgotten, is what Vi’s paying you to find out about. Not, you know, the murder of her stepmum, which she couldn’t give a toss about.”
He stared me out. “Maybe Amelia sold the necklace and gave the money to the church?”
“Yeah, ’cos she seems just the self-sacrificing sort who’d do that. Have done that,” I corrected myself.
“There’s more motives than altruism.” He huffed. “Maybe she wanted to butter him up for something. Maybe he was blackmailing her.”
“Maybe you’re just making up excuses for trying to find out who killed her, instead of just playing hunt-the-necklace?”
Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His lips were still quirked in an almost-smile when he answered. “Maybe I don’t appreciate people dumping dead bodies on my bloke.”
“Oi, I’m all right. Haven’t even had nightmares about this one.” That was technically true, so I didn’t feel the need to cross my fingers behind my back or any of that bollocks.
The girl in the nightmare hadn’t been Amelia; she’d been the little girl I found when I was a nipper. Still strangled, mind.
“Anyhow . . . I can’t see us solving one crime without the other. The way that necklace—the fake one—was left on her body, that’s got to mean something. Murderers don’t do something like that unless the victim’s seriously pissed them off.”
“Well, not unless they’re a complete nutter,” I agreed. “You think it was personal, then?”
“Maybe. Or maybe she was trying to use it to pay someone off, which is why the financial question. I can imagine some people getting pretty nasty if they’ve been promised a rock worth several hundred grand and fobbed off with a handful of paste.”
“What, like the bishop, you mean? No, seriously, I can’t see what he’s got to do with all this.”
Phil shrugged. “It’s just a gut feeling. Come on, it’s not going to kill you to ask a few questions. See if you can find out anything about the other people Vi mentioned while you’re at it.”
“What, Sir Prancelot and Uncle Artex?”
“Lance and Uncle Arlo would be two of ’em, yeah.” Phil stuck up the requisite number of fingers at me as a visual aid. “Talk to Cherry too. She might know something.”
I grinned. “Got it. Now, are we gonna talk about that lot all night? ’Cos I’ve got a few alternative ideas for what we could be doing instead.”
I rang Sis up at work next day. “Wanna meet for lunch?”
“Mm, can’t. I’ve got a meeting. I know, why don’t I come round to your house after I finish tonight?”
“Let me guess—Greg’s busy tonight, and you fancy having someone else cook you dinner?”
“Oh, well, if you’re offering. That’s very kind of you, Tom. Fish would be nice. Although not shellfish because of my—”
“Allergies, yeah, I got it. And you’ll have what you’re given and like it.” I was already planning a trip to the fish counter at the local supermarket. There was a recipe I’d been meaning to try for trout done Thai-style I reckoned would be right up Cherry’s street.
“Fine. I probably won’t leave the office until six, is that all right?”
“Yeah, no problem. Just let yourself in if I’m out when you get there, I’ll only be down the local shops.” After a bit of a dodgy experience a few months ago, I’d asked Sharon at number twelve to hand me back my spare key, which had given the old tact muscles a real workout. We were still speaking, so I hadn’t done too badly, and I’d given the key to Cherry. Hopefully I could trust her not to let any murder suspects in to lie in wait for me while I was out.
Now, you might be wondering why, seeing as I wanted to talk to both Cherry and Greg, I didn’t just arrange to see ’em both at the same time. The answer is that Sis, when she’s just with me, and Cherry, when she’s on her best behaviour for the uprightly reverend husband-to-be, are two very different animals.
I mean, I’m sure she’ll let her hair down once they’re married. It wasn’t anything that made me worry for the relationship, which I reckoned was pretty solid. Just, I could see her not wanting him to hear her speaking ill of the dead. And I had a feeling getting anything useful out of Cherry was going to involve quite a lot of speaking ill of dear old Amelia.
As it happened, a job went quicker than expected, and I was already back from the shops and in the kitchen when Cherry got in.
