Page 75 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
Light cast a pathway to my left as the front door of the farmhouse opened. There was a Vi-shaped shadow bang in the middle. “Tom? Are you all— Oh my God!”
She ran over to me and crouched down to stare, wide-eyed, at my face. “Oh my God, what happened? Tom! Tom, can you talk?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, and wished I hadn’t.
“Oh God, oh God . . .” Vi carried on throwing a wobbly, then visibly pulled herself together. “Can you walk? Do you need an ambulance?”
Great. Just what I needed right now—more questions. I held up a hand, swallowed, and grimaced at the pain.
Headlights flared and got larger as a car came up the drive. Phil, thank God.
Except it wasn’t. The figure that got out of the driving seat seemed grotesquely sticklike where I’d been expecting Phil’s comforting bulk.
“Violet?” a voice called shakily, and I realised this was Alex Majors, home from his meal out.
He stepped closer and staggered to a halt. I thought for a mo we were going to have a second casualty on our hands. “Violet . . .” This time it sounded despairing.
Or maybe it was just my imagination, because Vi herself didn’t seem fazed. “Daddy, thank God. Help me get him inside. Something horrible’s happened.”
Between me and Alex, I wasn’t sure who was helping who back into the farmhouse, but at least Vi’s arm was a sturdy aid, slung around my back. She took me into the kitchen and sat me down at the sturdy oak table, its surface scarred from the knives of cooks long dead.
Not that I was feeling morbid or anything.
Alex pulled out a chair with a tooth-grinding scrape on the stone floor and sat down a lot more heavily than I’d have thought he was capable of. He still hadn’t spoken, apart from saying his daughter’s name outside.
“Daddy, should I call an ambulance?” Vi worried, hovering at my shoulder.
I held up my hand again. All I wanted was my bloke. I mean, my throat hurt, my hand hurt, and I had a killer headache, but other than that, I was just a bit shaken.
“Should I call the police?” she went on, either oblivious or simply ignoring me.
Okay, that one was a little harder to argue with.
Shit. Someone had tried to kill me.
Nausea rose, and my vision went patchy for a mo.
“Tom? Tom!” A hand on my shoulder steadied me. “Oh God, shall I make a cup of tea?”
Christ. I wished she’d stop asking me all these questions and bloody do something. Then I heard the sweet, sweet sound of hefty fists banging on an antique front door. With a definite hint that if it wasn’t opened soon, the door might not live to regret it.
Phil. At least, I hoped to God it was.
Alex had jumped a mile at the first knock.
Vi didn’t look happy either. “Oh God, who’s that? Daddy, can you go see?”
Alex took a shaky breath. “No. No, you should go, Violet.”
She gave him a funny look, but went, leaving me and her dad alone in the kitchen.
Which was a flippin’ fantastic time for it to occur to me that he’d arrived on the scene suspiciously soon after I’d nearly died. Say, just enough time for someone to leg it down the drive to a car they’d left parked down the road, get in, and motor up to the house like they’d only just got here.
I stared at Alex. He wouldn’t try anything now, would he? In his own kitchen?
I mean, he prepared food there.
Then Phil burst in with Vi trailing after him, looking like he’d battled all the demons of hell to get here. “What the bloody hell’s happened? Tom?”
