Wilma

‘You did what?’ In the conservatory to the rear of her bungalow, Wilma nearly jumped out of her chair.

‘Took on that Mrs Struthers I told you about.’

‘Maggie Laird!’ She lapsed into the vernacular. ‘Will ye no learn?’

‘Yes, yes.’ From the fat cushions of the cane chair opposite, Maggie held her hands up in a show of surrender. ‘I know you’re going to throw that Argo case at me again, but this is different.’

‘Different? How? Tell me that, will you?’

‘Mrs Argo was sick.’

‘I’ll give you “sick”. She was a bloody head-banger!’

‘That’s unfair, Wilma, and you know it.’

‘Unfair, now, is it? Pesky creature wasted hours of our time. And this Struthers woman sounds to me like more of the same. I’d put money on it she’s shooting you a line.’

‘Sheena Struthers is scared,’ Maggie insisted. ‘I could see it in her eyes.’

‘Why doesn’t she go to the police, then?’

‘Moves in exalted circles. Wants to keep it quiet.’

‘She could divorce the bastard.’ Stage wink. ‘On the quiet, like.’

Maggie shrugged. ‘Loves him, by all accounts.’

‘Och,’ Wilma snorted. ‘They all say that, leastwise till they’re lyin up at ARI wi muckle tubes runnin out of them. Anyhow, did we no agree we were tae phase out the domestic stuff?’

‘You’re right, Wilma. We did, only…’

Wilma cut her short. ‘An did we no mak that decision for a reason?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘A good reason. And that reason was, them cases take up too much fuckin time,’ Wilma was pink in the face, ‘for all they fuckin bring in. Ye’re a grown wumman,’ she wagged a fat finger, ‘but ah wonder, sometimes, what’s atween yer ears.’

Maggie stiffened. ‘There’s no need to be insulting.’

‘None intended. Dae ye no see?’ Wilma leaned across the coffee table, took hold of Maggie’s hand. ‘Ah’m only tryin tae protect you, ya feal quine.’

Maggie snatched her hand away. ‘I’m perfectly capable of managing a case on my own, thank you. As you’ll concede I’ve been doing for some time now.’

‘Perfectly capable,’ Wilma mimicked.

‘Now you’re being facetious.’

‘Fac-ee whit? Fur fuck’s sake, Maggie, cut it wi the lang words. All ah’m sayin is ye’re a soft touch.’

‘I am not.’

‘No? Dae ye mind thon bodybuilder?’ Wilma sat back, folded her arms. ‘He was desperate, says she. An that pair at Westhill? An the woman out Sheddocksley way? An…’

‘Point taken. I might have been a bit gullible then, but if I’ve learned one thing from my experience as a private investigator it’s to trust my instincts.’

‘Well,’ Wilma reverted to business mode. She unfolded her arms and raised a finger to her face. ‘My nose is telling me this Struthers thing is a bit whiffy.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Maggie remonstrated. ‘Sheena Struthers comes across as perfectly straight. She’s genuinely apprehensive, otherwise why would she go to the trouble of approaching us? And despite what you say, I warmed to her. She’s a nice woman.’

‘Nice, is it? You’re too easily taken in by appearances, Maggie Laird. Just because she lives in Milltimber and the husband doesn’t get his hands dirty doesn’t stop her taking you for a mug.’

Since she’d moved to Mannofield, Wilma couldn’t credit how easy folk made a crust. Back in Torry you’d be on a building site in all weathers, or standing in a fish processing factory on a wet concrete floor.

Maggie sighed inwardly. Right again! She could still remember her reaction when Wilma had rolled up on her doorstep: how she’d shrunk from the sheer vulgarity of the woman. Then that first time she’d been invited into Wilma’s home: how gob-smacked she’d been at the over-the-top furnishings, how she couldn’t stop herself from mentally totting up the cost.

‘If you must know, I did turn her down.’

Wilma calmed down. ‘There you are.’

‘But in the end she managed to convince me.’

‘Christ!’ She bristled again. ‘Didn’t I say you were a soft touch?’

‘It wasn’t only that. If you must know, I fancy a challenge. When we started out, we were only going to pick up a bit of this and a bit of that. Basically, what the big players didn’t want. We’ve been all over the place. It’s time we moved on.’

Wilma grinned. ‘I’m up for that.’

‘Be serious! I know the bread and butter stuff is the backbone of the business, but it would be nice, just once in a while, to tackle something really meaty.’

‘Do you not think we’ve challenge enough, Maggie, taking the business forward and still holding down our jobs? You’ve two kids and all to think of.’

‘Agreed.’ Maggie recalled, with a pang of guilt, the number of times she’d made it to school by a whisker, the duties she’d skimmed over, the ready-meals she’d dished up. ‘But it’s such a grind, this endless round of witness statements and credit checks.’

‘Get you! It’s me does the bulk of the checks.’

‘I know.’ Shamed look. Though Maggie had worked to improve her IT skills, Wilma was more clued up, her fingers nimbler on the keyboard. ‘All the same, it would be good to focus on something that would tax my brain cells.’

‘You could take up crosswords.’

‘As if.’

Wilma stroked her chin. ‘If you’re having second thoughts, you could still back out.’

‘How can I?’

‘Give the Struthers dame a ring. Say something’s come up.’

‘I couldn’t do that.’ Indignant voice.

‘Why not?’ Wilma’s blue eyes widened. ‘You haven’t gone and given her our terms of business, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, you’re not committed.’

‘But how could I…?’

‘If you don’t want to ring and tell her yourself, just don’t accept her calls. She’ll get the message soon enough.’

‘Wil-ma, that would be a dreadful thing to do.’

‘I don’t doubt it, but a whole lot better than landing yourself in it.’

Pursed lips. ‘Sheena Struthers is the real deal.’

‘So you say.’

Maggie turned on her friend. ‘If you’re so sure she’s a phoney, why don’t you sit in on our next meeting and judge for yourself?’

Wilma squared up. ‘I might just do that.’