47

‘Is this even up for discussion?’

‘It’s open to negotiation. Think about it. Cheers.’

Vee ended the call and tossed the phone on top of the laundry basket. Her schedule and her mind were full to overflowing, and still she was being pressured to take on more. What the hell kind of sabbatical was this?

She rose off the edge of the bathtub and walked to the basin. It was a long and majestic walk, much longer than it took in her own house, and on much nicer floors. She smiled, feeling the tiles under her feet. Cold tile was cold tile, no matter how fancy a bathroom you got.

She fiddled with the tap until she worked out which direction got the water flowing. She wasted more time adjusting the spurt from lava hot to mountain freeze and everything in between, until she got the temperature she wanted. Three days in this place and she still couldn’t work all its gadgets and mod cons. Good thing she had at her disposal a brilliant head on a capable, strapping pair of male shoulders. She grinned at herself in the mirror before lifting the toothbrush to her teeth. Screw it, she deserved her fun.

‘Was that another offer?’ called a male voice from the bedroom.

‘No,’ Vee mumbled over a mouthful of toothpaste. She spat. ‘Portia’s on my ass, again. She wants me to go on some women’s talk show and shamelessly promote the magazine.’ She shook her head. ‘As if we need help with circulation after this.’

She wanted a little peace and quiet and the universe was having none of it. The police had just gotten off her back. The forensic scientists had found a scrap of evidence in her car, buried deep in a crevice of the back seat cushions – a silver earring, a cross attached to a shrivelled piece of human tissue. So far the working theory was Rosie and Serena had thrown Jacqui’s body onto the back seat to dispose of it. When they dragged her out, the earring and part of her earlobe caught in the fabric of the seats and ripped out. Vee gagged every time she thought about it, driving along with a piece of another human being wedged in her car, surviving months of shampooing and vacuuming in its burrow. The next ride she would do extensive homework on beforehand, then take it apart herself and clean it top to bottom.

Now the press was hounding her for an interview about the investigation. Not to mention the blitz of emails from the WI’s image consultant, demanding that she speak candidly about the incident and disperse all rumours that murderous psychopaths roamed their halls. Vee had politely refused, telling her to get closure from justice being served, like the rest of the general public. The WI still circulated a statement to the effect that their reputable facility was in no way connected with the tragic circumstances of Jacqueline Paulsen’s death. The worst move they could’ve made, in Vee’s opinion. If it doesn’t stink, don’t spray air freshener. All they succeeded in doing was drawing attention to themselves, by implying a tenuous link to an isolated cold case. Now the press was on the hunt and WI had their work cut out for them. The thrill was gone.

Vee rinsed and knocked her toothbrush against the sink. She had to admit, she didn’t mind too much the fuss being made over her. It reminded her she still had swag, and if that wasn’t enough, the job offers from a few high-flyer news agencies were damn sure an ego stroke that came with a larger pay cheque. Now the only part she hated – and she’d expected there would be something, but not this – was being hounded by strangers to look into the tragic disappearance of their relative, friend, lover, colleague or pet. Vee didn’t know who put it about she was a P. I. who solved piddling mysteries or how her contact details got into circulation – she strongly suspected Charisma Mapondera and her devilry on both counts – but that problem wasn’t hers for now. Let Chlöe earn her new salary fielding calls and handling paperwork.

Vee headed to the bedroom. For a moment, she paused in the doorway and took it all in. The room was done up in white and teak, complemented by the right blend of muted tones and good furniture. She felt a deep pang. Were Jacqueline Paulsen alive, she would know what kind of décor this was. It was lost on heathens like her.

‘Maybe you should do it.’ Joshua looked up from his laptop. ‘Portia gave you something; you should give her something back. Lengthen your life span.’

Vee exhaled, exasperated. He was right, but contemplating the pound of flesh she owed and would eventually have to repay stuck in her throat. Portia the Proud, and ever strategic, had handed she and Chlöe over to City Chronicle. Chronicle was small, but its investigative beat was well worth the move. And they were one building away, where Portia would most definitely be keeping tabs on them.

‘Attention like this is always short-lived, not to mention hungry and dying to feed. I’ll make a fool of myself on camera to please her and have to live with that piece of history hanging over me forever. Hell no. I’ll find something else to trade with.’

‘Come on, you’d slay a TV appearance. You could wear that lacy bra with the pop-open front, great for ratings …’

Vee jumped behind him on the bed and wrapped her legs around his waist, and hugged his back. He smelled of clean cotton, soap and pheromones. Essence of Guy, God’s gift to womankind. The sun was out in full form, as it had been for days. The picture of contentment. All the picture needed was for Monro, outside sunning himself on the lawn of his dreams, to dash in with a Frisbee in his teeth. You’re a revolting cliché, she thought.

Vee tapped the laptop screen. ‘Ibekyu, I thought you were helping me find a new car to buy.’

Joshua scrolled down the Top Gear webpage, awash with unattainable supercars with their monstrous price tags and impossible specs. ‘My bad. Got a little carried away.’

Vee put her head back down on his shoulder. ‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should become a private investigator.’

Joshua’s shoulders arched up and dropped. ‘It’s not the worst idea in the world. Though personally, don’t bite my head off, but I don’t think you’re ready. You have bigger fish to fry for a while yet.’

‘Yeah. You’re right.’ She let it hang. ‘But I should learn how to use a gun.’

Joshua stiffened. Slowly, he closed the laptop and pivoted to face her. ‘Okaaay. That’s huge. Firearms are a major responsibility. You have to be fully trained to handle one.’

She wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t, seeing as he was in his no-nonsense mode. ‘I know something about guns, Joshua. I don’t take them lightly.’

He shook his head and reopened the laptop. ‘If you really want to learn how to carry a piece, you should ask your boyfriend Titus.’

‘Ti knows how to shoot? From where?’

‘Same place I learnt.’

‘You know how to shoot? When did my life turn into Walker, Texas Ranger?’

‘I’m from Brooklyn, and Titus owns a farm in your rebel hinterlands. Do the math.’ He tapped away at the keyboard. ‘You may want to sharpen your listening skills and spend less time abusing us to your salacious ends. We’re people, too.’ The mouse scanned across a car dealership’s web page. ‘How about a Renault Laguna?’

‘I’d rather walk barefoot on rusty nails.’

She left his side and curled under the duvet. ‘You still haven’t told me whose place this is,’ she murmured.

‘I bring all my women here. Don’t ask questions.’

That was their new mission statement. No questions. No hope, no expectations, unrealistic or otherwise. She could smell how horribly this would end a hundred miles away. ‘At least tell me what you’re paying for it, so I can really feel like a kept woman.’

‘Paying? Damn, you do get ahead of yourself. Ask me first if I even know whose house this is.’ He got to his feet, looking round the room and scratching his chin. ‘Remind me again how long it took the cops to reach you last time?’ He gave her a teasing look and walked out.

Vee rolled onto her stomach and propped a ridiculously soft pillow under her head. ‘Whatever, Joshua Allen. I am completely at my leisure.’