Dusty called a cab for both of us and, after brief discussion, I handed the full running of the shop to Lenny, with my aunt’s help.
“What about the alarm system in the shop?” Lenny said.
“Haven’t got round to sorting the remote package yet. Look, don’t worry, I’ll continue to take responsibility.”
“You sure?” Dusty said with a rare frown.
“Yup, I’m closer than you. Make sure you arm it each night before you leave.”
“Okay, between us we’ll drop your car back tomorrow,” Lenny said, “push the keys through the door.”
“What would I do without you?”
“Manage.” My aunt laughed, squeezing my shoulder.
I couldn’t imagine anything getting Dusty down. It didn’t have the elevating effect I’d hoped for. Dazed and with a terrible sense of foreboding, I asked the driver to drop us both at Dusty’s hotel, in town. After paying the fare, she asked if I’d be okay.
“I feel a lot better for talking.”
“Good girl. Want to come inside?” She looked up at the grand façade.
“No, thanks. I need to think.”
“Not too hard, I hope.”
She clip-clopped away on high heels and I walked up the steps to Belle Vue Terrace, a promenade with shops and galleries, set high up on the apex of two roads, and towards Rose Bank Gardens, with its impressive metal sculpture of fighting buzzards. On the steep path leading to one of the hillside walks, I heard my name called. Twisting round, I gaped at the extended hand. The man in the shop. The guy with the BMW. I wasn’t sure which appalled me most, the fake grin, rancid breath, or the threat of his touch. I dug my palms into the pockets of my shorts.
“Clive Mallis.” A smile lifted the edges of his mouth.
“I know who you are.”
His lips stretched thinner. I was in no doubt that he was possessed of a cold and ruthless intelligence. “Sounds like you’ve already made your mind up about me.”
“What do you want, Mr Mallis?” I took a step back.
“Clive, please,” he said, with a snicker. “I’m one of your dad’s oldest mates. No need for formalities.”
Breathing hard, I thought my pounding heart would detonate inside my chest.
“I know what kind of police officer you were,” I said with less emphasis than I’d intended, mainly because fear was oozing out of my every pore. Straightaway, he picked up on it.
“Some of it bad, if you believe what you’re told, which wouldn’t be wise at all. I only wanted to tell you that your father is a good man. Loves his kids,” he said, rolling his tongue around the words. “It would be a pity for a family, already broken, to be smashed apart over a silly misunderstanding.”
“Is that so?”
He continued to grin, although any warmth evaporated when it reached his cold and empty eyes.
“Did my dad put you up to this?”
“Molly,” he said, feigning shock. “How could you think such a thing?”
“I’m not Charlie Binns or someone you can extort loyalty from or threaten with knives and dead animals.’
‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’
My breath briefly snagged in the back of my throat. Mallis looked genuinely perplexed. No matter, I thought, furiously recalibrating. “Did you shut Binns up, or did you get someone else to do it for you?” Probably not my wisest move. The fixed grin faltered. His jaw tensed. Eyes narrowed to two thin slits. I was quite pleased to see a line of sweat break out across his brow. “Not sure I know what you mean.”
Attempting to push past him, I felt Mallis’s hand clamp on my arm, pinching the skin beneath my elbow. His grip was surprisingly dry – like a snake’s.
“Let go of me.”
“Calm down.”
“If you don’t, I’ll scream the town down.”
His lips hitched into a half-smile. “Okay,” he said, releasing me. “Sorry,” he added without conviction.
Peeling away, I retreated the way I’d come, the only physical legacy of the conversation a red mark on my skin where Mallis had gripped me. More worrying, was his strong emotional reaction to my question about Charlie Binns.
Out of the gardens, I shot back onto the pavement. At any second, I expected him to catch up and drag me to some place he could kill me. I liked to think I’d landed a fatal blow. Sixth sense told me he’d be back.
Jumping on a bus signed for Malvern Link, I got off at my stop and ran the short journey home. No sooner than I’d stumbled through the front door, Chancer called me again.
“Now’s not a good time.” Pain creased my temple, the makings of a cracking booze-in-the-day fuelled hangover.
“Tell me when is.”
I parked my phone between my left ear and shoulder and slumped onto the nearest chair. “What is it, Chancer?” One part irritation, two parts resignation.
“Firstly, how are you?”
You don’t want to know. “I’m all right. Early days. Sorry, I didn’t get to speak to you at the funeral.”
“That’s fine. I completely understand.”
“Nice to see you and Edie showing a united front.”
“Oh that,” he scoffed. “All show. Edie’s idea.”
“It was a kind thought.”
“Nothing kind about it. She couldn’t resist tagging along with me – manipulative cow.”
“Don’t be so vile.”
“Yeah, well,” he blustered. “Thing is, I wanted to invite you out for a walk.”
I scratched my chin. “You’ve never once asked me out for a walk.”
“Well, it’s high time I did. And,” he said pointedly, “I want your advice.”
“Is this connected to Zach?” I said warily.
“Zach? Not sure I follow.” I listened hard for any deceit in Chancer’s voice. “It’s about Edie.”
“Oh God, Chancer, I’m no good at relationships.”
“On this we can agree.” I was supposed to find it funny. I didn’t. “Please, Molly. I need to talk to someone. She’s driving me crazy.”
I took a bold breath. “Is that why you hit her?”
“Who on earth told you that?”
“Edie.”
“That frigging little bitch is the limit. Surely, you know me better than that?”
I didn’t know. From where I was sitting, anything was possible.
“Molly? Are you still there?”
“Sorry, yeah. Okay.”
“You’ll see me?” His voice soared several octaves, peculiarly overjoyed by the prospect. You’d think I’d agreed to hook him up with royalty.
“I meant I believe you.”
“Aw, Molly.”
“All right, all right, I give in.” If only to prove to Mallis that if he had any malign designs on me, I had a sturdy male companion.
“Great. Tomorrow afternoon. Got any walking boots?”
“Of course.” It was practically a requirement of living in Malvern, although I drew the line at walking sticks and the rest of the kit beloved by serious ramblers.
“We’ll have a smashing trudge across the hills in the sunshine and then I’ll treat you to dinner at The Swan.”
“Chancer, I don’t need to be treated.”
“Nonsense. I’ll pick you up at 3.30 p.m. See you then.”
With a splitting head, I fell into bed and pretty much slept the clock round, only waking to drink water, take painkillers and totter off to the bathroom. Magically, the next morning, I woke exceptionally early but with a clear head. That was the problem.
And then there was Rocco. I had to find him.