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I woke up to bright sunshine and an even brighter Rachel. "I made you tea." The smile was ear to ear but ice-cold. "Would you like some toast?"
My ribs were giving me gyp, but her brittle cheeriness killed me. "Rachel, I'm sorry."
Her chin was up. "Nothing to be sorry for."
Damn. "It's not you, love." Deep breath, and I was sitting up. "I just can't get involved."
"Of course. I'm grateful, Max. I feel a lot better." Another gigantic smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The decorator is on her way to my place, so I'll be running along."
"But Rachel -" I hastily whipped the blanket back to cover my morning boner.
She chattered on. "My clients need to see me, too. I'm on in an hour."
And then she blew me a kiss and walked out the door, leaving me still on the sofa, saying, "But Rachel" like a damn fool.
As it took me a good few minutes to sit up, she was well gone before I got it together. There was no point in chasing after her, so I got on with my morning.
The newspaper noted three men had been attacked and beaten, but mistakenly speculated a gang attack. From the photo, they were taking up space in the hospital ward rather than the nick. One of their mates had done the sensible and tidied away their inventory before calling for help.
My hitching a ride wasn't mentioned. I guess the driver decided he'd rather not be involved. It was excellent news, as it meant there was no connection to me.
I drank my coffee, enjoyed the luxury of an egg and bacon sandwich, and by the time I washed up, the codeine was working miracles and noises were emanating from downstairs.
I went down expecting to see Quentin and ran into my mother.
"Max, you've been in the wars again." She acted cool, but her eyes gave her away. "Have you seen Doc Jerry?"
"Morning, Mum. Don't fuss. I'm fine."
"What happened?"
I had forgotten she was intent on being informed. She was worried, but old habits kicked in. "Just a drunk."
"Not the Razor's chief dealer and his mates that deal from their flat above the Spinnaker?"
"Mum, you should work for MI6."
She rolled her eyes. "It's all over the papers. Three men mysteriously beaten."
"They mistook me for an easy target. It won't happen again."
She pursed her lips. "And we thought you were just hooking up."
"Oh?"
Quentin staggered in, carrying packed pies, pastries and Scotch eggs. "Nice shiner. Does Rachel like it rough or did you slip in the shower?"
"Bugger off."
I acted cheery and began helping to stack the food in the display case, but with those two, it didn't fly.
"No luck, huh?" Quentin sympathised.
"Rachel's a sweet girl and she's had a crush on you since you were kids." Mum shook her head. "But there's too much baggage, Max."
"She's a looker," Quentin mused. "I've asked her to sit for me. She has brilliant eyes."
"Her dad was violent and a soak," Mum said. "And her mum was a sad case. Heroine, I think. Rachel is quite different, but she makes some terrible choices."
"Like turning Max down," Quentin grinned.
"Like Lucian DeVere and that thug Jaffa from the Razors," Mum said astringent. "Max doesn't need that kind of trouble."
I ignored them both and began sweeping the floor. "How's business?"
"Terrific." Mum glowed with happiness as she wiped down the tables. "We're upping our order with the brewery and we're adding to the menu."
"Excellent."
Quentin cleaned the till and emptied the float into it. "We're lucky. Now the pandemic's over, people are dying to be out and about again."
Mum nodded. "I'm also talking to Vera Smith, the woman who does the bookings at Sunshine Tours. They bring over tourists every week. Thirty people at a time. I reckon they'd love a pub lunch."
"Thinking big, Mum. Love it."
She grinned. "I think we can cover the bank payment for this month if we tighten our belts. You're not to worry about it, Max."
That's my mum. A backbone of steel. The determined mouth warned me not to argue. "Excellent. As you're forging ahead, any leads on plumbing jobs?"
She was right on it. "Betty Hoyle says their storage room at the butcher shop needs a new sink and Henry Vane wants a leaking loo fixed."
"Great." I wanted to think about the case and figure out new leads. Working with my hands would help. There would be bills to pay soon, too.
"Max, let me do that sweeping," Mum ordered. "Your ribs are sore."
"Exercise is good for that."
It helped and fixing the sink at the local butcher's and old Henry's bathroom kept me happily occupied for the rest of the day. Plumbing isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I love it because a successful job means creating order out of chaos.
I was lucky that day because there was a puzzle to solve, too. Henry Vane's loo wasn't leaking. Testing all the taps and tracing the problem, I discovered a pipe behind a tiled wall that had been installed incorrectly by a cowboy workman.
As Henry switched off the water, I took a hammer to his wall, removed the pipe and put in a new one at the proper angle. Thankfully, I'm a dab hand with plaster and tile as well. It was an interesting job and by the time I finished, it was beer o'clock.
Unfortunately, Alex was at the bar, and so was Grimstead. From my cousin's grin and the policeman's scowl, they were sparring. Quentin put a pint on the bar without comment, but he winked.
Alex dived right in. "Hello, panda."
Grimstead bristled. "Where did you get that black eye?"
"Walked into a door."
"There was a bust up outside the Bedraggled Duck last night. Were you there?"
"No."
"And a fight by the marina."
"You really need to get your act together. All this violence is killing our tourist trade."
The piggy eyes narrowed. "Art King and his mates got a going over too."
"Shocking," Alex exclaimed. "Three fights in the middle of the week and off-season? Trigger is right. Instead of boozing it up, get your arse on the beat, Grimstead."
He was purple with rage. "You bastards. I should arrest you."
I ignored him, but Alex twisted the knife. "Tell it to your pal, the mayor."
Grimstead turned on his heel and stormed off.
"He'll have a heart attack one of these days."
"He's an incompetent twit." Alex didn't mince his words. "And you're a goddamn fool."
"Thanks."
"You could have been killed. The King brothers do almost more product than they sell." My cousin was in a snit, grumbling because he was worried. "After Art King was done for carrying a knife, they started using bats for their punishment beatings. But the stupid bastards still managed to kill a bloke last year. They bashed in the back of his skull."
"Typical amateurs. No worries, though. Our business is over."
"Until the next time." Alex was gloomy. "Face it, Trigger, there are plenty of people out there looking for payback."
I appreciated the concern, but this was my cousin talking. "I'll be fine."
"How much did you make today? Get me that blackjack defaulter and I'll give you twenty thou."
Told you. The man never gives up. I drank my beer and wished I'd gone to the Bedraggled Duck.
Then it got worse.
"Ah, here they are." Alex got to his feet. "Gin and tonic, Lucian? Donovan, the same?"
The mayor and his political adviser smiled, nodded and shook hands with half the pub as if they were old friends, and manhandled the half they didn't know before they could escape. By the time they were done, the gin was well-iced.
DeVere smiled as he picked his up but his tone was chilly. "As you won't liaise with Donovan, we're checking in."
Temper got to me. "If you're unhappy, just say so."
DeVere pokered up. "Pull the other one. It's not unreasonable to ask for progress reports."
He was right. I didn't like it, but the man had the right to know what he was getting for his money.
"Sorry to interrupt." Doc Jerry leaned in. "Lucian, will there by a vote on the development soon?"
"Yes. It's tabled for the next council meeting. It's not open to the public as the room is too small, but we will stream on Zoom." DeVere patted his pockets and produced a card. "Here's the channel."
Doc Jerry lowered his voice. "My surgery's catchment area includes the Cullen Majestic."
"No worries," DeVere responded instantly. "I intend to vote for the beach development."
"No truth then to the rumours that you want to rezone Sunnyside?"
"None. Much more efficient to have it all in one place," DeVere said. "Easier to build, easier to market and easier to police."
Dr Jerry grinned, no doubt hearing the cha-ching of twenty thousand extra visitors looking to him for emergency refills and help with falls, heatstroke, jellyfish stings, and other holiday mishaps.
As the doc vanished, DeVere lowered his voice. "Well?"
Although he was paying me, it hit me I hadn't reported to anyone in years. And this wasn't talking to my cousins about business. I was in two minds whether to tell him about all my findings, especially with Alex and Donovan there.
DeVere proved why he was mayor. "Hey Donovan, we should take advantage of meeting Alex by soliciting his views on the upcoming public transport changes."
And Donovan jumped to it like a pro. "Absolutely. Alex, would you mind terribly if we talked shop? As you're the largest employer in Ringmere, your views are extremely valuable."
My cousin grinned and took advantage. "Terrific, your round, Donovan."
I was in for smooth direction too. DeVere put a hand on my arm. "I hear the flat upstairs is Jacobean. I'd love to see what you've done with it."
So it was that after years of having the flat as my private domain, I had yet another visitor sitting on my sofa, admiring the oak panelling, the wooden staircase and the massive bay window. He was eloquent, but the way he gazed into middle space hinted his mind was elsewhere. I'm patient, so I waited.
DeVere finished praising the old glass in the bay window and frowned. "That obvious patience is very irritating."
"Then let's get down to business."
DeVere pushed back. "Fine. Do you need more from me for your investigation?"
"An introduction to Mandy Owens' caseworker."
"Ring Roxanne tomorrow morning. Anything else?"
"No."
"Great. Can you give me an idea of when you'll wrap this up?"
"Not yet."
DeVere sighed. "It's a bitch of a case, huh? Well, do your best."
I'm not easily surprised, but that was unexpected. "I thought you wanted a progress report?"
"Ideally, yes. But you want to work the case alone." DeVere eyed me up. "You irritate the hell out of me. You're judgemental and you have no problem showing it. It's not an attractive quality."
"Is that so?"
"Arsehole," DeVere sighed. "You are the way you are. My focus is on getting the result. Punching you in the nose would be mere frivolity and distraction."
"You're welcome to try."
"Yeah, you're a tough guy," DeVere eye-rolled. "I didn't murder Mandy, and I want a result, so keep going with the investigation."
"Donovan won't like that."
The easy smile flashed. "He's a brilliant lawyer and unbeatable as a strategist, but he's a micromanager. I'm big picture."
He was a sod, fearless, devious and manipulative, and certain to be a winner. He'd make his fifteen million, expand his influence, and make the cabinet easily. Prime Minister was on the cards as well.
We'd never be friends, but I appreciated his practicality. The man had a lot going for him. But a wife in bed with a local gangster could ruin it for him. Cuckolds don't rate trust or respect. We were alone and I could give him the heads-up. What stopped me was a question: if DeVere didn't want a report, why was he so keen to be in private? There was only one answer: there was more business.
DeVere glanced around. "I see you like your single malt."
Dutch courage. Interesting. I poured us a stiff one each. "Slàinte mhath."
"Slàinte." DeVere sipped and observed, "Menzies was all for rezoning and developing Sunnyside, but sadly for Masher, he lost the election."
The wry tone gave it away. "You know."
He shrugged. "Lara is a dreadful liar. The last few weeks, she's been cheery, loving, and extra busy with her charities. I guessed there was someone, but not who. Then she took a sudden interest in my work and began lecturing me on revitalising abandoned industrial estates." DeVere sipped his drink. "Yesterday, Donovan spotted her by the Spinnaker. That's when the penny dropped."
Back in the day, I'd dealt with plenty of men who'd discovered their wives stepping out on them. While I appreciated the unbroken furniture and absence of tears and emo, the calm suggested there was no heart in the marriage.
"Lara doesn't know, but I'm pushing for the beach development. It's faster money," DeVere confided. "The second the vote goes through, I get my funding and my freedom."
"And you're ditching the wife and wholesome image."
"Precisely. After the divorce, the voters will understand and forgive a total makeover." DeVere drank his whiskey. "Traditional values is limiting. It will be a relief to broaden my scope. And as a bonus, I'll be rid of my godawful bore of a father-in-law too."
He was pure ice, ditching his family without hesitation. My skin crawled. "And you're confiding in me because of our close, personal connection."
DeVere chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm here because I need a favour."
I knew what was coming, and I didn't like it.
"Lara won't give a toss as long as I give her some cash," DeVere continued. "But I can't afford any doubt about the issue. And Pilgrim Plaskett is bound to kick up a fuss."
Yes, that sinking feeling was spot on. "You need evidence."
"Photos are good but video is better." The mayor sat back. "Divorce is always tricky but it need not be ruinous."
Frankly, I'd have preferred a smashed bit of crystal to this bloodless scheming. "I'm so glad your little heart isn't breaking."
"Oh, grow up," DeVere snapped. "Will you do it or not?"
"Not."
"I'll make it worth your while - and your mother's. Six months of bank loan repayments."
"No!"
But he saw it tempted me. He leaned in, dark eyes glowing. "Come on, you can't stand Masher."
"I like him better than I like you."
DeVere chuckled. "You have a lot of very inconvenient morals for a villain."
"Fuck off."
"It could be a full-time retainer."
I didn't bother to answer.
"The second you sign a contract, I'll give you an advance fee. A hundred thousand pounds."
That devil aimed right at my soul. That money would pay off a significant chunk of the debt. It would take years to earn that kind of dosh with regular plumbing work. A small voice whispered that the past could never be undone. Damned is damned. And having taken on a job already, I hadn't a leg to stand on. But there it was. I had made my choice. "No."
He drained his glass. "Pity." He got to his feet. "I hope you won't procrastinate on the other job."
The memory of Mandy in the pub, laughing up at him, rushed back. "I'll find the bastard."
"Great!" DeVere was cheery.
"You've had no more contact? No threats?"
"No, but I'm fed up at looking over my shoulder."
He wasn't even thinking of the dead girl.
"It's funny how things work out," DeVere murmured. "I was really worried that I'd be hostage to those damn photos forever. But once I have proof Lara cheated, nobody will bat an eye at my affairs."
My disgust for him rose, threatening to choke me.
"It would be best to solve the case," DeVere was talking to himself. "But we vote next week and after that, Splash City Water Park will have fourteen days to ink the contract."
Photos would release him from his marriage, money would propel him to new heights, and once the world saw and accepted the playboy mayor, he could not be blackmailed. Justice for murder be damned; I was on a schedule.
DeVere didn't have a clue I was inches away from belting him. He actually slapped me on the back. "Do consider my offer. Donovan is marvellous at his job, but he is an officer of the court."
The mayor believed he'd need a black-hearted fixer at his side. Lovely. The irritation was a two-way street, but I did not kick him down the stairs, even though he deserved it.
It was a joy to find Rachel holding court at the bar. The place was heaving, filled to the rafters with punters wearing rugby scarves and jerseys. From the cheerful din, the Ringmere Lions had beaten their arch-rivals, the Lockwood Saints. But every eye was on Rachel.
She wore a blue dress printed with roses that highlighted her flaming hair. Alex was handing her gently onto a barstool while my cousins Fynn and Posh rushed about getting her a drink and fussed over coasters. Donovan smiled as if he had a toothache, but with his boss being with me, he was stuck.
"Your public cam today was great." Fynn was drooling. "I subscribed."
"The nurses said your shout-out really touched them." Posh elbowed his cousin out of the way. "You're so brave."
"Steve Galen rang me pretending it was work, but all he did was talk about you," Doc Jerry informed her. "He's smitten."
Quentin was all over her, too. "Thanks for mentioning us. We had lots of extra covers today."
Alex was avuncular. "Sweetheart, you made us all proud."
Rachel acted the total star. "It's just the truth. You've all been so sweet. I'm really grateful."
"Any progress yet on who killed Mandy?" Doc Jerry asked.
Rachel's eyes flicked my way, but her reply was smooth. "They've not told me anything."
"Trigger is on it." Alex had no scruples. "Isn't that right, Donovan?"
The political fixer hesitated. He did not want the public to connect me, Rachel, or the murder with his boss. "Uhm, we're all concerned. Uhm. Well. Investigations are ongoing."
Rachel smiled maliciously. "Why don't we ask Lucian?"
Instantly, the rugby crowd dialled it down and listened in unashamedly.
DeVere did not groan audibly, but his smile was fixed. "Hello, I hope you're recovering?"
"Yes, thank you. It was sweet of you to call."
He denied it swiftly. "I didn't ring."
Rachel beamed. "I meant Doctor Galen. You rang him, didn't you?"
DeVere was caught off guard. "Oh, right. Yes."
The pub leaned in, scenting scandal. Rachel's voice was clear and sweet as church bells at Christmas. "Doctor Galen is such a wonderful man. Kind. Caring. And so very reliable." Her eyes narrowed as she turned the knife. "A man you can trust."
The mayor took it like a man. "Glad to hear it." But there was no hiding the flush washing up his neck.
Rachel upped the ante. "Any news about poor Mandy's case?"
The blush intensified. "That's a question for the police." It came off pompous. The mayor scrabbled for better soundbite. "A young woman's life cut short is such a tragedy."
"A bloody shame," one of the rugger buggers said loudly.
"I am sorry she's gone," DeVere added honestly. "A ghastly way to go too."
"Quite right," Doc Jerry pronounced. "It makes me so damn angry. That poor girl."
"She didn't have much of a childhood," Fynn said quietly. "She was in and out of foster care."
Donovan actually winced as DeVere provided the right reply. "We're determined to seek justice for her."
Rachel pounced. "Max has arranged Mandy's funeral. It's Saturday morning at St Peter's. We'll see you there."
Outmanoeuvred, he was out of options. "Of course. All of us in Ringmere stand together."
"Good man," a beery rugby fan agreed.
Rachel was on her phone instantly. "I'll alert the vicar. We'll reserve you a pew right at the front." She bared her teeth at DeVere. "Ringmere is so lucky to have a mayor who cares. It will make all the papers, I'm certain."
DeVere drew himself up. "This is hardly the time to think about publicity." Then, before his nemesis could force him into further humiliation, he whipped out some cash, thrust it at Quentin, and nodded at Donovan, "Shall we go finish that paperwork?"
It was slick, but the way he left, dragging Donovan in his wake, was suspiciously like bolting.
There was a dead silence. Then Fynn snarled, "He talks a good game, but he doesn't give a shit."
A ripple of emotion ran through the pub. DeVere had revealed his true self, and nobody was happy about it.
Rachel looked angelic as she sipped her drink. "Quite a man of the people, isn't he? You'd never guess he was a knob." Then she grinned wickedly, "The k is silent."
The crowd burst into laughter and catcalls.
"You tell it as it is, girl!"
"You kissed a frog, didn't you, Rachel?"
"Slimy git, that DeVere."
"Hooray for the girl with the best cam show in the country!"
As Rachel waved and blew kisses, and the crowd went back to talking about the game, Alex shook his head. "You've not made a friend there."
Rachel shrugged. "Life's too short to put up with plonkers."
She wasn't looking my way, but the message was for me. She was still furious. The fantastic dress, glorious body, and excellent wit beckoned. It could all have been mine. What the fuck was I doing?
All my decisions blasted into mind. Just a few years ago, I had a place in the world, respect and family. Now I was rudderless, in debt, and so messed up that I had hurt a woman I valued. I should have stayed away from her.
"I'm fed up with disrespect," Rachel said loudly to Alex. "And with being judged."
Suddenly I was bone-tired and fed up to the back teeth. I put my beer on the bar, slid off and found a table of three blocking the exit to the flat.
"Sorry, Max." Quentin dodged around me, hands full with plates. "Your mum was right. This lasagne is a real hit."
"No worries." A walk around the block would do me good.
I fought my way through the rugby club, reached for the door - and bumped into Rachel holding her phone in the air and saying, "Can't hear a thing. Let me call you back." She looked up, clearly ready to apologise, and then snarked, "Well, pardon me."
The crowd heaved. I put my arms around her instinctively, protecting her wrist in its cast and then we were propelled out into the street.
Rachel twisted away, snapping, "Leaving, are you?"
There was no point in talking. "Yes."
She blinked rapidly. "I'm a cam girl and a slut. I get it."
"Don't be ridiculous."
But to my horror, the emerald eyes welled. "You can go to hell!"
She was in my arms before I could think. "It's not like that." Fragile bones and delicate fragrance. I fought not to kiss her, tried not to shove her away, frightened I would hurt her again. "You deserve someone better than me."
She blinked and then grabbed me. "What? Are you crazy?"
"For God's sake, you don't know what you're getting into."
"Max, you bloody idiot. Nobody knows you better than me."
"We're not kids anymore. I've changed." I'm weak. I admit it. I wanted her. "I destroy everything I touch."
Rachel shook her head. "Don't be a drama llama. Your family adores you, your best mate Quentin has been pining for you, and every girl in the pub dreams of being noticed by you."
I couldn't help but smile. "Somehow, I doubt that."
"I'm not jealous because you want me." She leaned in, teasingly bumping her hips against my boner. "Proof positive."
"Rachel, love. Think."
"I am doing the thinking. You're the moron here." She stood on tiptoe, kissing the side of my mouth. "You're tired, and hanging out with Lucian won't have helped. That man is toxic."
"But Rachel-"
"Go upstairs and have a nice hot bath. I'm ordering takeout. We'll watch a film."
"But Rachel-"
"It's okay. I don't expect you to put out."
"Idiot."
And then she kissed me.