Episode 5 - Wellness for beginners

Cleo managed to get home well before Robert had to get up. She was glowing and happy after the passionate night she had spent with Gary.. She didn’t much care if Robert found out. She would marry him on condition he did not ask questions. At that moment it seemed the best solution.

***

Gary was over the moon that he had spent the night with Cleo. He had no valid reason for detaining Magda any longer, so she was cautioned and released as soon as he got to HQ. No one had seen her set fire to the barn and she had denied it. Until there was conclusive evidence, he could not detain her if she had a fixed address.

But the Kellys were only on the back burner. Gary was convinced that the fire was deliberate. He had no evidence that they had anything to do with Burton's murder, but if the forensic team found something promising later, there was no problem about hauling them in again. A chip had been planted under their car. Any attempt to leave the district would be foiled by the Satnav. But Gary thought they would sit tight, since sudden flight would be a sign of guilt. And anyway, where would they flee to?

***

Dorothy was delighted to be involved in a new investigation. She and Cleo decided to go to the bistro together, hoping that Delilah would be agreeable about accompanying them to the Wellness Centre.

"As long as you don't make me do anything foolish," was Delilah's reply. "I can't afford to be on crutches."

"That's not going to happen," said Cleo. "We'll say we’re looking at what they have to offer. They know us both, so I need you for the sake of authenticity."

"Oh, I'm authentic, all right," said Delilah, looking at Mitch for confirmation, “but they know me because everyone comes here sooner or later.”

***

Mitch had been the technician on Delilah's last variety tour that had taken them to the north western tip of Scotland and back again, with stops at pubs, clubs and other venues on the way. They hadn't had a relationship then, though there was definitely a mutual attraction. Delilah had been wary of shacking up with a guy ten years younger and when the tour ended she didn't expect to see him again.

Only in passing and without thinking he would remember, Delilah had told him of her dream of taking over the village pub in Upper Grumpsfield. As soon as Mitch had finished his contract with the events agency for which he had been working, he made his way to the village. Delilah had been overjoyed. The reality of renovating the pub was proving to be daunting and she was not sure she could go through with it. So Mitch’s turning up as he did was nothing short of a miracle. He became an indispensable part of Delilah's plan to turn the pub into a bistro and karaoke bar. What is more, her arguments with herself against a romantic interlude having been set aside, she was soon sharing her bed with Mitch.

"I'd go with you, but someone's got to be here for the old regulars," he said now. "And that karaoke machine needs lots of TLC. We’ll need it iff I can’t get the new one going in time-“

"You can't go there, anyway. It's for women only," said Dorothy.

Mitch laughed and went back to mending the machine.

"We've received the new karaoke machine we ordered direct from Japan on the internet, but it’s still wrapped up and Mitch doesn’t think he can get it working smoothly by Saturday," Delilah explained. "It's a Beatles night on Saturday. You must come."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Dorothy. "But when are you having another nostalgic evening? Or how about a Hollywood musical evening? We haven't had one of those."

Glamour pop and rock were a trifle too upbeat for Dorothy, but she knew all the songs from the shows and films from the golden days of the old American musical movies, though she was unlikely to join in herself, explaining that if they wanted the pub cleared fast, she would be glad to have a croak.

"I'll let you know about the nostalgia evening, Miss Price," Delilah promised. “It’s a very good idea. We’ll invite everyone from that senior citizens’ sheltered housing complex to a free drink and a singsong.”

"I'm Dorothy. All that 'Miss' stuff was yesterday."

“Well, Dorothy, let's drink to that.”

"Orangeade, however," said Dorothy." We can't have them at the Wellness Centre thinking we've been self-indulgent at this time of day."

"We won't be going there till tomorrow morning, Delilah, so you could offer us something a little stronger," said Cleo.

Refreshed after two glasses of bubbly, Dorothy announced that she had to get back to the garden. The weather was fine now, but in October you never knew how long it would last. Cleo offered to send Robert to do the heavy stuff.

"Oh, thank you Cleo. I'll make some bara brith. He won't go hungry."

"Robert never goes hungry," said Cleo, "but that speckled bread of yours is irresistible. He says it's just like his mother's. Not that he will need any encouragement. Robert loves helping people."

"I learnt how to make bara brith from my friends at the London Welsh Society," Dorothy explained. "I used to play for some of their concerts. Nice people, the Welsh."

“My Dad was Welsh,” Mitch announced.

“Well, half-Welsh people are nice too,” said Dorothy.

Delilah finally got round to asking the question she'd been dying to ask since Cleo and Dorothy had turned up.

"Are you trailing someone in particular, Cleo, or is it just general reconnaissance, this mission of yours?"

"A bit of both. Do you know Brent Burton, Delilah? Has he ever been here?"

"Yes, I know him. A bit scruffy, I thought. Not my type at all."

Mitch looked at her questioningly. Was he her type, or just a convenience?

“My type’s standing over there, Ladies,” she added, looking at Mitch, who whistled his approval and relief.

Delilah pressed on with her description of Burton.

"He was quite a regular at one time, even came in with that farmer fellow, Kelly after he moved into Kelly's old barn. But he hasn’t been here recently, and having read this evening's paper, I know he won’t come here again."

"And good riddance," added Mitch. "Getting him to pay for his drinks was like getting blood out of a stone."

"Don't talk like that of the dead," said Dorothy.

"He was a mean old bastard," Mitch insisted.

"Did he meet or bring anyone else?" Cleo asked.

"Funny you should mention that," said Delilah. "I was only thinking about her last night. She's the woman who runs that Wellness Centre…"

"Pamela Norton?"

"Yes, that's her. They used to meet here. I thought that was because he couldn't use the centre, being a man and all that. What would a smart lady like Miss Norton want with such a scruff?"

"Sex?" said Dorothy.

"You're a right one, Dorothy," said Mitch, laughing.

"It might have been for a different reason altogether," said Dorothy. "I mean, not that kind of meeting."

"Something illegal?" Mitch asked.

"Who knows? Now we know she knew Burton, we must find a way of getting her to talk about him," said Cleo. "That's a job for you, Delilah. Try something on the lines of 'a good customer tragically lost'."

"That's neat, Del," Mitch chipped in, "but dangerous. I don't think you should go there."

"Rubbish, Mitch," said Delilah.

"It's really not a good idea, Del. I remember you saying Burton looks like a nasty piece of work."

“He’s dead, Mitch,” said Delilah. “He’s hardly going to haunt me, is he?”

“He might send someone else, Del,” said Mitch. “I don’t want you haunting me.”

"We'll be opening a can of worms," said Dorothy. “How exciting!”

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Del," Mitch called as he went out into the back to switch the electricity back on.

"Is it working?" they heard him shout.

"Yes," they replied in unison.

"The karaoke night is definitely on, then," he said, coming back into the pub. "I'll have a glass of that Asti now, Del."

***

Next morning Dorothy walked down to Cleo's cottage and they drove to the bistro to collect Delilah. Cleo was a tall, voluptuous woman and Dorothy was a tall, rather skinny individual. Delilah was a head shorter and a bit plump. She loved her food and claimed to gain weight just from looking at it, but in truth she had always eaten enough for two and squeezing into the back of the little car would have been difficult.

 Inevitably, Dorothy, who was enviably slim no matter what she ate, had to sit behind on the back seat. She felt a bit like a budgie on a perch thinking it was just as well she had worn a hat, as it was protecting her head from crashing against the roof of the car as they bounced down the atrociously neglected road that connected Upper Grumpsfield with Lower Grumpsfield. Mitch watched them climbing into Cleo’s car.

“You make a pretty trio, “ he called, thinking how funny it was driving off, ostensibly in pursuit of fitness training, but he did find it amusing that they might be getting themselves mixed up in something they could not deal with.

"They're thinking of cancelling the 'Upper' and 'Lower' bits and calling us all Great Grumpsfield," said Delilah, who learnt interesting things from customers with tongues loosened by their alcohol consumption.

"Never," said Dorothy. "They wouldn't dare. The Mayor wouldn’t allow it."

"Don't you believe it," said Delilah. "They'll probably get a government grant for taking the initiative. That might even cover the cost of filling in some of the potholes we are bouncing over."

"They renamed us North and South Grumpsfield about a century ago," said Cleo, who had studied the history of the district while working at Middlethumpton library. “That caused a lot of confusion because there are thousands of Upper and Lower villages in England. So we became Upper and Lower instead, although there are plenty of Upper and Lowe villages dotted around the country. It’s an English speciality. The Welsh like to describe the location in the name.”

"So why don't they just call us Middle Grumpsfield?" said Dorothy. They could rename Huddlecourt Minor Upper Grumpsfield and leave Lower Grumpsfield to fend for itself.”

"That would confuse us with Middlethumpton," said Delilah.

"That’s far too complicated, and there's no middle," Cleo pointed out. "Unless you count the roundabout we just passed."

“Or the council estate. "They built it here so as not to offend either part of Grumpsfield and ended up offending everyone. All those high-rise flats were supposed to be the answer to the housing shortage,” said Dorothy. “The powers that be would move all the homeless out of Middlethumpton whether they wanted to go or not, on the assumption that beggars can't be choosers. But who wants to live that high up, with the lifts not working half the time and rowdies lying in wait to pinch your handbag?"

***

High rise flats were one of Dorothy Price's hobby-horses. When she first moved back to Upper Grumpsfield, she had been offered one of those flats nearly scraping the clouds, only it was an apartment because she was a single person and the amount of space allotted per person was the criterion for the size of any property provided by the council. It did not include space for a baby grand, so it was fortunate that she had found the little cottage on Monkton Way, which had enough space for her and her old grand piano and a garden to grow vegetables. By living frugally she could even afford to pay for it.

***

Entertained by Dorothy's rhetoric, Cleo parked the car well away from the entrance to the Wellness Centre, a mainly glass edifice that Dorothy announced was a monument to the keep fit mania. Any bits that happened to be made of wood or metal were painted red.

“I hope no one forces me do anything energetic,” said Delilah, regretting her participation.

“No one can force us do anything,” said Dorothy. “Let’s just go with the flow, shall we?”

They scrambled out of the car and set off towards the entrance.

The morning was grey and heavy rain-clouds hung threateningly over them. The whole of the reception area was bathed in artificial sunlight from ceiling spots. Dorothy thought it must be sweltering in that vestibule when the sun shone.

"Can I help you," a young receptionist asked. She looked as if she should have been at school rather than standing behind the counter. She was dressed in what transpired to be the Centre's staff uniform of white jeans and skimpy red top. Her blond hair was piled up fetchingly and fixed with a glittering clasp. She was heavily made up.

"Sport, wellness, fitness or beauty?" she asked.

“What does the wellness entail?” Delilah asked anxiously.

“An ethereal oil massage from Henry,” the girl said. “He has lovely hands.”

"And beauty?"

"A facial with all the trimmings", explained the girl and Dorothy wondered what the trimmings were.

"My friends here would like to see what you have in the way of fitness," said Cleo, and Delilah cringed. She would have preferred a facial.

“Not you, Miss?”

“Yes, me too,” said Cleo reluctantly.

"I can see you need it,” said the girl confidentially. “I'll get someone to show you how everything works."

The girl pressed a buzzer and a pretty young man, who was also dressed in white jeans and a skimpy red top, appeared out of nowhere. The rule about women only didn't apply to employees, though looking at the guy, who had teased hair, painted nails and plucked eyebrows, you might be forgiven for thinking his gender was somewhere in between.

“This is Henry,” said the girl, and Henry flexed his elegant fingers.

"Take these guests to the gym and show them the ropes, Henry dear," the girl chanted and Cleo groaned inwardly. Chicago had been full of gender-neutrals and cross-dressers. They were usually tall, thin and lithe and tended to look down on women with Rubens-like figures.

"Yes, Melly darling," Henry chanted back at the same pitch.

Melly turned to Dorothy and asked her if she would also like a facial.

"Only if it takes 30 years off my age," retorted Dorothy.

"We can't promise miracles," said the girl.

Dorothy looked daggers.

"There's a notice outside advertising for a new cleaner," she said. "Would I qualify for that job if you can’t work miracles on my face?"

Wow, thought Cleo. Dorothy was in good form.

The girl softened her approach.

"Are you qualified?"

"Yes," said Dorothy.

Her music diplomas had served her well down the years. Nobody ever asked her what she was qualified for.

"When can you start?"

"Now," said Dorothy.

“Now is taken care of. Can you do Fridays?"

"Yes, at a pinch. What do you pay?"

"The going rate, Mrs …."

"Price. And it's Miss Price."

"Miss. Our other cleaner is busy in the dressing rooms. She's part time, too, but she can show you where everything is."

"Can't she do Fridays?" Dorothy asked.

"No."

"I'll go there now."

Acting as an unfriendly cleaner was not difficult. Dorothy could still remember the graceless antics of the cleaner at the ballet school where she had worked for so many years. Giving a little shrug of the shoulders and winking unobtrusively at Cleo and Delilah, Dorothy turned to walk in the direction being pointed at.

"Mrs Barker will be pleased to see her," Melly said.

"Barker?"

"Yes. Another older lady looking for something useful to do."

Dorothy turned round when she heard the name. Surely not Jane. She could not disguise her astonishment at seeing her neighbour mopping the tiled floor of the changing room.

***

"Well, I never," she said.

"Oh, hello, Dorothy,” said Jane Barker, who was just as astonished. “What are you doing here?”

I could ask the same question,” said Dorothy, “Except that I can see you are cleaning.”

“It isn’t that we are short of money, Miss Price, but I can't stand Mr Barker hovering all day now he’s been pensioned off. I have to get out of the house by myself now and again."

"Does he know where you are?"

"Of course not. I tell him I'm visiting friends, but I'm not sure how long he'll go on believing me."

"At least he can't surprise you here," said Dorothy.

"No. That's why I work here. And to be honest, it's nice having pocket money without asking for it. Bertram still thinks he's managing the town hall finances. They were always on the bread line. And he’s been retired for ages. They let him go early."

Dorothy could not help thinking that Mr Barker had probably mismanaged the town hall accounts. She thanked her lucky stars that she didn't have to account for her movements or her money to anyone. Moments of regret were instantly forgotten when she heard people like Jane Barker go on about their marital situation.

"So what brings you here, Dorothy?" said Jane.

"Me?" Dorothy jumped out of her reverie back into reality. Jane Barker raised her voice.

"Are you hard up?"

"Not more than usual, but I do need a new washing machine and please don't shout!"

Mrs Barker seemed satisfied with that explanation and went on to show Dorothy round without shouting.

"Could we be on first name terms, Miss Price?" she asked.

"I thought we were."

"Silly me. Of course we are. I was named Jane after my mother. Her name was Jane, too."

If Dorothy had ignored Jane Barker's limited intelligence before, she could not fail to notice it now and immediately decided to rope her into the investigation, without telling her what she was doing, of course. She would invite Jane to tea and find things out that way.

"I'm here Mondays and Wednesdays," Jane explained. "So if you come in on Tuesdays and Fridays we should get everything done."

"But today is Friday, Jane?”

“They asked me to come today because they didn’t have anyone. I told Jim I was going to a funeral. He’s gone shopping on his own.”

What about Thursdays, Jane?"

"Closed. The swinger club is here all day Thursday, but their customers hang out in the reception area mostly when they aren’t up to you-know-what on the matrasses. They take them from the pile and find a fairly private spot for their making hay antics.  We're open on Sundays, though."

“I hope they don’t make a mess making hay,” said Dorothy.

“No. The swingers always leave everything beautiful.”

“Why can’t you usually do Fridays, Jane?”

“Jim takes me into Middlethumpton for the main shopping on Fridays. He’ll smell a rat if I tell him I can’t go with him. I can’t tell him I’m going to a funeral every week. I don’t know that many dead people. I had a problem getting off on Tuesday mornings because Jim likes to go to a street market somewhere, but we go in the afternoon now and he’s never asked me what I do in the morning. I’m going to tell him I have a Tuesday-morning lover, if he asks. He’ll never believe that but he’ll stop asking questions in case I give him mashed potatoes instead of chips. I come in on Saturday mornings to clear up for the weekend. Mr Barker always washes his car on Saturday mornings, so he doesn’t bother about me going out.”

“You seem to have it all under control,” said Dorothy.

Vowing to ask Delilah if a swinger club was where making hay was part of the agenda, Dorothy nodded knowingly to Jane. She was glad Jane was doing Saturdays. Sunday was a busy day, so there'd be a mess by Monday that Jane Barker could clear up.

It occurred to Dorothy that she was planning as if she really was going to work there indefinitely. She hoped not. Her mission would be kept short because it was not exactly her dream of retirement and she would certainly prefer to teach kids the piano if her cash flow was getting too low. On the other hand, detection has its darker side, and no one else at the agency could possibly do what she was about to do.

***

Cleo was glad to get back into the car after being dragged round the fitness machines and performing very badly. Delilah had given up shortly after starting the round. Henry’s attempt to explain what circuit training was fell on decidedly deaf ears. Delilah had protested that she could not possibly do all that on one day or even in a week and Cleo had not commented at all.

Miss Norton had not been there but she would be around on Saturday, so Cleo decided that would be the day she chose for her next visit and a turn on the bicycle was all she would settle for. The investigation was likely to be difficult. Cleo was anything but positive that something would come of it.

***

"What is a swinger club for, Delilah?" Dorothy asked as they drove back to the bistro.

“A partner-swapping club.”

“Do you mean that people attend in pairs?”

“The men – or the women – throw their keys into a basin and then draw one out. They have it off with whoever they draw.”

“Goodness,” said Dorothy. “So Jane’s making hay is definitely sex.”

“Is that what she calls it, Dorothy?”

“A rose by any other name, Cleo.”

***

Dorothy Price was contemplating a seamier side of life she had in the old days thought was confined to Soho. After the shock of finding out that her former colleague, the deceased Laura Finch had been a call-girl in her youth, she was about to discover that marriage to one's dream man, which she had naively thought was for ever after, was not made in heaven, but just a business arrangement for many people. Bored couples went to clubs to sleep around with strangers. She found the idea of the swinger club simply shocking. It was the next best thing to prostitution!

"Be comforted," Cleo had told her. "Robert and I are not into that kind of entertainment."

"You wouldn't get me there again for ten thousand horses.” announced Delilah.

Cleo and Dorothy looked at her quizzically.

“Again?”

“After today, I mean...Mitch wouldn’t stand for it,” said Delilah.

“Or he might enjoy it, Delilah,” Dorothy teased. Now she knew what it was all about, she was the first to see the funny side.

Mitch was standing at the pub door.

“Enjoy what, Ladies?” he called.

Delilah gave Dorothy a look that told her to hold her tongue.

"What’s going on?" he called.

“Nothing,” said Cleo, “Unless you mean the guy in the trunk of my car.”

“Haha,” said Mitch. “I knew you were up to something.”

"Get us a drink, please," said Delilah. “We’re exhausted from just looking at those exercise machines.”

“I told you so, Del. You’re fit enough for me.”

“There's nothing like physical exertion for clearing the mind of debris,” said Dorothy. “Take that swinger club for instance.”

“Mitch looked at Dorothy in astonishment.

“You take it,” said Mitch. “Happy people don’t need that kind of sex.”

Delilah smiled knowingly.

Cleo and Dorothy made quite a fast exit. It looked like Mitch and Delilah were going to skip lunch.

***

That afternoon Cleo felt so guilty about avoiding work on a particularly trying case that she spent hours in her office thinking about it. She was glad when Gary phoned on his private cell phone with the latest pathology findings on Kelly. Having a second mobile with a prepaid card from a local supermarket was just a precaution. There was no way of knowing if his normal mobile was being tapped. It had been Cleo’s idea to get a second card, and now Gary was thankful for it. He had registered it in his daughter's name. Cleo decided he must want to talk privately if he was phoning her on that mobile.

“I’m in the office, Gary.”

“This is only business,” he said.

Forensics had identified new fingerprints on a cognac bottle in Burton's drinks cupboard. They belonged to Gustave Hatherton, a South African by birth wanted by Interpol on suspicion of diamond smuggling. Of course, Lower Grumpsfield was the last place to look for a criminal of a stature warranting Interpol intervention, but Chris, a forensic pathologist, was one of that rare breed of human that thinks outside the box. He was prepared to stick his neck out and consult Interpol. He reminded himself of the mechanical tools Burton had ordered. Surely that was not a coincidence.

Gary would mail Cleo a photo of Hatherton. Had anyone seen him around? Could Cleo check on that? Had she ever been to South Africa? Hatherton came from Jo'burg. Was she interested in following Hatherton up?

"How long would I have to be there?"

"Just long enough to visit his family and find out if he still lives there or has been there recently. You'd be a girl-friend from his younger days dropping in casually."

“That would not be possible, Gary. I’m black by definition and apartheid is still in the hearts of many.”

“Well, you could say your mother worked for the family or someone who knew them. Would that be OK?”

“That’s more like it, but isn’t there an easier way of finding out where he lives?”

“Suggest one that can be kept top secret.”

"What if he is in South Africa?"

"You'll improvise mistaken identity and get on to me a.s.a.p."

"I'll do it," said Cleo.

Gary was amazed.

“OK. I'll book you on a flight for Saturday afternoon. Sunday's a good day for such an off the cuff visit, and I'll book you a couple of nights in an airport hotel and a flight back sometime on Monday."

"That sounds great, Gary. Anything else I should know?"

"The DNA on that glass was Pamela Norton's."

"That’s interesting, Gary. I’m onto her, or rather, Dorothy and I are circling round her. Delilah Browne says she was in the bistro with Burton a few times, but they did not come again once karaoke really became established and quite noisy.

“Have you been keeping this information to yourself, Cleo?”

“No. I’ve just talked to Delilah,” Cleo replied, thinking of all the information Gary had withheld or not told her as soon as he had it.

“OK. Carry on.”

“Karaoke might not have been the reason for staying away. I'm going to talk to Miss Norton about that if I can, though she already knows what I do for a living and might smell a rat. I'm not sure how I'll approach her."

“When are you going back to the wellness place, Cleo?

"Saturday morning. I could go straight to the airport from there."

"Sounds perfect, but I’d like to see you before you go. Can you call in my office after the wellness visit? Will you have lunch with me? I’ll book you a flight to Johannesburg for late afternoon and take you to the Airport. You can leave your care here."

"That sounds like a good plan, Gary. All I've got to do now is reason with Robert. He's bound to try and talk me out of what could be a risk or a wild goose chase."

"Only Robert would think it’s risky. You won't be in any danger. I'll get you a plain clothes driver escort, Cleo, but the fewer who know where you are going, the better."

“Can’t you come with me?”

“No. It would then have to be official police work and make too much noise.”

“That’s why you are using your second phone, I expect.”

"Correct. I'll let you know about the air-ticket. I'm not sure which flight I can get you on at such short notice."

***

It proved quite difficult to tell Robert about her plans for the weekend because he came up with an idea of his own. They would go to a motocross event and stay the night at a pub somewhere near. Cleo would have liked to go, but she had to break the news that she was going to Jo’burg for her job.

"Johannesburg?"

"I'm going to track down a guy who left fingerprints on a cognac bottle in Burton's Barn."

"Don't tell me who put you up to that. Can't Gary do his own dirty work?"

There was no mistaking the resentment in Robert’s voice.

"He needs someone unofficial, Robert. He can't send police in there. Quite apart from having no jurisdiction outside the UK, he does not want the trip publicized in any way. Criminals are wary. If they think you are on to them, they go underground. And the guy we’re looking for seems to have got disappearing down to a fine art."

"I thought you were going to stick to the small stuff."

"I'm not going to meet the man. I’ll just find out if he's visited his family recently. It might tell us something about his recent whereabouts and what connection he had with Burton. There must be one or he would not have handled a bottle of whisky in the barn."

“The prints could be years old,” said Robert, touching on a point that she and Gary had not actually taken into account.

“The whisky was young and probably hadn’t been in the cupboard for long, so it was the first bottle he got hold of.”

“You’re assuming that, Cleo.”

“If he was entertaining a woman, it would be quite showy to open a fresh bottle. Some guys like to impress women with their drinking habits.”

"Can you tell me what you will do if you meet up with your prey?"

"Pretend it's all a mistake."

Robert gave Cleo an unbelieving look and went into the kitchen to start the dinner. Cleo followed him. She was glad he was concerned. Gary had not been. Was that the reason she hung on to Robert?

"When are you going?"

"On Saturday. Gary’s getting me a flight ticket. I’ll leave sometime in the afternoon."

“So we could theoretically have lunch together.”

“No. I have to go to Headquarters to get more instructions and information and before that I have to go to the Wellness Centre.”

"What are you going to do there? Not physical jerks, surely?"

"I need to find out if Pamela Norton knows what Burton was up to."

"Norton? She’s a relative of those gangsters you helped to put behind bars. I hope you know what you are doing, Cleo.”

“I look as if I need some workouts, so that’s going to be my angle.”

Robert was amused at that idea.

“You don't seriously think she's going to confess all to someone she knows is a sleuth. She will deduce that you’re not there to move your body?"

"Sure, but she might say something useful. I’ll talk about Burton being dead. We know she met Burton at Delilah's bistro."

"If you already know so much, why put her on the alert, Cleo?"

"Because she will realize that Delilah will tell all. Talking to me about it will legitimize it all, won’t it?”

“If the woman’s dumb enough.”

“That’s a risk I have to take, but if I don't turn up to our appointment she'll definitely smell a rat."

Robert gave the matter some thought.

"You'd better stop meddling, Cleo. This is all too big for you."

"I'm in it now, Robert. I’m not meddling and I can't back out. But I'll be careful, I promise."

“Who is taking you to Heathrow?”

“Gary, I expect, but he is not going with me to S.A. if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that my mission is not to be publicized.”

“Surely buying the ticket through Headquarters will take care of that!”

“Gary will pay for it out of his own bank account and claim the cost as expenses.”

“He’ll go to any lengths, won’t he, Cleo? Just make sure he doesn’t claim you, as well.”

“Why are you so jealous? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I’m not jealous,” Robert said. He was lying. Gary was good-looking and intelligent. He had the same interests as Cleo. Robert knew that. The faster he was married to Cleo, the better, thought Robert. For him their engagement was a commitment. He could only hope that Cleo felt the same.

***

It was pointless trying to reason with Cleo on matters concerning crime. She was indignant that Robert could call her investigating meddling. Now she was hell bent on showing what she could do. If Gloria hadn't not got mixed up in that identity case, Cleo would have stuck at her library job and not got her head full of silly ideas about solving crimes. On the other hand, Robert had to admit that she'd had some remarkable successes along the way. Working incognito with the police was actually a tremendous challenge. He just hoped Cleo could handle it, or was he hoping to handle Gary?