Chapter 7 - A Detective for Dinner

One chicken carcass, plenty of greasy plates and some rather incoherent recollections of the state of play later, Adrian swigged the last of his beer. "So, you don't know what exactly happened, you don't know who exactly is dead, where exactly your colleague is now and why exactly the cops have taken her in. And you want me to find out what is going on. Does that about sum it up?"

Lorna peeped over her rhinestone glasses, chocolate eyes blinking with merriment. "You forget the historical body, detective."

"Nagini," Adrian said and bared his teeth.

"Pardon?" Aline wiped her mouth with a napkin, then sipped her wine. Not the bottle Adrian had dragged in. The good stuff from Gary's wine cabinet.

"They call me Detective Nagini. Because of my snake-skin boots. But Adrian is fine."

Lorna looked confused.

"Lord Voldemort's pet," Gary explained. "You know who."

"Shh," said Aline with a twinkle in her large grey eyes.

Lorna's forehead cleared. "Ah. I loved those books. Even if I'm the archetypal Muggle, I would so love to see some magic in this world. Real magic, not just in a story. Well, it won't happen. Are they not a protected species?"

Gary sensed a twinge of concern; that female mental ramble was precisely what had made him hesitate to invite his old school friend in the first place. Adrian cared only about facts and logical deductions.

Some rapid-fire deducing must have taken place, to judge by Adrian's response. "My boots are fake. Well, made of real leather, of course, but not from snakes. It's just not pc."

Lorna and Aline nodded their approval.

The smartphone in Gary's pocket made strangled buzzing sounds, and he hastily fished for it.

"Ike?"

"Hello, Dad." Jon's voice carried a faint tremor that betrayed anxiety and the tingle he had experienced earlier again tugged at Gary's scalp. He looked up, mouthed his son's name and forced a light tone into his response.

"Oh, hi there. Everything all right your end? How was school?"

"Boring."

"Well, given what happened two weeks ago I suppose that counts as good news."

"Mh," said Jon. "Dad, what does 'requiring leave of the court to apply' mean?"

"Come again? Apply for what? Leave of the court? What sort of weird stuff do they teach in Amersham?"

Adrian's eyebrow climbed on his forehead, a pale caterpillar.

"Nothing to do with school. Gramps was on the phone earlier when I came down the stairs. He mentioned my name and yours and spoke in a funny hushed tone. But I heard him anyway. Dad, and he's confiscated my laptop and smartphone, I couldn't even check!"

A million ants swarmed down Gary's spine, their feet so cold as if they nested in the godforsaken fridge. Dad-in-law was up to no good.

"He says, I spend too much time on the Internet when I should be reading books. I mean, come on: books! No point in reading when there's films, right?"

Amusement briefly surfaced, then sank again under the weight of the ants. "We'll always disagree over that one. Anyway, thank you for calling me. That was clever of you. I'll have a word with your grandfather, don't you worry."

"Dad, I don't like it here. Can I come home? I'll be okay with bussing it."

That was a real sacrifice. Warmth spread from Gary's core, melting the icy feet of the imaginary insects. His phone buzzed twice. Another incoming call. Gary checked.

Ike.

"Look, we'll sort something out. Just hold out until the weekend. We don't want to disappoint your grandmother. She'd loathe to lose you."

"I guess not," Jon said. He didn't sound convinced. "You tell Granddad, I want my stuff back, right? Promised?"

"Promised. Speak to you, Jon."

"Yo," Jon said and rang off.

###

His head spinning with the legalese from Jon's bombshell, Gary shifted the phone to his other hand, wiped his sweating palm on his jeans and clicked on Ike's number. Which disappeared a split second before his digit hit the screen.

"Bloody hell! Just missed Ike."

When he tried to call back, the number was engaged.

And it stayed that way.

Gary was fast running out of swear words. At least those safe to use when in civilised company.

"Keep trying. What's with the other bit? Is the boy still with his grandparents?" Adrian's knuckles were drumming a rhythm on the tabletop.

"Yes. Bill had this grandiose idea he should stay with him and Sandie during the term and only visit me during the vacations. I have no time to look after him, he says. I dared to disagree, and we did not exactly part on the friendliest of terms. Jon came home and overheard him talking on the phone. The bit about the leave of the court. Anybody got any suggestions about what this might mean?"

Lorna rose from the table. "Where's your computer? I'll do the research."

Adrian's mouth twitched. "No need to. I'm not a specialist in custody law, but I happen to know a grandparent before he or she can apply for custody of a grandchild, needs to get the approval or leave from a court of law to do so. Looks like your in-laws are after your boy."

Lorna sank back onto her chair, her eyes big and round behind her glasses.

"Crikey," said Aline. "Could they succeed?"

If a landslide had rolled in through the door and flatted him underneath, Gary would not have felt more devastated.

Adrian shrugged. "I would say it's unlikely. Jon's almost thirteen, and Gary is not exactly abusing him."

Hope rose in the faces of the ladies, while Gary's chest was still mired in imagined mud. "Bill's a lawyer. Corporate, to be precise," he said.

Adrian nodded. "He'll have his pals lined up. You better find yourself a tame clause-slinger of your own."

Gary buried his head in his hands.

"Get a grip on yourself," Adrian said in that rasping voice of his. "It's not like you to just lie down and give up. Connections will get your daddy-in-law only so far. He might win the right to apply but that's about it I should think."

It was hard to find the words, but eventually Gary managed. "Trouble is, they're paying for Jon's education now. I had to place him in a private school."

"Poor bugger. Surprised you did that after what we went through at boarding school. But okay, the other place wasn't exactly brilliant either. If push comes to shove you sell this box and move somewhere else. State schools can't all be that bad."

"Jon is a teenager, not a baby. Well, almost," Lorna said. "That must count for something." She turned towards her partner. "Do we count any suitable lawyers among our acquaintances?"

"We might, actually. You remember the chap who read every single cosy mystery in the library?"

Their voices washed over Gary like surf on a deserted beach.It wouldn't do. Somewhere in his head, the inner drill sergeant shouted at him to stand up and fight.

He would. In a minute.

Adrian, with surprising gentleness, pried the phone from Gary's leaden hands. "Chin up. We won't solve this little problem tonight. I'll try to ring your partner for you."

He did and of course he got through at the first attempt. "Ms Wordsworth, I presume? I'm Adrian, Gary's pal. We've never met, but I heard of you. I'm sitting here with the rest of LiteraTours—beg your pardon? Ah, good point. Yes, I'll put you on loudspeaker." He placed the phone in the middle of the table.

"Evening all. Did you watch the news by any chance?" Ike said.

"I did," Lorna responded. "Only parts, though. A tourist from the other tour died in suspicious circumstances and something about a historical burial. You found both, I understand?"

"I did nothing of the sort! I arrived on the scene afterwards. Mrs Baxter, that's the deceased, followed a call of nature and climbed over a barrier into a corridor that was not only blocked off, but locked She then crashed through the floor, into a room below that was already occupied. By a dead Vestal. Then we all close got taken to the police station for statements."

"All of you?" Adrian asked.

"Well, no. Those close to the scene. The buggers have now arrested the husband of the dead lady. They just wanted me to tell them what I saw. But that copper knows about the other murders. Gary, he knows exactly who I am! I've had it up to here. First this crap with the sabotage and now another death. We've got to do something!"

Gary groaned. Three pairs of eyes turned towards him. Four, if he counted the cat who re-emerged from under the table with a suspiciously greasy muzzle. "Do me a favour and calm down. We've reached exactly the same conclusion, which is why Adrian is here. One step at a time."

Ike muttered something under her breath.

"Sorry, what was that, dear?" Lorna asked.

"I said I detested cucumber sandwiches. Never mind me. Adrian, could you find out what the local cops are up to?"

Adrian pursed his mouth. "My Italian connections are not as good as the ones I have in Germany. I can try. Bit surprising they should have arrested the husband. What you described sounds more like an accident."

"Hah! No idea, but the fact is we have had a few issues since arriving in Rome. I fear this so-called accident is related. I'm telling you, somebody's after us. And they got the wrong tourist. I mean, a tourist from another tour."

With a snap, Gary found his energy returning. And with it came anger. "What few issues would that be? And why am I not aware?"

For a second the phone was silent. But when she spoke, it was clear Ike had lost none of her steam. "No proof. At least not in the beginning. Didn't want to bother you, I mean it's a job for the people on site. But today someone tampered with the brakes of our coach. A few hours later, a tourist dies. Don't tell me that's a coincidence for it is not. If you ask me, somebody will stop at nothing to stop the tour."

Silence fell around the table, interrupted only by the vigorous washing of paws at Gary's feet.

"Well, the trip is almost finished. Perhaps that person will stop now?" Aline suggested.

"We have one more night," Ike said in the tones of a soothsayer predicting doom and gloom. "Anything can go wrong between now and tomorrow. And even if that person stops, what will happen next time? LiteraTours is doing okay for the moment. But we won't survive another disaster."

There was really no comeback to that.

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.

Photo by Sean Paul Kinnear on Unsplash