SEVEN DEADLY THINGS (Henry & Sparrow Book 3) by A FOX (best value ebook reader TXT) 📗

watch. It was 9.30pm and she would dearly have loved to go to bed, but her contractual mixing and mingling continued for another half hour and Gary wouldn’t miss that she hadn’t shown up. She headed for the Embassy Ballroom, giving Backflip Barney a wave as he wandered down the lamplit main walkway towards his caravan.

‘You bringing out the World’s Smallest Bicycle tomorrow?’ she called.

‘Of course,’ he called, thumbs up. She smiled and did a thumbs-up back at him. Barney pedalling around the children’s theatre on a teeny-tiny bike was the bit the kids always loved the most.

‘Get a move on!’ growled Gary from the side door to the ballroom. ‘Mix ‘n’ mingle! Mix ‘n’ fuckin’ mingle!’

11

‘DOES HE LOVE ME? I CAN’T GUESS…’

Kate grabbed the microphone from Talia and bellowed, ‘HOW WILL I TELL IF IT’S NO OR YES?’

In the mirror tiles at the back of STIRRERS Cocktail Bar, she could see herself and Talia in their little glittery dresses — Talia’s electric blue, and her own a vibrant red — shimmying across the stage and giving it the full, pissed-up karaoke blast. The on-screen lyrics were fuzzy and they were both mostly making it up as they went along.

As they vocally slaughtered the old soul hit, cheered on by Nikki, Bill, Craig and Francis, it occurred to her that they were all having way too much fun for a bunch of friends who’d discovered only hours ago that one of their number had topped himself. In fact, within thirty minutes of meeting up in the Embassy Ballroom, after their initial huddle of shock and tears, they had moved into celebrate Martin’s life mode with great alacrity. It was a bit fast and unseemly, really.

‘IS IT IN HIS VOICE?’ sang out Talia, giving it the full Cher as she bestrode the small stage in front of a backdrop curtain of gold streamers right out of the seventies.

As she stomped her high-heeled black boots along in rhythm, Kate wondered how well they really knew each other at all. One summer season, from May to September, full of intense ups and downs, sharing chalets, sharing beds, sharing crises and celebrations. But she didn’t really know Martin that well and, in truth, it was probably only Talia that she could claim to know at all. She’d liked them all, yes, and she thought they liked her, although she was pretty sure they were a bit put off by her undergrad vocabulary.

From the stage, even with the lights in their eyes, Kate could see Nikki flirting madly with Francis, flinging her arms around his neck. It was a pretty blatant attempt to provoke Bill, she was sure about that. Although Francis was cute — as far as a big sister could ever judge — he was really not Nikki’s type. She was a beefcake kind of girl, and Bill was probably even brawnier now than he had been seven years ago. Nikki herself had filled out a little and probably gone up a dress size, but she was still pretty and vivacious, and Francis wasn’t exactly repelling her.

Craig was very easy to like — an instant gay best friend who styled himself on eighties pop stars (he had once been told he had a resemblance to a-ha’s Morten Harket). He was always great company, but he hadn’t stayed in touch for even a week after the season ended. Handy Bendy Julie had also vanished into grownupland without so much as a backward glance, so it would be interesting to see what she looked like now. When she showed up. She was late. Very late. Talia had texted her twice and got no response. Maybe she had decided not to come after all. Maybe they were down to just five, if you didn’t include Francis, of the original Magnificent Seven. They would have to be the Fabulous Five.

Kate knew she was drunk. It didn’t feel too bad. It blurred her concerns about Martin’s suicide and that incredibly irritating phone call with DS Stuart. She should lighten up, really. Have some fun. Bill launched himself up onto the stage just as they got to ‘HOLD HIM… YEAH, HOLD HIM TIGHT’, lifting his arms and inviting them to enact the lyrics, which they did. Bill’s taut, muscled upper body was emanating heat beneath his shiny grey shirt, and he smelt of quality aftershave. His hand slid around her waist, warm fingers pressing into her rib cage through the red silk of her dress, and she felt a little stab of desire. Not for Bill, especially. Even when she was drunk, his attractiveness could never compensate for the arrogant vanity which had always turned her off. But desire for some man. A man. Someone to be with. Some uncomplicated sex. That was what she needed. A face flickered into her thoughts and she shoved it quickly away until a better choice of face could be found. Ah yes. Conrad Temple would do nicely. The criminal psychologist she’d worked with a few times now back in Salisbury — boyish good looks, wide brown eyes and floppy dark fringe. Preppy, with a cute Boston accent. She reckoned he fancied her a bit, too, and thought maybe a date might be in the offing sometime soon.

As she continued the three-way karaoke she imagined being watched from the audience. Wearing her sexy red dress, hair in a wild blonde mane, eyes made up with smoky glitter shadow, lips glossed. Her work colleagues never saw this version of Kate Sparrow; she spent much of her time playing down her looks. Pretty blondes tended to get patronised and sidelined in the police and she did not intend to be one of them.

But sometimes it was nice to let the inner vamp out. Too bad she hadn’t thought to invite Conrad up here this weekend instead of Francis. But that wouldn’t have been uncomplicated sex, would it? A guy she sometimes had to work with. That other face reasserted itself in her mind’s eye