The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (microsoft ebook reader TXT) 📗

screamed and ran for the house, searching for a shoulder to cry on, and more gin. Armitage hid in the long grass, grinning, and thinking of his mother. He could still hear Donna wailing in the house. ‘Donald, Donald, do something for God’s sake!’

Armitage laughed to himself and tried to catch a big red butterfly. It had been one of the better days, so far as he was concerned.

When he was five, his father began taking him to the garage on Saturday mornings. He thought the boy would be interested in the cars and the engines. Armitage detested the idea. He hated the smell of petrol, diesel and oil. He disliked engines, the sharp edges underneath the vehicles, and the frightening noise as the mechanics went about their work. He had no interest in science or engineering in any form. He would take his teddy bear along for company and would ignore the cars and customers and find a quiet corner, and content himself by playing with his only pal.

The second Saturday that Donald took him was busier than usual. Donald lost track of his son. He was far too busy for parental supervision, Armitage wandered outside, up the high street, and in the first shop he came to.

Greenaway’s Florists.

A magical place full of multi coloured blooms and a scent that reminded him of his mother.

‘That’s a fine bear,’ said Mrs Greenaway, who owned and ran the shop. She’d noticed the little boy standing in the doorway. He’d been there for some time.

‘What’s his name?’

The boy said nothing.

‘Would you like to help me arrange the flowers?’

The boy nodded.

‘Come here, then.’

The boy ambled across the little shop.

‘Set your teddy down there, and we’ll begin.’

Armitage liked Mrs Greenaway from the first moment and soon came to adore her. She smelt of soap and cleanliness and warmth and scent. Perhaps it was working with blooms all day, he imagined, she smelt like his much missed mother. She was always smiling and producing chocolate fingers from her pinny, and once they grew to know each other, she would put her arms around his tiny shoulders, or pat his freckled forearms, encouraging him in, advising which flowers went best with which, which blooms to select, as Porridge the bear sat contentedly before them, observing, amongst the vases of multi coloured tulips, happy that his friend Armitage was in good company, and in high spirits. The bear hadn’t seen that in ages.

Armitage had been in the shop for well over an hour before his panicking father burst in.

‘There you are, you naughty boy! I’ve been looking all over for you!’

Mrs Greenaway knew her business neighbour well enough. She knew Kay as a friend. Kay had been a regular customer, always buying flowers for the house and the showroom, and in latter times she shared confidences. Mrs Greenaway knew Donna too, and of her reputation, though she was too polite to say anything about that.

‘Don’t shout at him,’ she said. ‘He’s been helping me with the flowers. He’s very good at it, and he’s most welcome,’ and as if to prove the point, she slipped a heavy silver coin into the boy’s hand. It was the first time anyone outside of the family had ever given him money, and he would remember it forever.

‘Would you like to come back next week?’ She asked the boy.

Armitage nodded. He still hadn’t spoken a word.

Mrs Greenaway stared at Donald, as if challenging him to refuse.

He thought about it for a second and nodded and said, ‘All right, if it’s what the boy wants.’

Armitage smiled sweetly.

Mrs Greenaway did too and said, ‘Good, that’s settled. I must get along, I have a wedding at three.’

Army picked up Porridge and waved the lovely lady goodbye, as his father took his hand and dragged him back to the smelly and noisy garage.

Armitage knew well enough where he preferred to be.

Chapter Seventeen

Samantha was getting dressed. She’d slipped into the pink skirt and jacket. She glanced in the mirror. Cocked her head from side to side. Her neat blonde bob-cut hair looked fab. Red lips, a hint of mascara, not too much makeup for it was a lunchtime meet. She slipped on the designer white sling backs she’d bought with Desi in Manchester, and the ivory pigskin gloves. Desi had bought them. A special present for a special person.

They made a point of going to Manchester once a month for a big spend up. Always returned with far more merchandise than necessary, but that was half the fun, the naughtiness of it. Sam missed the trips to Cottonopolis, with Des. She’d tried it once by herself but it wasn’t the same, but there was nothing that could be done about that now.

Samantha had a date.

A blind date; and blind dates were always the most exciting. She’d found him on the Internet. You can buy anything you want on the Internet these days. It had usurped the Young Conservatives as the easiest place to locate a new squeeze. She had done it by the book.

They suggested, the website owners, that to begin with you met at lunchtime in a very busy place. Safety in numbers. You can never be too careful. There are millions of weird people out there. Sam wasn’t taking any chances.

They agreed to take lunch in the Hunting Rooms of the Royal Hotel in the Grosvenor precinct. They would meet outside the main entrance at one o’clock. She glanced at her watch. 12.15. Time to go.

JAGO CRIPPS CLEANED his glasses. He had a date with something of a mystery girl. She said he would not be disappointed. He’d soon see. He had no idea what she looked like. She said she was too shy to upload her picture. She would recognise him, because he would carry a bunch of daffodils. Jago had never bought flowers for a woman before, and the weird thing was, he had no way of recognising her. She’d insisted it be that way, and that