The Distant Dead by Lesley Thomson (most difficult books to read .txt) 📗

‘Zack, this has been helpful, your tours could augment our service to our upmarket clients, before and after shots, order restored.’ At last, the photographs Stella had sent through downloaded.

Dark hair instead of blonde, straight hair for curly. Same colour eyes. But for hair straighteners and a bottle of black dye, the grumpy woman seated at the desk which Zack had made his own was unmistakable.

Zack Hunt might not know where his boss was but, thanks to Stella’s photograph, Jackie did.

Chapter Forty-Three

2019

Jack

‘Perfect, you can keep watch on March’s girlfriend, she’s renting a room at Mrs Wren’s boarding house right opposite,’ Lucie said when Jack and Beverly explained where they were staying.

‘We’re facing the back,’ Beverly said.

‘It’s a short journey when you pay her a visit.’ Lucie was unfazed.

‘On what pretext? From what you say, Mrs Wren is a good gatekeeper,’ Jack said.

‘Pretext schmeetext, Mr Fox. For the man who hangs out with True Hosts, crashing Gladys’s hen-house will be a doddle.’ Lucie plunged her fork into a fearsome wedge of strawberry cheesecake. She’d requested three forks, but keeping the plate close, neither of them could reach.

‘It’s bedsits – every room will be occupied at night.’ Jack still felt a pressing sensation through his coat where Stella had rested her hand.

‘Not every room.’ Lucie held up a hand in front of her mouth as she chewed. ‘Mr March has vacated. Anyway, go in the day, when Andrea’s being a gardener.’

‘I’ll divert Gladys while you go up the stairs.’ Beverly would be itching for adventure.

‘You’ll be selling holy trinkets in the abbey’s gift shop.’ Lucie was wrapping up the remainder of the cheesecake in a napkin.

‘How is that possible?’

‘You’ll be answering that ad which is in the entrance to the abbey. Joy by Nature will snap you up as a blessed change from the gnarled grotesques who otherwise will be her option. Once you’re behind Joy’s counter, don’t let her out of your sight.’

Jack nearly asked who put Lucie in charge, but transported by the memory of Stella’s hand, knew that if Lucie commanded, he’d dance on a bed of nails.

‘What are you going to do?’ Bev’s intonation suggested she resented being bossed by Lucie. ‘I mean, shouldn’t we wait for Stella?’

‘Stella is cleaning at Cloisters House in half an hour,’ Lucie said.

‘She should not be working.’ Jack spilled his coffee.

‘Would you like to tell her that?’ Lucie beamed her sweetest smile. ‘Just when the turtle dove is letting you land in her nest…’

‘She’s not— Oh, hang on.’ Jack got a text. ‘Wow. Jackie went to Geo-Space. The people who made the virtual tour with Roddy March in the top room that we showed you?’

‘You only showed me this morning.’ Lucie had an air of infinite patience.

‘The CEO of Geo-Space is Andrea the gardener.’ Jack pushed his phone across for Lucie and Beverly to see.

‘Wrong hair,’ Lucie huffed.

‘No, it is.’ Beverly enlarged the picture. ‘See that mole there, on the line of her chin? Andrea has a mole in the same place.’

‘People can get moles removed,’ Lucie said.

‘Yes, but she hasn’t, that’s the point.’ Beverly was exasperated.

Lucie was a poor loser, so Jack trod carefully. ‘Jackie says this Andrea owns Northcote’s London house, the one in Ravenscourt Square where we caught March in the virtual tour. Jackie suggests that Andrea found Julia Northcote’s Swiss Roll box with her letter and the newspaper cuttings when she was living there.’ Jack was on the edge of his chair.

‘This is a game-changer,’ Beverly said. ‘Andrea finds the box, Roddy steals her idea for his podcast. Did he even know she was filming him?’

‘I’m sure he never noticed the camera in the middle of the room on a tripod.’ Lucie dabbed up crumbs on her plate. ‘In answer to your question about what I shall be doing, Bev-er-lee, I shall be taking cupcakes with dear Gladys.’

‘Where?’ Considering the cheesecake, Jack nearly asked how.

‘Lo, the wren has landed. Coo-ee, Gladys.’ Lucie waved one of her forks at a small woman, startling in a silver jacket and a pink and yellow scarf heading their way. Lucie hissed, ‘The boarding house is vacant, Jack. Embark on tasks now. Shoo.’

*

It was too easy to enter Mrs Wren’s house. Jack wondered if her tenants knew she kept a key under the back door mat.

Lucie had said no one would be there, but Jack was wary. Andrea Rogers might have called in sick. The size of the house suggested at least four rooms to rent: Andrea’s, March’s bedsit was sealed, and a ‘Vacancies’ sign in the front window implied one at least was empty, but the other? Jack disliked unknowns.

No sound. A stale smell of meals past, all fat-based.

Gladys Wren had entertained Stella and Lucie in her front parlour, a gloomy room at the front of the house. Through nylon curtains, Jack could see his hotel opposite. He sniffed mothballs and polish. The smell of Isabel Ramsay’s house, his neighbour when he was boy. Formidable to many, Isabel had been infinitely better company than the hyper-critical pillar of disdain who would bid Jack call her Grandmama and mind his manners.

Jack was about to mount the stairs when a clanging jolted him out of his skin. A telephone in the hall was amplified by a speaker on the landing above. Jack shrank back down the hall passage as he heard thumping on the stairs. The receiver was picked up.

‘Wren House. Who is this?’ A whiny-sounding man answered. A lodger. Jack had been right to assume nothing.

‘Who? No one called Harmon lives here… I’m not divulging my name. Are you trying to sell me something?… You tell me your name… Thought not, slime-ball.’ The sound of the receiver being replaced on the cradle.

Jack dared not move. He knew from Stella and Lucie that the lodgers had the right to use Gladys Wren’s kitchen. What if he decided to make himself a cup of tea now that he was down there?

A draught cooled the passage. Peeping