Organized for Murder (37 page)
A service door led from the hallway to a sheltered exit, where I skirted a delivery lorry. With another backward glance to assure myself there was no fire-topped fury behind me, I blended in with the noontime masses. I needed somewhere to land for a few minutes and regroup. As luck would have it, the crowd herded me toward a busy fish and chips in the opposite direction from the fictitious
Jenny's
. A perfect place to hide.
The shop was full of hungry diners. At the counter, still panting a bit, I pointed at something on the overhead menu, little caring what I ordered, simply trying to rid my memory of those other fish. The gorgeous wonders dying on Simon's floor.
"I so love a good fish, don't you? With chips on the side, naturally. My idea of heaven."
I froze. The sound of his voice fueled my already spiked adrenalin. I prayed I was imagining things. Surely, he wasn't really there.
My hopes were dashed when the counterman brought my order and my imaginary friend swiped a chip.
"I must say, you're looking well, my lovely lioness. A bit more windblown than the last time I saw you, but the casual look suits you somehow. Still blonde, I see."
And he was now fully British.
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