Something in the Blood (A Honey Driver Murder Mystery) (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-seven

A guy wearing a lop-sided toupée and a carnation in his buttonhole smiled in her direction. For a split second his shiny shoes pointed her way. His course altered the moment John Rees appeared.

‘Have you had a good day?’ he asked, once the drinks were on the bar.

She nodded. ‘Good enough. My daughter hasn’t told me she’s pregnant, the chef hasn’t sliced off a customer’s ears, and no one’s caught the curtains alight with a double Sambucca.’

He nodded affably. Being affable as well as good-looking was definitely one of John’s things. She told herself he was exactly what she needed; nothing too macho, too cocksure and too much of a lad with the ladies. She knew a policeman who fitted the latter category.

‘You seem good, you know, kind of relaxed.’

She licked a dewdrop of wine from her bottom lip.

‘I’m wearing my relaxation hat.’

‘Do you have many? Hats that is.’

She counted them off on her fingers. ‘There’s my Father Confessor hat – people tell you all sorts of details about their private lives over the bar. Then there’s my ‘the customer is always right hat’. That’s the one I reserve for the loudmouth who insists on his consumer rights when a greenfly lands on his salad. Then there’s …’

‘Whoa! And what about your amateur detective hat?’

The sound of her sigh seemed to echo through her body.

‘Not tonight. Case solved and the butler DID do it – well sometimes butler. Most times mechanic.’

‘So how do you intend to celebrate?’

Honey pursed her lips, eyed the ceiling and thought about it.

‘I could buy something really old, silky and outdated at Bonhams’ next collectibles auction, but I’ve got a long wait. They held one yesterday and there were some good items going under the hammer. But never mind. I’ll catch the next one.’

John smiled. ‘It was a good auction.’

‘You went?’

He nodded. ‘Indeed I did.’

‘Lucky dog!’

‘I was. I bought you a present.’

He reached down to the gap between their bar stools.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘I saw this and thought of you.’

She started to undo the black plastic bin bag he’d handed her.

‘Stylish wrapper,’ she mused.

He shrugged. ‘It was practical.’

Her fingertips touched something familiar.

She smiled at him. ‘Whalebone running through crisp lace and soft silk feels like nothing else in the world.’

She peered in and saw red satin trimmed with black lace. Probably French, just like the one she’d missed on the morning when Casper had summoned her to his office.

John’s hand covered hers. ‘Best if you didn’t get it out in here. People might get jealous.’

She grinned and looking up at him felt all warm inside.

‘A corset. Should look nice encased behind glass with the rest of my collection.’

The look he gave her was almost serious, certainly unsmiling.

‘In my opinion it’s the corset that should do the encasing. What do you think?’

A slow smile spread across her face. ‘You must have read my mind.’

The hollow sound of a phone ringing in the deep recesses of her favourite Gucci handbag cut the conversation short, though the inclination remained.

‘Mother!’

Her smile was stiff and barely patient.

‘Hannah, I’ve arranged for Mr Paget to meet you in the bar of the FrancisHotel at nine o’clock. Are you far from there?’

‘Mr Paget?’

‘My dentist.’

‘I’m sorry, Mother, I’m not. I’m in Bradford on Avon,’ she lied. ‘I’ll have to take a rain check I’m afraid. Can you tell him that?’

The response was grumbled.

An echo of another phone trilled from the other end of the bar. The guy with the toupée answered the call, shoved the phone away and ordered a double whisky.

Honey eyed him feeling like a rabbit that’s just outwitted the fox.

‘Do you know him?’ asked John.

‘I think he’s a dentist.’

‘Well we certainly don’t need him, do we?’ said John. ‘A bottle of champagne is very well deserved.’

She leaned closer to him. ‘A bottle of champagne, a four-poster bed and a red satin corset.’

Her phone rang again. This time it was Doherty.

‘Hi! We’re partying, having a right humdinger of a celebration. Fancy joining us?’ He hesitated before saying the words she wanted to hear. ‘After all, you put so much into this. I need to show my appreciation.’

‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. Not tonight.’ She smiled at John. ‘I’m inspecting the facilities at a prominent Bath Hotel.’

‘Never mind. Another time? Just the two of us?’

‘Always willing to oblige the police.’

She snapped the phone shut. Blue eyes and stubble. Why was that so attractive? She also liked the way his hair flopped over his forehead, and that lop-sided smile. He also looked pretty good in jeans. Some guys just didn’t fill them as they should be filled. She hadn’t realised she was so deep in thought until John’s voice broke through.

‘Shall we take a rain check too?’

She jerked her head up. ‘What?’

He smiled at her. ‘Look. I wouldn’t want to rush anything …’

She bent her head over her bag, unwilling to let John see the sudden confusion she knew would show in her eyes. That was the trouble with having an open face – anybody could read it.

She fiddled with her phone as she thought things through. Suddenly the four poster and all the trimmings didn’t seem quite as attractive as they had done.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. As I said, I wouldn’t want to rush things.’

But Doherty would, she thought as she left the bar. Damn him for phoning, for being lustful, masculine and annoyingly attractive. Damn her feet for heading towards Manvers Street and a party that she just had to be a part of.

Her phone rang again. ‘Are you coming?’ It was Doherty.

And damn him for being so sure that she’d come.

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Next in the Honey Driver series

Chefs can be arrogant, competitive and downright murderous at times, so when Bath International Taste Extravaganza (BITE for short) organizes a best chef competition, Honey Driver, the Hotels’ Association police liaison officer, senses trouble. Her instinct proves correct when the winning chef is found dead in his own kitchen. Then a second, and a third … On top of this Honey’s mother has fallen for the charms – and the white Rolls Royce – of a wealthy butcher, supplier to the catering trade. Is he really after her mother's body – well preserved as it is – or is he after the hotel’s meat account? Honey’s own relationship with dishy DS Doherty is on hold. He’s pooped – too tired even to fall for Honey’s ample charms. As for the murderer, is this a case of past grievances? And once it’s solved, will Honey finally get her man?