Page 63 of Joker in the Pack

I faced him square on with my hands on my hips. “How dare you even suggest that! No, it bloody is not. Yes, my ex-boyfriend was well off, and yes, my mother gave me endless lectures on marrying well, but that doesn’t automatically mean I’m after cash.”

“So, why would the locals think you are?”

What little fight I had left leached out of me and I sagged back against the wall, using it to hold myself up. “Because of Tate.”

“And who’s Tate?”

“I met him in the pub the evening of the first burglary. We got talking, and he suggested we might go out for lunch. I had no idea he was a rich lawyer.”

“So did you go out with him?”

“I have been seeing him, yes. He’s one of only…” I counted on my fingers. “Three people around here still talking to me.”

“Interesting. So, would you say you’ve become dependent on him?”

“Not dependent, but he’s been supportive. He understands that the rumours are just that: rumours. I couldn’t have got through this without him. We were out together when the brick got thrown, and straight away, he arranged for the window to be fixed. I wouldn’t even have known who to call.”

“Well, at least you’ve had somebody looking out for you. Who are the others?”

“Others?”

“You mentioned three people.”

“Warren, the local taxi driver, and the landlord of the pub in Stonystead. That’s a village a few—”

“I know where it is.”

Of course he did.

“And what’s your relationship with Warren?”

“I don’t have a relationship. He’s given me lifts on occasion, and he asked me out for dinner once, but I declined.”

“So you’re a customer of his?”

“He’s never charged me.”

“When was the last time he offered you a ride?”

“He gave me a lift into town, maybe a week and a half ago. He said he was going anyway, but now I think about it, he was driving in the opposite direction when he first saw me.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“Uh… Once, I think. I was on my bike, and he asked if I needed a lift instead, but I declined.”

“So he knew you had the bike, then.”

“You can’t think… Not Warren, surely?”

Nye nodded to himself. “Let’s go back to the kitchen.”

He nudged between my shoulder blades to steer me in the right direction. Even when he took his hand away, the heat from his palm still seared into my skin. His touch was all I could think about when he sat down at the kitchen table and took a slim laptop out of his rucksack.

“I’m going to take some notes. I want you to start right at the beginning with your life in London and talk me through to the present. Don’t leave anything out. Something must have triggered all this.”

I took a seat next to him and leaned against the wooden back, trying to keep as much space between us as possible. The air seemed thicker than normal, and every breath was a struggle.

Only when I managed to get enough oxygen did I begin my story.

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