Page 38 of Joker in the Pack

“Is it true old Eleanor Rigby died on her couch?” Before Graham could answer, Floyd explained, “Graham’s our local policeman. Mrs. Rigby caused him no end of paperwork—isn’t that right?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about that.” Graham tapped the side of his nose. “Official police business.”

“But this is Mrs. Rigby’s niece, Olivia. It’s only right that she should know what happened to her aunt.”

Graham still didn’t look convinced, so Floyd attempted what I assumed was supposed to be a smile. “Can I get you another pint?”

“Floyd Peterson offering to buy someone a drink? Wonders will never cease.” Graham waved Jean over. “Another pint of bitter, young Jeanie, and put it on this gentleman’s tab.”

Floyd’s plan worked. The alcohol soon loosened Graham’s tongue, and once he started talking, he couldn’t stop.

“Got the call at eleven on Monday morning when the postie spotted her through the front window, and that was a shock, let me tell you. Nothing much ever happens around here.”

“Don’t normally have much in the way of work to do, eh?”

Graham glared at Floyd. “I worked that day, all right. We had to break the door down to get in, and she was all swelled up in the lounge. Never seen anything like it. She wasn’t small before, but I swear she was twice her normal size. Took six men to carry her out.”

By then, a small crowd had gathered, and everyone grimaced at his words.

“But she was on the couch, though?” Floyd asked.

Graham’s eyes struggled to focus. “She was. Propped up in front of her computers. The screen was frozen on one of them, and she played her last poker game just before midnight the previous Friday. She lost her gamble with God, didn’t she?”

He laughed at his own joke while someone else muttered, “With the devil, more like.”

Another voice piped up. “She’ll be feeling the heat now alongside her husband and son. Bad apples, the lot of them.”

Had Eleanor really been that awful? I considered asking what she’d done to upset so many people, but in the end, I decided against it. No point in reminding people that we were related, and besides, she was dead. You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

No, a subject change was in order. “Well, it looks like the queue’s gone down. About time I got some food. Can anyone recommend a dish?”

Twenty voices spoke at once, suggesting everything from a mild korma to a blow-your-head-off phall, and I made my escape into the next room to scoop aloo gobi and rice onto a plate. Finding a table presented my next challenge, but everyone seemed to be sharing, so I gingerly sat at the end of a large group who all seemed to know each other.

After a few mouthfuls, I understood why The Cock and Bull was packed. The delicate mix of spices burst across my palate, and I might even have moaned.

“That good, huh?” the guy next to me said. “Always good to hear a woman moan, although I’d rather she was underneath me while she did it.”

Inappropriate much? The speaker was a man not much older than me, and an arrogant smirk tugged at his lips.

I shuffled my chair an inch or two farther away. “The food’s tasty, yes.”

“I can see something else that’s tasty.”

He ran his fingers up my arm, and I shuddered. He wasn’t ugly, but his slug-like qualities weren’t offset by the Ferrari key casually tossed next to his plate.

“Please, just let me eat.”

“Oh, I will. I like a woman who knows what to do with her mouth.”

I almost suggested he look for his type of woman on a street corner, but Mother would have turned in her grave. Instead, I tried another sideways shuffle and accidentally bumped into a brown-haired man standing next to me.

“So sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“Is he bothering you?” the newcomer asked, motioning at the sleaze.

“Uh…”Don’t offend the new neighbours, Olivia.“Maybe just a little.”

“Henry, leave the lady alone.”

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