A ringing phone in the kitchen drew her closer, but Bear wasn’t there. Papers littered the countertop and table she’d sat on earlier.
The ringing from beneath the messy stack of papers wasn’t stopping. Liss untied and retied her ponytail, but the delay didn’t prevent the phone from ringing. Bear would be angry if she answered it, but Strike might need him urgently. She pushed the stack to the side, sat, stood, and sat several times, holding the phone.
The name on the screen said, “The Big Cheese.” Was that an inside joke and another name for Strike? She poked her head out the door, but there was no Bear.
Liss pressed answer.
“Hello, Bear’s phone,” she said with a fake clear-cut accent. She’d turned into her nana. “Can I help?”
“I need to speak to Bear immediately. Strike isn’t answering his phone. What sort of half-assessed operation are you running over there?” a snooty man shouted.
The drama of the previous evening and all the events following took their toll. This guy was wasting time when Strike might have been calling about the bomber.
“We’re running a company that doesn’t need your attitude or business.” Her pub persona kicked in. It was the personality she brought when someone drank too much and vomited on her pub floor. “The men are in a highly confidential and imperative meeting, and you don’t get to make demands from them just because you shout the loudest.”
“But—”
“But nothing, sir,” she cut in. Maybe dickheads were the distraction she needed. The tension of the last days came out in force against the unsuspecting arsehole. “If you’d like to leave a message for Bear, I’ll ensure he gets it as soon as his meeting finishes, but if you’d rather rant without reason, I’ll happily tell you where you can shove your business. They are busy men with enough business to avoid dealing with people like you. Are we clear?” Liss paced the kitchen as she fisted her hand.
“Fine,” he stuttered. “Can you get them to call me as I need to book them?”
Was she speaking to the minion for a cheese company? The Big Cheese wasn’t a brand she recognised. “Certainly. Can I take a name? Presumably, the number to call is the one you called Bear on.”
“You want my name?” the caller’s voice pitched.
Liss snapped, “Unless you’d like Bear to speak to a psychic before he calls you, it would be helpful.” Somewhere in the house, the toilet flushed. What would Bear say if he caught her on his phone? Liss ran around the room, searching for a pen, but there was nothing. She yanked open the fridge and grabbed the first thing to hand: a can of squirty cream. “When you’re ready.”
“The name is Brian Fellowfeather,” was the curt reply.
Of course it was something impossibly long. Hopefully, there was enough cream in the can.
“Thank you. I shall let Bear know when he comes out of his meeting.”
“Make sure he does, as I want him and Strike in two weeks.”
“Have a lovely day,” Liss replied, returning to her polite phone voice as she swept the papers on the table to the side. Brian grumbled the same before hanging up.
With the phone still in her hand, she sprayed the name on the table as Bear walked in and leaned against the doorway.
“So many questions,” he said smirking. “But the first is what are you doing on my phone?”
“It rang, and I answered. Don’t get pissy about it.” He opened his mouth and closed it again. “You look like a fish.”
He puffed out his chest. “A sexy fish?”
“Obviously,” she sassed.
“The phone, Liss,” he replied, his voice low and his arms folded.
“Is that the way to talk to the woman who got you a job with The Big Cheese?” she replied, adding a swirly line beneath the name Brian Fellowfeather and staring proudly at her work.
Bear strode to the table. His eyebrows were nearly touching his hairline. “Are you kidding me? You spoke to Brian?”
Liss shrugged. “The guy is a dick, but I put him in his place. Stop staring at me like that.”
“You have no clue who he is, do you?” Bear’s face went slack. “Did you give him attitude?”
“Maybe.” She winced. “How important is this cheese factory owner?”