Page 35 of Good Bad Girl

“Darling sister, are you suggesting that I am incapable of charitable acts unless they benefit me in some way?”

“Yes.”

“Rude.”

“I think what we need to focus on now is finding Mum.”

Jude rolls his eyes. “Good luck with that.”

Clio looks around the tiny room and notices the papercut on the wall. It is of a black fox. “This looks familiar,” she says, taking a closer look. “Didn’t you send me one of these for Christmas?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have. They’re proving to be quite popular in the gallery, I’ve sold—”

“Whydidyou send me a Christmas gift last year? We weren’t even speaking at the time.”

“I told you, the girl reminded me of you a bit.”

“She looks nothing like me—”

“You’re right, she’s pretty. I mean her situation. I was still so young when you ran away as a teenager, but I remember it. I suppose I missed you back then because you were more of a mum to me than Mum ever was.” Clio has never heard him say that before, she didn’t even know if he remembered how often she put him to bed, took him to school, cooked him his dinner. Their mother was always at work. She told them she was a detective, that her job wasimportant, but all she really did was catch the occasional shoplifter. Jude’s face darkens again. “There’s no need to get all sentimental. My judgment was clouded by a rare moment of nostalgia, that’s all. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I don’t know why I bothered to try to do something nice. I’m guessing you gave the papercut I sent you to charity?”

Clio doesn’t correct him, or say how much she liked it—enough to hang it in the room where she spends most of her time.

“What now?” Clio asks, recognizing the expression her brother’s face has always worn when he wins a bet or solves a puzzle.

“There was a woman,” he says.

“That’s a first. What woman?”

“A woman. Downstairs, with the framed papercut I gaveyoufor Christmas.Didyou dump it in a charity shop? I presumed that’s where she found it.”

Clio shakes her head. “No. A new client stole it from my house and climbed out the window with it yesterday.” They stare at each other for a while. Their mutual hatred put to one side because they both know they can’t fix this mess alone. “Did you pay the girl for her art?” Clio asks.

“I let her stay here rent free in exchange for the odd piece of work—”

“You mean you took advantage of her misfortune and exploited her talent.”

“I was never anything but a good Samaritan. When that ghastly care home manager happened to mention how short staffed they were, I suggested the girl might be able to help out there. I put a roof over her headandgot her a job. How was I supposed to know she was a con artist?”

It would have been like looking in a mirror, Clio thinks.

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I agree she was ghastly,” she says.

“What? Who is dead?”

“The care home manager. You just said she was ghastly—”

“Are you saying Joy is dead?”

“I didn’t know you were on first name terms, especially given you never visited the care homeorour mother.” Jude stares at her, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “What? I did try to tell you earlier.”

“When? How did she die?” he asks.

“She was found dead in the elevator with an out-of-order sign around her neck.” Her brother’s face does something unfamiliar, and Clio realizes this is what he looks like when shocked. “At least, that’s what Iheard. I obviously didn’t see it with my own eyes,” she backtracks.

“Bloody hell.”

“Does it matter?” Clio says, wanting to change the subject. She notices that her brother’s permanent tan has turned a little pale. “Whatdidyou think the police were arresting the girl for?”

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