Page 66 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘They’re meant to bewise, notaerial stuntmen,’ Ivy said, letting out a roar of laughter. She heard a chuckle beside her, and glanced up to see Fred clutching his sides, a broad smile creasing his face. She felt her body relax – this was going to be alright.
At seven o’clock that evening, Ivy surveyed her kitchen. She hadarranged every detail meticulously, from the plate of homemade scones – perfectly crumbly, and still warm from the oven – to the carefully placed candles that flickered in the corners.
She had not invited Fred. Earlier at the rehearsal they had taken a tentative step back on the road to friendship. She compared the task to building a church,stone by stone, with each rock carefully selected, examined and placed with reverence. To rush would create a wall that would inevitably crumble, whereas patience ensured a boundary that could withstand centuries of wind, rain and spiritual storms. And anyway, tonight was about Omar and, despite his useful accounting skills, Fred refused to get involved in the investigation.
The kettle whistled sharply, snapping her out of her spiralling thoughts. She poured water over the freshly ground coffee beans, the steam curling upward like a soft invitation.
First to arrive was Trish, her hazel eyes flashing with excitement. ‘I can’t wait to get going,’ she said. She peeled off her jacket and scarf and hurled them at the coat rack, before hopping into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got some news that’ll knock your socks off.’ Her eyes danced with mischief as she stacked her crutches against a chair.
Before long, Helen joined, smelling of a recent shower and looking effortlessly casual in a pair of fawn trousers and matching sweater.
Trish blurted out, ‘I can’t keep this to myself a second longer. I’ve been going through the records and discovered something outrageous. The Kabul Managing Director is pocketing two salaries!’ She paused, letting her outrage settle. Ivy’s thoughts drifted for a moment to Fred. She wanted to share this news with him.
‘Is he the only one?’ asked Helen.
‘That’s what was going through my mind,’ admitted Trish. ‘Ihad a look, and Robby only seems to get one, and it didn’t seem out of sync with the sector average.’
‘Why is the Kabul man getting two?’ asked Ivy.
‘Keep digging, girls,’ said Helen. ‘What we need is someone who works there, someone who worked in accounts and has access to the records Hazim’s given us a sample of.’
Ivy immediately thought of Omar’s contact – Farid. If only Omar would get involved, he could ask him to help.
‘The thing is, outrageous though this is, with people paying themselves twice,’ said Ivy, ‘it’s not what Omar discovered – he found evidence of payments to companies he didn’t think were supplying the charity. Have we uncovered something unrelated? Another problem?’
‘Hang on. Could this be the reason Omar was framed for drug smuggling?’ Helen said. ‘If the local management are overpaying themselves and they thought Omar had discovered, or was about to discover, what they were doing, was that the reason they framed him, before he could expose them?’
Ivy wrinkled her nose. ‘That wouldn’t explain why Robby is so keen for him to return to Kabul.’
‘Keen? More like desperate.’ said Helen. ‘Why would the CEO protect someone in Kabul who was cooking the books to overpay themselves?’
Ivy exchanged a glance with Helen. ‘Why not ask him?’ she suggested and as she said it, she felt as though a part of herself had quietly returned and taken its place without asking permission. Helen’s lips curved slightly. ‘I can’t. I’ve no reason to ask him. But you used to do this all the time, Ivy,’ she said. ‘Work out who was hiding what, and how to get them to reveal their secrets.’
Ivy blinked. It was true. Before she retired, she’d been good at this, teasing apart a story thread by thread, making sense of tangled motives. She’d been sharp, incisive. It had felt likesecond nature, once.
Helen leaned in. ‘ ... how do we do this?’
Ivy exhaled slowly. Helen was right. She could still do this.
‘We don’t just ask Robby,’ she said, her voice steadier now. ‘We give him a reason to talk. If he’s being pressured, we need to find out by whom. He won’t tell us outright, but he might react if we ask the right questions. Robby must know what’s going on. He is our route to unravelling this mystery.’
Trish sat forward. ‘So, how do we play this?’
Ivy thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘We make him feel like we already know more than we do. Just enough to make him slip up.’
The discussion flowed, punctuated by moments of heated debate and sudden ideas, most of which Helen dismissed as impractical. Yet Ivy’s thoughts drifted repeatedly back to Fred. She longed to share each new discovery with him, to see his reaction, convinced that once he realized how much progress the team was making, he would relent and get involved. But each time she reached for her phone to text him, she hesitated.
‘Let’s keep digging,’ said Helen. ‘My hunch is that we’re on the cusp of figuring out what’s really going on behind training teachers.’
‘But knowing what’s going on isn’t enough, is it,’ said Trish. ‘We need hard evidence to convince the Charity Commission to investigate.’
‘One step at a time,’ replied Ivy.
‘Ivy, what’s really going on in that head of yours?’ asked Trish, giving her a sympathetic look. ‘You’re not just thinking about FF, are you?’
Ivy laughed softly, though the sound was tinged with sadness.
The next morning arrived draped in a white so brilliant that when Ivy opened the back door to let Jez out, she had to shieldher eyes from the glare. After breakfast, she wrapped herself up and stepped outside. Clutching a crinkly rubbish bag, she set off down the path. The world was silent except for the crunch of her boots on the freshly fallen snow and the occasional distant chirp of birds brave enough to sing in the cold.
