Love Detective: Next Level

Angela Dyson

Description

Note to self: Do not screw this up. When Clarry Pennhaligan, rookie private detective and unlikely heroine, takes on her second case, she is determined tomaster the art of smart. All she has been asked to do is to infiltrate a group of women who share a rather unusual way ofspending their spare time. Shouldn't be too demanding, she thinks, nothing to it. But, after her first clumsy steps revealsecrets that may best be kept hidden, her investigation gains momentum and events take a bizarre and sinister turn. Out ofher depth and working above her paygrade, Clarry soon faces a very real danger. Things just got Next Level.

Sujets

• Love
• Love (disambiguation)

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 21 septembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838596934
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Also by Angela Dyson

The Love Detective



Copyright © 2019 Angela Dyson

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.


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ISBN 978 1838596 934

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

This one is for my sister, Claire Dyson.
With much love and thanks for everything, Clairabella!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty- Five
Chapter Forty-Six



Chapter One
Evidently, I wasn’t making a good impression.
The woman sitting across the desk from me flicked a dismissive eye over the one neatly typed page of A4 paper that makes up my CV.
“I’m afraid that we have nothing for you,” she sniffed, looking again at my resume, “because, as I’m sure you’ll agree, it is rather thin.”
Harsh, I thought, but basically true. So, all right, at the age of twenty-six, I wasn’t exactly what you might call a high-flyer, but she must have something for me.
“I believe that your last temping job for us was cut short after only three days.” There was an edge of enquiry to her tone. “The notes we have on file are rather unclear as to the reason for this.”
I winced at the memory. Things had been going pretty well at the marketing company in Victoria, until a somewhat unfortunate incident involving my take-out cup of Grande Latte and a computer server. Apparently, there’s something in a double shot of caramel syrup that doesn’t quite agree with all its delicate little components. The system went down for two days with many thousands of pounds of potential business lost, I was informed by the managing director as he personally escorted me from the premises.
I cleared my throat. The woman was awaiting an answer.
“I was so efficient that I dispensed with the company’s workload in record time.”
Hoping that this would be enough to satisfy her, I flashed what I like to think of as a frank and engaging smile. She didn’t smile back. In fact, she appeared to be growing testier by the minute. Well, I reflected, I’d probably be out of temper too if I’d got up that morning and actually chosen, of my own free will, to wear a heavily ruched tunic top in a particularly bilious shade of green. It would be enough to ruin anyone’s day.
I took a swift glance at the laminate badge bearing the name Marion that was pinned to the offending tunic, and then widened my eyes at the accompanying slogan which promised that she was Here To Help. When was she going to begin? By her manner of barely suppressed irritation, I was guessing that it wouldn’t be any time soon.
“I only need a couple of days a week, Marion, to fit in with my waitressing shifts.”
I did my best to look bright and responsible and waited expectantly.
Marion sighed and sat back, tapping one of her long synthetic nails on a pile of folders.
“Part-time work is always much sought after, especially here in Wimbledon. And of course, we have plenty of other applicants. What is it about you that makes you different? Something that would incline me to put you forward as a candidate over all the rest? What’s your USP?”
My what? What was she talking about? What does USP stand for? Unusual Sexual Practices? I think I’m relatively normal in that department but how could I ever be sure? I made a mental note to ask the very next guy I slept with. Come to think of it, it was a very interesting question and one that deserved further consideration, but it did seem a bit odd somehow to have it asked by a recruitment agent.
“Hmm,” I faltered.
“Never mind,” she said, and the nail tapping upped a level. “Let’s look at it from the other way around. Let’s consider your weak points.”
I opened my mouth, about to explain that I wasn’t a big fan of routine, that I didn’t like taking orders and wasn’t a particularly organised person, when it occurred to me that this might be a trick question.
“Well,” I floundered, “I’m very flexible and I’m… um… good with people.”
I attempted another winning smile. “People like me.”
She didn’t look convinced. “They do ?”
“Yes,” I added firmly, because that was just plain rude. “Usually they do.”
There was a pause as we eyed one another, and I decided to give it one last shot.
“I have recently developed some new skills.”
The nail tapping stopped for an instant as she again looked at my CV.
“No,” I explained, “it’s not on there. It’s not really the sort of thing that…” I hesitated. I was on the verge of telling her just how much I’d learnt in the last couple of weeks from my first stab at private investigating, or what the more narrow-minded may refer to as poking my nose into other people’s business, when I broke off. What was the point? Somehow, she didn’t strike me as the kind of person likely to be stirred by tales of stake-outs and surveillance. I got to my feet.
“Forget it. I doubt you’d consider the experience relevant. Anyway, you have my number.”
From her look of relief, it was clear that we were neck and neck in our desire to bring the interview to a close. As I headed for the door, Marion called out, “I don’t hold out much hope.”
I turned back. Was she still speaking to me? No, I decided. She was merely expressing her own view of the world. Must be the influence of the tunic.
*
I stepped out into the warmth of a beautiful May morning and strolled up the hill towards home, resolving to put all thoughts of my pitiful lack of office experience out of my mind. Here I was on a Friday, feeling the sun on my face and the sense of freedom that comes from knowing that I didn’t have to answer to some ego-inflated jerk of a boss. I liked my ad hoc lifestyle. I had my waitressing shifts and still some slack on my credit cards and so, all in all, life was pretty good. And as for getting another part-time job or landing my next assignment, well, something would no doubt turn up.
Something did. And much sooner than I could ever have expected.
Chapter Two
As I let myself into the house, I could hear the phone ringing. Dashing into the sitting room and flinging aside my bag, I made a grab for it whilst simultaneously trying to shrug myself out of my jacket.
“Clarry? It’s Tara.”
“Hi, Tara. How are you?” I asked distractedly into the receiver, whilst struggling to free my left arm from my sleeve. Tara is one of my fellow waitresses at Abbe’s Brasserie and, although we occasionally work together, we hadn’t particularly struck up a rapport and had never gone out together socially. I waited for her to continue.
“Is there a shift you want me to cover for you?” I finally asked, presuming that was the reason for the call. “I can probably help you out.”
“No. No, nothing like that,” she offered hesitantly. “It’s just that… well… you know what a talker Ian is.”
I certainly did. My co-worker, Ian, or Iris as he prefers to be known, is one of my best friends. He’s wildly irreverent and utterly indiscreet. I adore him. He, in his turn, is very fond of me and I don’t think the fact that he also has size eight feet and can borrow my silver sling-backs for his drag queen act at the Jezebel Club, has anything whatsoever to do with it.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Once he gets started, it’s almost impossible to shut him up.” I finally managed to yank my arm clear and sank down onto the sofa. “So, what’s he been on about now?”
“It’s just that he mentioned,” Tara sounded a little embarrassed and I wondered what was coming next, “just in passing conversation, that you undertake private investigations, and so, I wanted to know if you could take on a job for a friend of mine.”
Typical Ian! He’d played a minor part in my recent adventures as a first-time amateur sleuth and now he was setting himself up as my agent.
“Actually, what he did say,” continued Tara, “was that although a highly experienced investigator, you keep the waitressing on as a cover story.”
I bit back a laugh at the absurdity of his exaggeration. I’d had one case, very nearly screwing it up.
“Tara. Listen,” I protested, “I