Blood on Poinsettia by Rhiannon D'Averc

Author:Rhiannon D'Averc [D'Averc, Rhiannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-11T05:00:00+00:00

9 – Ram

“For God’s sake.” I run my hands over my face, aware that talking to myself out loud is probably a bad indication of my level of coping. I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm, feeling how my hair is plastered down to it. The sheets of the bed around me are soaked through.

I can’t go on like this. I get up wearily, heading on stumbling, still sleepy feet towards the shower to rinse myself off with cold water. It’s the only thing that will dispel the lingering images of the nightmare: Will, wasted away almost to a skeleton, breathing shakily in my arms in a cold and dark cell until the breathing finally stops.

I check the clock as I stumble back out of the shower: four in the morning. Just fucking perfect. But I’m awake now. I can’t bear going back to sleep, in case the dream comes back again. I strip the sheets off the bed, remake it with clean ones, and then sit down, wondering what to do for the next three and a half hours before I can start calling people.

The cases I tried to pursue yesterday all turned out to be dead ends. Some of them had already been solved, and others were from clients who didn’t have enough budget to afford me. Not even at half price. I thought about helping them anyway – it’s always been the love of the challenge, the puzzle, more than the money for me – but that wouldn’t get me closer to being able to pay the bills.

I can’t just give up. It’s not an option. I can’t let us lose the apartment before Will comes home. So, what am I going to do?

There is one possibility – one that I don’t want to think about yet. A Hail Mary. But I haven’t got to that point, not until I’ve tried absolutely everything I can. I’ve already checked with Alex, and he doesn’t have anything I could come in on. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t work out there. I just have to look a bit harder for it.

I check our emails one more time, see another message – from one of the queries we’d had before. A woman looking for a stolen necklace, who regrets to inform me that she’s already found someone else. She was the last one I was waiting to hear back from – the others had all moved on to other solutions, too. Fuck. I wasn’t on the ball – wasn’t paying enough attention. I missed out on so many chances. I’ve let Will down.

I close my eyes for a moment. I can’t let this happen. I have to find a way to keep us here.

I spend the rest of the morning looking up lists, trying to find viable contact details. And when eight in the morning ticks around, I start making calls.

“Hello, you’ve reached PCI Studio. How can I help?”

“Hi, I’m just getting in touch as I’m a private detective.

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