Blow Down by JL Merrow

Author:JL Merrow
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: mystery, murder, Gay, sixth sense, British, contemporary, romance, paranormal
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2016-07-12T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Me and Phil went round to see Uncle Arlo at six o’clock that evening, just as the skies were beginning to darken. Winter always seems so much closer when it starts to get dark before you’ve had your tea. I get mixed feelings at this time of year. Yeah, we’re losing the long days of summer, and my hip definitely isn’t a fan of colder weather, but there’s something, I dunno, magical, if that doesn’t sound too daft, about the nights drawing in. Maybe it’s the kid in me looking forward to Christmas.

Or maybe it’s just the thought of more time in bed with a certain six-foot private investigator. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Fenchurch’s Fine Fancies—and what kind of a name was that? It sounded like they ought to be selling overpriced, over-decorated cupcakes—was set up in, of all places, an old barn. It was down a winding, single-track country lane, the sort where you wonder if you should toot your horn when coming up to a corner, but always feel too self-conscious or, you know, too British to actually do it. In fact, the place was more like a series of connected barns, all tarted up, modernised, and set around three sides of a central courtyard with posh shrubs and big stone Buddha heads. The big plate glass windows, which I was guessing weren’t original, were brightly lit and full of stuff for sale.

A pretty little necklace that looked like a daisy chain caught my eye—I reckoned Cherry might like it, and it’s never too early to shop for Christmas, at least not for people whose allergies mean you can’t fob ’em off with a gift basket of bath stuff.

Okay, so there’s other reasons that would be a spectacularly bad gift for my sis. Still, no reason to rake over the past.

Then I saw the price tag and nearly fell into the shrubbery in shock. It wasn’t the only piece with an unfeasibly large number of zeros to its name either. Even the silver stuff wasn’t cheap, and claimed to be actually made of white gold, which I’ve never seen the point of. That and platinum. I mean, if you’re going to pay top whack for a bit of bling, you want everyone to know it, don’t you?

There was a Sorry We’re Closed sign hanging in the door, which turned out to be locked when Phil tried it. He rapped sharply on the glass, and we waited.

I stretched, long and slow. “If no one answers, I vote we chuck a brick through the window and make off with the goods. Compensation for a wasted journey.”

Phil huffed a laugh. “And this is the bloke who won’t even take cash for a job under the table.”

“That’s different. That’s professional ethics, that is.”

“What, and burglary’s all right because you’re only an amateur? What are you, a modern-day Raffles?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. And just be grateful your mum never had a VHS player and a thing for Anthony Valentine. Looks like someone’s coming,” Phil added, but I’d already noticed the dark shape getting larger behind the Closed sign.

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