Carnage on the Committee by Ruth Dudley Edwards

Author:Ruth Dudley Edwards [Edwards, Ruth Dudley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
ISBN: 9781590581339
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2004-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

11

‘So what do you reckon, Jim?’

‘That I’d like a change from Chinese food.’

Amiss felt slightly miffed. ‘You seemed very keen on it last night, so it seemed a safe option. The local Indian take-away is foul and the chipper is worse.’ As he spoke, Plutarch, who had clambered to the top of his armchair, launched herself at the table and landed just beside a large container, which overturned, scattering rice in all directions. Ignoring Amiss’ curses and loud imprecations from Milton and Pooley, she paused briefly to grab a sparerib and then leaped with her booty to the top of a nearby bookcase.

‘It’s my fault,’ said Amiss bitterly, as he started cleaning up. ‘I forgot to proffer the Danegeld before we began to eat.’ He paused to look at the enormous cat, now gnawing loudly and triumphantly. ‘You could have asked, Plutarch.’

‘I’ve never known Plutarch to ask,’ said Milton. ‘In fact, I’m rather reassured that she’s behaving badly again. I thought she was getting old before her time. Like me.’

‘Oh, Jim, you’re not,’ said Pooley. ‘You’re just over-worked.’

‘And disillusioned. I’m too old to adapt to the new pc world of the Metropolitan Police. It’s not just that you’re not supposed to be racist or sexist or any of the other ists. That’s fair enough. It’s that regardless of the truth you’re supposed to confess you were all those bad things and agree to be born again. I have this big problem. I think I was always encouraging to women and Asians and blacks and anyone I thought was worth a damn, but I’m told I can’t have been because I’m white and a man.’

Amiss looked at Pooley. ‘Is it that bad?’

‘It’s not good. You certainly have to think twice before you tear a strip off anyone but a WASP.’

‘A male WASP at that,’ added Milton.

‘And I was very annoyed when told by a drunken colleague at a recent party that it was a smart career move of mine to take up with a black woman.’

‘But that was a classic racist response, surely?’ said Amiss.

‘It might have been. But this particular racist was West Indian.’

Amiss groaned. ‘Even Rosa Karp might be intellectually challenged by these complexities. But what I’m sure of is that you have to hang in there; without people like you, the lunatics really will take over the asylum. Now have some more food and I’ll pour you more wine and you’ll feel better. But first, a safety precaution.’ Before Plutarch realised he was hovering, Amiss grabbed her, rushed her into the kitchen and slammed the door. As the cries of rage and the sound of a substantial body crashing against the door began, he picked up three spareribs, opened the door a couple of inches, pushed the bones through and slammed it again. Silence descended as he mopped the blood off his hand with a paper napkin. He looked at his guests and grinned. ‘It’s OK. Honour is satisfied. She’s not actually hungry, she’s got plenty to nibble

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