The Puccini Connection (A Milkwood Murder Book 1) by Sam Bond

Author:Sam Bond [Bond, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-21T16:00:00+00:00

36

By the time I’d paid the tab, both Finolla and Daisy were nowhere to be seen. I imagined Daisy had returned to her bed and breakfast and Finolla—who knew? One could assume she was retreating to Plum Tree Cottage, but she could just as easily be heading to The Dirty Duck, the West End, or Magaluf.

I strolled along Peacemeal Street until the intoxicating smell of chicken korma brought me to a stop. Finolla had given me her debit card to pay for our drinks. Seemed like it would still be within the spirit of “having dinner with my mother” if I used the card to actually buy us dinner, and I could think of no better place to splurge than Naan’s Takeaway.

I grappled with the door and stepped inside. Naan’s was empty, other than a young girl slouched behind a utilitarian counter, engrossed in her phone.

“We’re out of lamb,” the girl said, without looking up. “Something to do with a balls up at the local farm.”

“You source your ingredients locally?” I asked.

“Da no. We’re just out of lamb, all right?”

I approached the counter, retrieved a slender menu, and flipped it open. It had been a long time since I’d experienced exceptional Indian food. The Indian food in Austin wasn’t bad, but in my memory even the lousiest Indian takeaway in England compared favorably to Indian food in the States.

My salivary glands went into overdrive as I perused the menu. I skipped over the lamb section and placed my order, three appetizers and three main dishes (medium spice) with rice and several plain naans, figuring there was nothing better than leftovers. I replaced the menu next to a cute statue of a multi-armed elephant and retired to one of the padded chairs located underneath a silenced TV.

As soon as the order was placed the girl went back to her phone. She was a pretty girl, around seventeen, with dark hair pulled into a thick ponytail and wearing the same familiar tie and blazer as Dan Ludlow.

I flashed back to Dan’s reference to Gurminder Singh. Unless Gurminder had a sister I assumed this must be the girl in question and, if so, was she also the girl whose initials appeared in Aunt Rose’s schedule and on one of the poison pen letters? There were not too many teenagers in the village. There was also not a lot of diversity. Until entering Naan’s the only other Asian I’d encountered since arriving in Milkwood was Helen Winterbottom, and Petruska being the one token Eastern European. Of course, you only had to take a train ride forty minutes north and you’d be in London’s cosmopolitan heart. But here, in a small, rural village, it was like stepping back to the 1940s.

The young girl’s cell phone rang and she swiped right. She listened intently before checking over her shoulder to make sure she couldn’t be overheard. Obviously, I was no one she had to worry about so, when she spoke in a hushed murmur, I heard every word.

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