Bristol House by Beverly Swerling

Author:Beverly Swerling
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

***

“Just so you know,” Geoff said, reaching into his pocket, “I’m not only a pretty face.”

Annie grinned. “You are, though. A very pretty face.”

He did not look pleased by the compliment. “Given the circumstances, you’re rather lighthearted.”

“Not lighthearted, no. But I’m starting to get it. At least I think I am.”

“Can I ask what ‘it’ is?” He was holding a folded sheet of paper, but he made no effort to pass it over.

“I’m not sure,” Annie admitted. “But the ghost wants something from me.”

Geoff hesitated. “Prayers for his soul, something like that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why would any ghost come to me for that? But this one . . . he’s played to all my strengths, Geoff. I think he wants my”—she blushed—“my expertise.”

“Tudor buildings. Doorway decorations.” He did not sound convinced.

“Something like that. ‘Seek here the Speckled Egg.’ It was a direction. Something I’m supposed to do.” She waited a moment. He said nothing. “Why do you look like that?”

“Because against my better judgment and my common sense, I’m thinking you may be right.”

They were in the gastropub in Cosmo Place, the one he’d taken her to the first time they’d had dinner together. It was jammed, and apparently the big attraction was a traditional British Sunday lunch—everyone around them was tucking into roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. They’d both ordered lentil soup and ham sandwiches. “I spent some time checking after you called,” Geoff said. “I’ve got something.”

Quite a lot of time, Annie thought. The stubble was heavier than usual, and his eyes were as red-rimmed as she imagined hers to be. “Time on what?” she asked.

“Using my Nexis connection mostly.” He took a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve discovered something new about Philip Weinraub.”

He shook his head. “I’ve exhausted that avenue long since. Weinraub’s secrets are too well hidden for Nexis. I was looking for Mrs. Grindal.”

“Who?”

“The bloke who sold us the quail eggs said they came from a Mrs. Grindal. According to him, she raises quail in Holloway. That seemed mad to me. Holloway’s in the East End, one of the most densely populated parts of London.”

“But he said she’d been doing it for donkeys,” Annie said. “That meant ‘a long time,’ didn’t it?”

“Exactly. It’s Cockney rhyming slang. Donkey’s ears equals years. Common parlance now. Anyway, there isn’t any Mrs. Grindal. At least not one living in Holloway who raises quail.”

Annie didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then: “That’s really interesting. It sounded so convincing. Maybe he had the name wrong.”

“It’s not that simple,” Geoff said. “Take a look at this.” He finally passed her the piece of paper he’d been hanging on to.

Annie studied it for a moment, then looked up. “I’m not sure what I should be seeing.”

“‘High-Class Provisions’—that’s what the sign said, remember?” And when she nodded: “We were in St. John’s Lane. It’s a short street. What you’ve got there is a list of every address and proprietor. There isn’t any provisioner.

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