“At least you know the difference between a crosshead and a flathead. I’m sure my ex didn’t even know what a screwdriverwas.” Mattie took the middle-sized one. “This is good. Can you hold the torch for me?”
Nell knelt on the wet floor next to Mattie. It was a tight squeeze, hot and humid. Thank god she’d used deodorant before leaving the office. Smelling of sweat would’ve been so humiliating.
“See that joint there? That’s the stopcock. Once upon a time, you know, in the dark ages, they used to be much bigger and shaped like a tap. These ones are considerably smaller and you need to know what you’re looking for.” Mattie turned the screw to the right. “Simple, once you know where and how.”
Nell’s eyes weren’t on the stopcock, or the sink, or anything plumbing related. They were transfixed by the curve of Mattie’s breast, her sleeveless T-shirt having snagged up to reveal bare pale skin. She glanced away when Mattie sat up on her haunches. Their thighs brushed together. Nell jolted back like she’d been stung. A silence stretched between them, filled with something Nell couldn’t—wouldn’t—identify. Mattie’s eyes grew wide, and Nell fiddled with the torch.
“I’ll need to check the stopcock but I’ll wait until Angie gets here with a bucket,” said Mattie, her voice husky. “I don’t want to make the floor any wetter than it already is.”
“No, quite. Good plan.”
The spell, or whatever it was that had captured them, was broken when Angie bustled in carrying a bucket and mop.
Nell jumped up. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“You can’t go. I still need to show you the photo.”
Damn. Nell hovered by the bathroom door while Mattie turned the tap on to check there was no water flow.Could this be any more awkward?
“There, that worked,” said Mattie.
“You’re a lifesaver,” said Angie. “Except now you’ve got no working bathroom. I’d offer you a different room, but we’re fully booked.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s not the end of the world,” Mattie said. “I’ll use the communal bathroom downstairs for tonight.”
“Obviously, I won’t charge you for the room.”
“Nonsense, especially after everything you’ve done for me.” Mattie touched Angie’s arm. “Besides, this is luxury compared to some hotel rooms I’ve stayed in. You should’ve seen the state of the so-called international hotel in Bucharest. It was a few years after the Ceausescu revolution, but Romanians were still struggling to get hold of basic supplies. There was only one working light bulb in the room, threadbare carpet, and water running through the toilet all night because someone had nicked the ballcock.”
Angie appeared mollified. “At least let me clean up in here and get you fresh towels.” She turned to Nell. “Use the kitchen so you can talk privately. Help yourselves to a glass of wine or a cuppa.”
Nell gave herself a pep talk while she dutifully led Mattie to the kitchen. She was on duty. She needed to be worthy of the police uniform she was wearing and take charge of the situation. She busied herself filling the kettle and tried to relax her ramrod-stiff back. Angie’s kitchen was a decent size, but right now, it felt as claustrophobic as a tiny cave. “Tea or coffee?”
“Tea is good.”
Nell clutched the tea caddy to her chest. What else? Mugs. Milk. “Sugar?”
“Not for me, thanks.” Mattie perched on a high stool at the kitchen island with a view of the rambling white roses. “Is your garden as big as Angie’s?”
“Similar. It’s set at a different angle though.”
“You’ve got to like gardening if you own something this size or it’ll become an overgrown meadow.”
Nell poured hot water into the tea pot. “That’d make the bees happy.”
“I’m all for saving bees.”
Nell recognised that Mattie was trying to put her at ease, just as Nell was used to doing with crime victims whilst also coaxing them to talk. Mattie winning the various press and media awards Nell had read about last night had been no fluke. She was skilled at deflecting the conversation, while her relaxed body language, alongside those compelling eyes of hers, charmed and persuaded. Nell’s skin tingled.Admit it. You’re attracted to her. You want to trust Mattie the journalist and bed Mattie the woman.Boiling water splashed on the counter instead of the mug. “Bloody hell.”
“You okay?” asked Mattie.
“Fine.” Her cheeks were as warm as the mugs. She set them on the island and sat on a stool next to Mattie. “What did you want to show me?”
Mattie opened the photo app on her phone. “You have to see the photos in context because of the timing.”
Nell quelled a desire to snatch the phone and instead looked dutifully at a photo of Mattie’s feet clad in walking boots.
“I took that without realising while I was ringing 999. Look at the three others I also took unintentionally.” There was a blurred picture of a wheelie bin next to a wooden fence, another of the sky, and one of a man climbing over a fence with the burning house in the background. Mattie pointed at the last one. “I took it at 10:58 a.m. I checked my phone call listings and it shows I rang 999 at the same time. So it had to have been taken at the scene.”
