He laughs. "I'll be leaving it, thanks. I've got one of the biggest commercial floor spaces on the high street. I can chargeabovemarket rate for rent and still get someone gagging to lease it."
I eye the pair of scissors in my hand. They are very shiny and very pointy.
Then I look back at him and wonder if I do actually have what it takes to kill a man.
The Odour must recognise the glint of insanity in my eyes, because he says, "Tell you what. Seeing I still do have a charitable spirit, and seeing you own thirty percent of the joint, I'll take off thirty percent of the extra profit margin. That leaves –" he casts his eyes to the ceiling. "– roughly three hundred and fifty large ones. Final offer."
I could easily buy somewhere else for that price. If there was anything available. I've been watching the real estate websites every day. No commercial property that would accommodate a café and gallery and housing for artists has come up for sale. Nor has anything like that come up in the last few years, according to the sales agents.
I force myself to take a deep breath, to slow the rising storm.
It almost works.
I hold up a finger to request a moment to myself, then march outside. Approaching The Odour's Jaguar, I take the shiny, little hood ornament in both hands and wrench with all my might.
"Bess! Come on. Don't do that."
I widen my stance and yank at it, left then right, with more effort than I've given anything in my life. It loosens.
"Bess!" The Odour's voice is near. Near enough to try and stop me.
He doesn't get a chance. The jaguar comes off with the satisfyingcrunchof screws being ripped from metal.
I turn around and slap it into The Odour's palm. "Terms accepted."
Chapter thirty
Ed
"Whatarewelookingfor?"
Bess pushes open the wrought iron gates of the Port Derrum cemetery.
"The names of any men who were of fighting age during World War Two. We can then check them against the national registrar of soldiers who fought during that war."
"They have a national registrar?" I ask.
"I don't know. I haven't actually looked, but there must be a record somewhere.Andif they're buried next to their wife, we could see if her name started with 'B'."
"What if it was a 'B' for a nickname, or a shortened version, like 'Beth' for 'Elizabeth'?"
Bess is quiet for a moment. Her posture sags slightly. "Okay, we disregard the wife's name. Unless it actually starts with a 'B'."
"Okay." The entrance to the cemetery is on a small rise, affording a clear view of all the rows of graves and I survey the linear protrusions of concrete and marble. It's not a huge cemetery, but it's large enough for this to take a good chunk of the morning. We should probably divvie up the graves, but I need to talk Bess out of selling her sculpture.
I say, "We should also note down the names of anybody who died in battle," and Bess looks at me with a mixture of such alarm and such sadness that everything inside me stops. My pulse, my breath.
"I mean." My voice is quiet, thin. "It's a possibility." I am such a shit for doing this to her. It was always meant to beforher, but what I am doing is absolutely to her.
Bess gives a single nod, but doesn't say anything.
After half a row of graves and a build up of tension I can no longer suppress, I pierce the bubble with one swift jab. "I don't think you should do the auction, Bess."
She stops mid-stride and turns to face me. "I knew it. You had disapproval written all over your face last night. Why the fuck not? Tell me why I should turn down the opportunity to raise a deposit no bank can refuse, especially when The Odour's significantly upped the asking price."
I take a breath to answer her and she adds, "It's already edging three hundred thousand, Ed."
Three hundred thousand?
