“This Ade chap of yours, I must say, a definite improvement on the last one,” Nigella said, pouring us tea.
I rubbed the spot on my head where I had a scar from being knocked into the road by The Last One and grumbled.
Sonia rolled her eyes. “One concussion and he thinks he’s Joan of Arc.” She paused. “Is that who I mean? One of ’em, whatchamacallit, Martians?”
“Martyr?” I offered.
“That’s the one.” She glared at me. “Yeah, that’s what you are.”
“I was assaulted.”
“You were milking it.”
“Oh, charming. Well, I take back my offer.”
“What offer?” Nigella asked.
“My brother and his missus are stealing from the company.” She gasped. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I said it out loud!” She clasped her hand over her mouth.
“Really? I can,” I muttered at the ceiling. Of course, instead of being shocked, Nigella wanted details and for the next hour pumped Sonia for every facet of information she had. There were flow-charts. The twins’ art supplies were raided so they could start making columns. Sonia was reading out figures from emails on her phone when I eventually recovered.
“Don’t you have to get back to work? Your lunch break is heading for the two-hour mark,” I said.
Sonia looked at the time. “You’re right. I must dash. Bloody hell, I’ve got to walk up that hill in these heels.” She was running about getting her things when she noticed that I was sitting. “Coming?”
“Umm, got to talk to Nigella about … a thing. It’s boring, you won’t be interested.”
“What is it?” Sonia asked.
Nigella raised an eyebrow at me. “A book. About the Tudor period. I lent it to Arden. Oh, it’s fascinating. They describe the architecture. There are three chapters alone on gables.”
I saw Sonia’s eyes glaze over as she spoke. “Yeah, no, I’m not sticking around for that.” She gave us each a kiss on the cheek – even Kenny – and made her departure.
Nigella waited for the door to click. “Right, so what do you want to discuss? I mean, I am reading a book about the Tudors if you want to borrow it. Well, it’s a bodiceripper. But, from my online research, most accurate in the descriptions of the men’s jerkins.”
Sonia’s comment about having far too much time on her hands came flooding back into my mind.
I gripped my mug. “Simon visited me this morning.”
She put her teacup down. “No, Arden, please tell me you didn’t find more rooms in your house to sleep with him in. Where now? The bathtub?”
“What? No. I didn’t shag him. I wanted to, but that’s nothing new.”
“Good, because your house isn’t that big.”
“Are you listening? Anyway, he wants me to help him solve Riz’s murder.”
Nigella’s face fell.
“That was pretty much my reaction. What do I do, Gella? I can’t … encourage him, can I? And I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing. If the police can’t find the killer, how will I?”
“This is serious,” she said and tapped her finger on her teacup. “How did he seem?”
“Er, a mess. Like a guy whose fiancé was just deaded.”
She thought for a moment, tapping her cup again, then got up and walked around the room for a few seconds, seeming to work things out in her head. At least I hoped she was.
“Okay, here’s what you do.” She made eye contact. I leaned in expectantly. “String him along.”
