A Coffin For Two

37

‘I think we’re in the wrong business, Oz.’

‘What makes you say that?’ I asked Prim, curious. I had been asleep when she came in, but the sound of the shower had wakened me.

She stood in the doorway of our en-suite bathroom, grinning as she towelled herself off. ‘It came to me today, that as investigators, in this country at least, we leave a lot to be desired.’

I frowned, feeling wounded by her slight. ‘We’ve got a result in every commission we’ve had so far, and there are four more waiting to be tackled. I call that pretty good work.’

She tossed the towel into the big clothes basket and pulled on her robe. ‘Maybe so, but it’s tame compared to what I saw today. I tell you, Davidoff could make a horse talk … and in any one of several languages at that.’

She followed me out on to the balcony, and sat down facing me. ‘Those people today! When we walked in they greeted me in English. But as soon as I started asking questions, the manager appeared and they ran out of vocabulary. The manager’s French dried up as well.

‘Then Davidoff stepped in. He was speaking in Catalan, so I hadn’t a clue what they were saying, but I could tell that he was laying down the law. Pretty soon the manager went off and came back with his bookings register. The dinner was there. A private room for nine, reserved by Mr Starr, as we thought.’

‘How did he pay for it?’

‘The manager said he settled the bill in cash. He would, wouldn’t he?’

‘So you’d guess. Did Davidoff ask the manager whether he had ever seen this Starr before?’

She nodded. ‘He told me that he hadn’t.’ She took my hand. ‘So, was my trip worth it?’

‘You were right,’ I said. ‘It was something we had to do, even if it doesn’t take us any nearer the mystery man. You went there, and you found out what you had to. You got the result by the best means available, so don’t sell yourself short as a detective.’

Prim laughed at my defence of our profession. ‘Don’t be so precious. How was your day anyway? This business of ours seems to be a success, so far, at least. I saw Jan’s fax when I came in, and the four enquiries. Did she phone as well?’

‘Yup.’

‘How is she?’

‘Fine, as far as I could tell. She sent her best. Said she’d see us at Dad’s wedding.’

Primavera looked at me archly. ‘Oh, so I am invited, then.’

‘Of course. Stop being silly.’

‘I’m not, it’s just that whenever you’ve mentioned it so far it’s always been in “I” terms. You and Jan, best man and bridesmaid. I was beginning to wonder whether I figured or not.’

Inside I was squirming. ‘Look, don’t be daft. Okay?’

She pouted. ‘Who stole your scone?You’re always like this when you have a sleep in the afternoon.’

‘Och, I’m sorry,’ I said, seizing my chance to change the subject. ‘I had a couple of beers at lunchtime, with Miguel … and with his wife’s nephew, the policewoman’s husband.’ Spinning it out as long as I could, I told her how the bones of poor Ronnie Starr had been run out of yet another town.

‘My God,’ she whispered, when I was done. She didn’t see anything funny about it. Nor did I now that the beer had worn off. ‘If you believe in restless spirits, his must be pretty frantic by now. What are we going to do?’

I spread my hands. ‘What we did the week before last. Go and look for him. I know roughly where he was dropped.’

‘But we can hardly go wandering around the fields there,’ she protested. ‘It’s a working village, not the sort of place where young couples go for an innocent stroll.’

She had a point. I thought about it, and a solution presented itself. ‘Tell you what. Remember that restaurant we went to in Ventallo?’

‘The farmhouse?’

‘Yes. Let’s go there again. Tomorrow night.’

She shook her head. ‘Can’t be tomorrow. Shirley’s having a whist night. I said we’d go.’

‘A whist night! With the over fifties!’

‘You’ll enjoy it. Adrian will be there too. I had a chat with him this afternoon, when I took Davidoff back. He’s a nice chap.’

I laughed. ‘Okay, I get it. I can talk to Adrian, while you’re wooed by Davidoff.’

She smiled, but a touch defensively. ‘Well! Indulge me, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘We’ll go to Ventallo on Wednesday … after we have another look for Trevor Eames. His voyage can’t be going on for ever.’