Millie's Game Plan (25 page)

‘I have a right to know what’s going on.’

‘So do
we all. Now please, leave quietly.’

I looked from the closed door to Nick. There was a twitter from the house-martins’ nest above, and the distant drone of the lawnmower on the cricket green. It was, in
every other way, a beautiful evening. I looked at my watch. Perhaps, if I hung around till the police had gone, I could persuade Josh to speak to me later.

But Nick was one step ahead of me. ‘And it’ll do no good coming back, because he won’t be here.’

‘Are you locking him up?’

‘No. Another condition of his bail means he’ll be based at his home in
London – so he can carry on working.’

My heart sank. I didn’t have a clue where Josh lived. I had neither his mobile number nor his home address. Perhaps that told me all I needed to know.

I took one last look at the front door, but Josh wasn’t coming through it.

I didn’t drive directly home but toured the back lanes of Hampshire, oblivious to the scenery. Instead, I was replaying conversations with Josh in the crypt; looking for some indication that he might have been involved. It was feasible. He’d already told me he wasn’t a full-time vicar; he could easily have run a drugs business from his base in London and hidden the goods in Hampshire. Nobody would have suspected it. And what was that phone call he took the other night, outside Lulu’s? A drop-off?

Marcus’s macho bulk was filling the sofa, yet again, when I got home. In less than three weeks he’d practically become a tenant. Dirty mugs littered the coffee table and an empty pizza box lay at his feet. He was watching some ghastly gangster movie with more gunshots than dialogue.

‘Hi, Millie,’ he said, tearing his eyes from the screen. ‘How’re you doing, love?’

‘Oh, you know.’

I thumped across the room, heels hard down on the faded Berber, and yanked open the fridge. I’d put a bottle of Cava in there to chill for tomorrow night, thinking I’d offer Josh a glass when he came to pick me up. I wasn’t leaving it there to taunt me for the next twenty-four hours. I pulled it out and split a nail trying to open it. Marcus said something which I didn’t hear so ignored, while I wrestled with the cork. Pointing it vaguely in his direction, I released it with a satisfying blast. There was an ejaculation of foam, which I slurped, before finding a glass.

‘What are we celebrating?’ Marcus asked.

‘Nothing. Where’s Sach?’

He pointed to the bathroom.

I thought I could smell my bath oil. ‘Night, then.’ I walked past him to my room and kicked the door closed. I sat on the edge of the bed and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like a character in a low-budget movie – my haggard reflection juxtaposed with the glittering evening dress. So much for Millie’s Big Night Out. I knocked back the glass of Cava.

Lined up along the windowsill were my Good Luck cards from the show. I put the bottle and glass onto the dressing table, lifted Josh’s card and flicked the light on to read it. He had signed:
Your cell-mate, Josh
. How prophetic was that?

My eyes scanned the message again and again.

Dear Millie – I hope all goes well with Grease. I’m sure your dedication and enthusiasm will have rubbed off onto all the little Hamlets and they’ll do you proud.

Now the hard work’s over, sit back and enjoy it!

Was that really the kind of thing a drug dealer would send to the director of an amateur youth theatre?

Maybe.
If he had a conscience.

‘But you don’t even know if he is guilty.’ I said aloud.

I went back into the sitting room. ‘Marcus, tell me what you know about Josh’s arrest.’

He
paused the film and turned his attention to me. ‘I know a large wedge of cash was found with the drugs, and a plane ticket to Malaga.’

‘When was the ticket for?’

Marcus shrugged. ‘Pretty bloody soon, I should think.’

Would he have taken me to the Summer Ball and disappeared into the sunset? ‘That makes no sense. There’s the Summer Ball tomorrow and he told me he was playing at a jazz festival, next weekend. He even offered to get me tickets. Why would he do that if he was scuttling off to
Malaga?’

‘Who says he was going for good? He might just have been nipping over there to stash the cash.’

‘Do you think he did it?’

He tilted his head. ‘He is a bit of a mystery man, and he does spend most of the week in
London, so – yep. I’d say he was perfectly capable of doing it. In fact, the more you think about it, the more you have to admire him. I mean, who’d suspect a vicar in some backwater like Marshalhampton? It’s the ideal cover.’

How true.

Sacha emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her dressing gown. At her entrance, Marcus hit the play button on the remote and resumed watching his film. She headed straight for me, arms outstretched. I leaned into her fragrant warmth and clung on. It would have been a shed load more comforting if it hadn’t been accompanied by a volley of Smith & Wessons. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Hmmm.’

‘Wanna talk?’

Did I? It was nice just feeling her hand stroking my back. If I started talking about stuff it would open worm cans I didn’t want to open – like the one with Josh’s drug history in. After a few moments, I lifted my head from her shoulder. ‘Not at the moment, thanks. I’m going to
have an early night.’

‘Okay,’ she whispered, smiling one of those watery smiles of sympathy. She probably used
those a lot in her job. ‘Night, babes.’

‘Night.’

I went back into my room to google the Welkom homeless charity. Immediately, several references appeared. I clicked on the charity’s website. It had been set up by a Dutch entrepreneur, once homeless in London himself. I skipped to the
Who we are
section, and there he was – Josh Warwick. His role, his background and a word of encouragement to potential supporters filled the section. I’d done videos for charities, and I knew how tightly monitored their budgets were, so I knew Josh would have struggled to siphon off any funds for himself.

So far, so good.

I clicked through to check my personal emails and gasped to see a message from ReverendJWarwick. I stared at it for a moment, deeply hoping for an explanation.

Trembling, I clicked to open it. There was no message, just an attachment entitled
For Millie
. I double clicked it. The system asked if I wanted to download or open it. Daft question – of course I wanted to open it. However, as soon as I clicked OPEN something odd started to happen. My screen appeared to do the dance of the seven veils; lots of flashing images and wavy lines, followed by a black screen rapidly touring through a wallpaper of white text until finally, and rather dramatically, the screen turned a lovely shade of cobalt blue.

I clicked a number of keys.

Nothing.

I carried it through to the sitting-
room, in the hope Marcus might have enough IT skills to get it back on its feet. Despite being a sun-gilded tractor-jockey, I was pretty sure he’d know something about PCs. Unfortunately, he’d disappeared into Sacha’s room and there was little chance of him emerging before morning.

I switched the machine off, counted to twenty and switched it on again. There was a flicker and the blue screen returned. It seemed Josh Warwick (assuming that was his name) didn’t want me to forget him – but for all the wrong reasons. I shivered. Perhaps it was a warning.

I paced the sitting room.

Go on, call the police!
How many times had I yelled that at the telly, when some dopey, soon-to-be victim was telling everyone they would be fine?

Maybe I was over-reacting. It was only an email, after all.

But, an email that had completely trashed my computer.

It was nearly ten o’clock. I had a flash-back to Wednesday, when Josh had been so brilliant with Lulu. I remembered the pleasure of holding his hand…he hadn’t resisted. Then there was that walk along
Poplar Crescent. Despite everything, I still felt a little vestige… of a fragment… of a tremor… of a thrill when I remembered how he made me feel that night. Why? Why would he be so charming and fun? He’d even charmed my mother – a woman never known to be taken in by anybody.

Mum.

‘Jeez!’

I grabbed my bag and keys. What if he did something nasty to her too? I needed to warn her. But even as I ran down the stairs, a part of me knew I was going round to measure my disbelief against hers. I rang ahead.

‘Do you have a problem, Millie?’

‘No. I’m just passing and thought I’d pop in.’

‘Bueno. You can see my lovely new tub from Josh.’

‘Tub?
What kind of tub?’

‘It’s full of Fuscias and Petunias.’

‘When did he give you that?’

‘Yesterday.
Why?’

‘Mum. Did he come to see you?’ For all I knew, he could have buried a stash of drugs in the compost.

‘No, the garden centre delivered it. Millie, what’s this all about?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get there. I’m on
Dimble Road. See you soon.’

As I pulled onto the drive, I saw the spectacular new tub by the front door; a fountain of flowers spilling over the rim.

Despite having planned what I’d say, the sight of Mum’s worried face scuttled my self control. Instead – facts, hypotheses and fears all tumbled out together. And, although she looked shocked and uttered the odd,
Dios mio
, she didn’t make it quite the drama I’d anticipated. But then, there probably wasn’t room for two drama queens in her little house.

After stroking Mungo’s ears for a moment, she said, ‘I don’t think Josh is a faker.’

‘You don’t?’

She then regaled me with a discussion they’d had about the state of the church today. He’d even quoted texts from the New Testament. ‘Cariña, he could not fake that.’

‘True.’ Hope shimmered momentarily and then, ‘Unless he’s very clever. He could have been masquerading as a vicar for the last six months.’

‘And you think the Bishop would let an impostor preach in one of his churches?’

‘The church belongs to the Marshal’s estate…Omigod! What if he and Lex are in cahoots? They have a history together and Lex is in and out of the country all the time.’

‘Millie – you let your imagination run away with you.’

‘It’s possible.’ I’d already completely miss-read the signals from Lex. It was entirely on the cards that I’d read volumes into my contact with Josh. That’s what happens to desperate women – they get conned.

‘Why did he come to see your show, then?’

‘To maintain his cover.’ Wait a minute…shouldn’t Mum be having histrionics over such a scandal while I was defending Josh?

‘And what sort of a drug baron would come here for dinner? He could easily have declined. And why did I find that lovely tub of flowers on my doorstep?’

‘You said the garden centre delivered it.’

‘Of course they did. Here.’ She handed me a card on a stick that she’d pulled out of the pot. On one side was the garden centre logo, on the other, Josh had written:

Dolores

Thank you for a lovely evening.

Hasta la proxima, Josh.

He was signing in Spanish. He had a ticket to
Malaga. ‘That doesn’t mean they delivered it, Mum. That just means they sold it.’

‘So?’ she asked as I jumped up and rushed outside. Digging my hands into the compost, I scooped out the beautiful Fuscias, ripping at their roots. I yanked at the Petunias, scattering moist compost everywhere – even into my mouth.

‘Millie! Basta ya!’ Mum shouted, wrestling with my hands. ‘Stop it!’

‘He could be using you to hide another stash of drugs. He’ll come back some night and dig them up.’

She stared down at me as I sat amongst the debris. The tub was empty. No amount of excavation could reveal the smallest wrap of cocaine, not even a tab of E.

‘Satisfied?’ she asked, as I made a last ditch attempt to burrow into the tangled roots.

I sat back on my haunches. I’d made a bloody awful mess but at least I’d proved Josh wasn’t using Mum to hide his drugs.

‘Sorry. I’ll clear it up.’

‘We’ll do it together. Let me find a trowel.’

I kept apologising as we reassembled the plants. It looked less than spectacular after my frenzied attack but Mum reassured me it would recover. Later, we sat in the back garden with incense sticks burning to keep the bugs away, and shared some watermelon.

‘They say a person is innocent until proven guilty, you know,’ Mum said as I stared into the middle distance.

‘Why are you so convinced he’s innocent?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s more believable than the alternative.’

‘But he sent me an email which completely trashed my computer?’

‘I’ll never understand computers. It seems anyone can do anything on this webnet thing.’

‘I don’t even know how he got my address.’

‘Wouldn’t he look it up in a directory?’

‘He couldn’t…he didn’t have my…wait! Maybe he didn’t send it at all!’ I exclaimed. ‘Anyone might have sent it.’

‘There you go then. I don’t think Josh is the vindictive kind.’

‘Exactly,’ I brightened. ‘Somebody else could easily have sent it.
Though I don’t know who.’ Ostler? He didn’t know about Josh. Lex? He certainly knew my email address, and he wasn’t Josh’s greatest fan. ‘But what if you’re wrong?’

‘Then he’ll go to prison and we will put it down to experience.’

I forced myself to remember Josh’s kindness, the laughs we’d had. In the face of all the evidence against him, I really wanted to believe he was innocent. But I knew his history. I also knew, if he was innocent, then he must have really pissed somebody off to wind up in this mess. But who were THEY and why did THEY have it in for him?