StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (21 page)

“I don’t think so either. He was concerned about you.”

“Me?”

“The horse? The girth? He wondered if there was anyone around here who doesn’t like you.”

“What did you say?”

“That you were universally adored.”

Hmm.

“What do you think?” Luke asked.

“About the saddle? I dunno.” I looked up as the waiter brought our food and waited until he’d gone before I said, “I reckon it must have been one of the five, because they were all down in Cornwall, remember? One of them must have hit me over the head.”

“And sabotaged Ted.”

“And then cut the saddle girth. Why aren’t they trying to kill you? You were there. You knew all about this stuff.”

“I didn’t go down to the cave in the middle of the night. Which, by the way, I still think was a really stupid thing to do.”

Here we go again.

“What were you even expecting to find?”

“Peace of mind?” I snapped. “Can we not talk about this?”

“What did you get from Eleanor Duvalle?”

“She’s a sadist.”

“Based upon…”

I assumed a perky expression. “‘All right, class, let’s see if we can do ten more sit-ups!’”

Luke laughed. “Grounds for evil indeed. Did you talk to her?”

“I was too busy trying to breathe.” I held up a hand. “I’ll do it this afternoon. I’ll think of something.”

But even as I was walking back into the torture chamber, the something still hadn’t materialised in my brain.

“Oh, hello,” Eleanor Duvalle said to me as I trooped in. “You’re very eager, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, and wanted to add, “
Did you kill Molly Stanton? D’you know who did?
”

But somehow I restrained myself.

“I’m punishing myself,” I said. “Spent last week in Cornwall eating pasties.”

But instead of cheerily asking me whereabouts in Cornwall, she dropped her eyes, mumbled, “Oh, right,” and went off to the other side of the room to lay out some mats.

Excellent.

The yoga class was, obviously, much more restful than the morning’s work. I used to do yoga when I was little, my Dad’s been practising it for years and it seems to keep him stress-free. I’d do it more often—my kind of exercise—but I always forget half of the routines and never do the breathing properly.

Eleanor had been an excellent teacher this morning, but now she seemed preoccupied, subdued, offering less encouragement. Maybe it was just the nature of the class, but to me she looked like she wanted to get out.

At the end, so relaxed I could have fallen over, I waited for the others to go out so I could talk to Eleanor before the next class began. But my phone rang in my bag, and she shot me a disapproving look.

I hauled it out and answered. “Luke?”

“Where are you?”

“Yoga.
I have t’ai chi next.”

“Oh. What time are you finished?”

“An hour.”

“I fancy a swim. You want to meet me there?”

I thought about it. I didn’t have a towel, but from long habit at Eden, my swimsuit was in the bottom of my bag.

“Okay, I’ll see you at the Swim Café at about three fifteen?”

“See you then.”

I looked up at Eleanor. “Boyfriend,” I explained.

“Oh.”

“He was with me in Cornwall too…”

Nothing.

“You know,” I tried, “you look familiar.”

“I did your classes this morning.”

“No,” I laughed, although she looked boringly solemn, “before that. Have we met?”

“No,” she said. I raised my eyebrows. “I’d remember. You’re, er, very tall.”

“Are you sure?” I persisted. “I swear I remember you from the, er, what was the name of the pub down there…?”

“Blue Dolphin,” Eleanor Duvalle said automatically, and I thought, Gotcha!

“So that is where I saw you! God, I knew you were familiar…”

“We weren’t there long,” she said defensively.

“We? Did you go with family?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, and avoided me for the whole of the t’ai chi class.

At the end I went up to her, but she practically ran away from me and when I left the classroom, she was nowhere to be seen.

Bugger.

Chapter Twelve

I collected up my stuff and made my way over to the Village Centre and the glass-covered AquaDome, which was my paradise when I was a child and is still pretty much my vision of heaven. Must be the Pisces in me. My dad taught me to swim here, after much stomping and whining on my part because all my friends had swimming lessons. The actual learning to swim was immaterial—I just wanted to be like everyone else.

Guess people change.

I put my swimsuit on, grateful I’d paid attention to my bikini line, and went into the hot, noisy dome. Outside it was December. In here it was Antigua.

Luke was wearing swim shorts and lounging on a plastic chair by the café, and everyone was staring at him. At his narrow waist and neatly defined abs. At his strong shoulders and excellent pectorals. At the sweet curve of his biceps and the golden hairs dusting his legs. At the deep blue of his eyes, easier to drown in than the swimming pool.

I had to stop and hold onto a glossy-leaved Triffid to keep my balance. I’ve seen Luke naked countless times, but not for a long while. Apart from that kiss in Cornwall, and look where that led…

God, he is so damn
hot
.

I steadied myself, wished I was thinner, and went over.

“Hi.”

He looked me over and I breathed in. Why don’t I ever do anything about my thighs?

“Turn around,” Luke said, and I thought, no, you are not seeing my backside in broad daylight.

“I want to see your back,” he explained, smiling. “Where you fell?”

Oh. Right. I turned, and tried to see over my own shoulder, but all I could see was Luke frowning.

“I’m sure that should look worse,” he said.

“That makes two of us. You can have no idea how much I’m looking forward to a massage tomorrow.”

I introduced Luke to the rapids and made a complete tit of myself, literally, when I found out that my swimsuit was not designed for anything more strenuous than sunbathing. Luke was vastly amused, however, and told me that he’d thought it covered up too much cleavage anyway.

I hastily hitched up my neckline and splashed water on my face to cool it down.

Everyone
looked at Luke in the AquaDome. Even the lifeguards, who were openly checking out women as well. He just looks so good with his shirt off. It’s unfair.

I must be strong. I can’t succumb.

It’s just, his shorts were very, um, wet and clingy, if you get my meaning, and there was water dripping down his torso and his legs looked fine, and oh, Jesus, even his feet were beautiful.

I needed to get a grip.

I exited the AquaDome before I melted into a gooey mess and got sucked out by the filtration system, dressed myself and cycled home, unfortunately behind Luke, looking at that fine backside all the way. We got in and fed Norma Jean, who looked like she wanted another walk but just got a run around the lake. Luke and I changed for the medieval banquet, ready to meet Michael Varley. I needed a good murder suspect to take my mind off Luke and his fine body and his exquisite face and his gorgeous hands and his hot mouth…

Jesus, I think I was drooling. And all over my pretty dress, too. This had to stop. I could
not
go into lustful fantasies about Luke. At least, not when he was within earshot.

I fished out some pretty earrings, added small studs to the rest of the holes in my ears (I was having a Buffy day when I got them pierced the second and, er, third times), sprayed on some perfume, and got on my bike to go to the Village Centre.

Then I went back, because I’d forgotten the booking slip. I swear, some days it’s a miracle I even remember to get dressed. Luke went on ahead, and I met him at the entrance to The Host venue.

“My God, this is tacky,” I said when we went in. The walls were covered by velvet curtains, there were long trestle tables set up, and women wearing watches and burlap tabards hanging around, looking bored. Piped music played Greensleeves, and a woman at the door was handing out tall conical hats for women and Robin Hood caps for the men. Luke looked at his and shook his head.

“Put it on,” I said, “or you’ll get chucked out for not entering the spirit of things.”

“Are you going to wear yours?”

I checked out the ceiling: pretty high. Damn. The hat was cardboardy and the staples would catch in my hair. But if I wanted to see Luke looking stupid, I’d have to wear it.

As soon as I put it on, he snapped a picture of me with his phone.

“Bastard.”

Luke grinned. “That one’s going in the permanent collection.”

What collection? How many dreadful photos of me did he have? I hate all photos of myself. When I had my passport done I retook the picture about ten times before the machine gave up on me and printed the nastiest one.

Luke put his hat on, and looked like Errol Flynn.

Bastard
!

We sat down and looked at the place settings. Wooden bowl and plate, sharp knife and spoon.

“No fork?” Luke asked.

How can someone so clever be so dumb?

“They hadn’t been invented,” I said, feeling as superior as one can when wearing a cardboard hat that keeps falling off.

“When were they invented?”

“Renaissance. Florence.”

“Aren’t you the clever one?”

I preened. I mean, he was probably just doing it to make me feel clever, but, well, it was working.

But apparently I wasn’t very clever, because I’d failed to remember that medieval banquets had one main ingredient, and that was meat. And I don’t eat meat. So I was hungry. Luke picked out some vegetables for me, but to be honest they weren’t appetising, something that was compounded by the constant stream of cigarette smoke coming my way from the corpulent man next to me.

“I notice you’ve gone quiet on the smoking front,” I said to Luke, who grimaced.

“Don’t remind me.”

“What was that all about, anyway?”

“Being drunk and depressed. I haven’t smoked for years.”

“Yeah, and roll-ups? What’s that about?”

“They were cool then,” he said defensively.

“They’d be cool now,” I said, “if it was weed you were rolling.”

“Do not,” Luke said, “get me started on that.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“So which one do you think is Michael Varley?” I asked.

We looked around the crowd. There were half a dozen men who could have been him.

“Okay,” I said, “well, is he likely to be in costume?”

“Not if he’s the manager.”

“Right. What about the Eden uniform? Do managers wear it?”

“You’re the Eden expert. You tell me.”

I thought hard, but I truly couldn’t remember ever meeting any managers at all while I’d been here.

“Keep looking for twenty-something men who don’t look like idiots,” Luke said.

Oh, honey. The practice I’ve had.

“Then what do we do? I’ve already used the, ‘Hey, you look familiar!’ line twice. If these guys are any kind of close friends they’ll tell each other about the stupid couple who keep asking probing questions. And you know, one of them has already got so pissed off with me they’ve tried to kill me twice.”

Luke said quickly, “Three times,” and ate a mouthful of soup before I could say anything.

As we ate—or rather, as Luke ate and I picked at stewed vegetables—the serving wenches, bored girls wearing too much makeup, came around with baskets of bread, which I snatched at, starving. Well, hey, with all the exercise I’ve been doing and the lack of food, by tomorrow I should be really thin.

“And what about Gav Beasley?” I said. “The one I really want to talk to, and I’ll never get an excuse to talk to him.”

“The childcare assistant? Probably gay,” Luke said.

“Then you can come onto him.”

He gave me a death look.

“Hey, don’t be a homophobe.”

“Just ’cos you like kissing girls—”

I rolled my eyes. “I do not like kissing girls, I kissed one girl once—”

“Twice, I saw you.”

“The second time was for a picture.”

“Also in my permanent collection.” Luke’s eyes misted over.

I ought to explain—before Harvey and Angel got together, Harvey had a huge crush on her and when I went to visit once, asked me to pass on a message. Like a fool I said yes, so he kissed me, and then Angel begged me for the message, so…

So Luke walked in, saw me kissing Angel, and nearly passed out with delight. What is it with men and lesbians? You’d think they’d be insulted. These are women who are giving up on all…

Wait, Harvey and Angel!

“I know how we can talk to Gavin Beasley,” I said, and whipped out my phone. But a serving wench swooped down on me with the sort of speed her service had suggested was impossible, and informed me that mobile phones had not been invented in the middle ages.

“I know that,” I said, searching the phone directory.

“If you use it I’ll have to confiscate it.”

I glared at her and stood up. “Fine, I’ll go outside.”

I stomped out into the Village Centre and attracted several sniggers before I remembered I was still wearing the stupidest hat ever invented. I ignored everyone and dialled Harvey.

“Sophie!” He sounded relieved. “Thank God it’s you.”

I’m not used to being greeted so enthusiastically.

“What’s up?” I asked cautiously.

“Rachel.”

I couldn’t help smiling. I had the feeling Harvey hadn’t got a clue how to treat a normal eight-year-old, let alone one that secretly had the mind of a cynical thirty-something.

“How are you getting on?”

Harvey lowered his voice. “You know how it’s hard to relate to kids sometimes?”

“Yeah…” Try always.

“Well, she’s even harder, because she’s really forty-five. It’s scary, Sophie!”

At that I laughed.

“What? Is my misery amusing to you?”

I leaned back against a palm tree and winced as the bruise on my back started to make itself known.

“No, Harvey, it’s not amusing. I’ve had Angel on the phone in floods of tears—”

“Did she say anything about me?”