Taken Identity (17 page)

“What was it, Jules?”

Her voice shook. “A spider. A
bloody
great spider, all furry and hairy and leggy and…” She shuddered and rubbed her arms with her hands. “Yuck. With a note attached to it.”

Gray’s voice was icy. “Was it poisonous? Did it bite you?”

“What? Oh, no. Sorry. I’m phobic about spiders, even toy ones. And this one was the most realistic toy spider I’d ever seen.”

The relief he felt was evident to see. It might seem funny to someone who had no fear of spiders, but to Jules, it had been a major catastrophe. Now, knowing he was not going to ridicule her fears or get annoyed at her extreme reaction, she began to think logically. “It had a note, like a luggage tag, attached to it.”

“Did you see what it said before you legged it? Which, by the way, was exactly the right thing to do.”

“Yes, I was able to read it before I freaked. It said,
Remember what happened to the fly
. I guess it means,
Walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly
. You know, where the fly sticks to the cobweb and the spider eats it. Warning us away from something.”

“We really are rattling some cages then, aren’t we?” His voice was full of satisfaction. “Ah. That sounds like Sean. I’ll let him in, shall I?”

A car stopped outside with a screech of brakes and there was the sound of a door slamming. Then, they heard footsteps which sounded louder as presumably the person approached the house.

Jules nodded. “Can I go in the kitchen and make coffee? And get the whisky out?”

Gray nodded his approval. “Good idea.”

Sean didn’t come inside. She heard a heated discussion take place before Gray came back in, seeming somewhat disgruntled. Apparently, he and Sean had differing opinions about something, because she thought he looked like a little boy who had been told he couldn’t go out to play. She decided to respond in kind.

“Ah, what’s wrong, Gray? Won’t Sean let you play? Bless, come and let me kiss you better.” She watched his lips twitch.

“Tell him to give me my ball back.”

“
Ah
, you’ve still got your ball, Gray, but I’ll check later if you want.” She watched as he struggled to hold on to his grumpiness and lost.

“Oh, all right, point taken. However, just because he knows what he is doing and I don’t, is no reason to make me stay away. After all, it was you who was threatened. And, oh shit, I’m talking crap, aren’t I?”

She nodded. Although she could sympathize with him wanting to be in the thick of it, she was glad Sean had put his foot down. She would have been doubly glad if it had been a bomb.

“What was it you said to me?” she queried rhetorically. “Oh yes, I remember. ‘Let the expert deal with it’.”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He had the grace to look ashamed.

“So, follow your own advice, Gray. Let Sean deal with it. Whatever
it
is.”

He nodded.

“Good.” She smiled at him. “Pour the whisky. Here comes Sean.”

The door opened and Sean entered carrying the packet. Jules glared at him. “If you have that, that
thing
in there, get it out.
Now.
”

“It’s not real,” said Sean as he advanced across the kitchen.

“I don’t give a Scooby.” She was almost shrieking. “I hate the bloody things, real, pretend, alive or dead. Makes no difference.
Get it out of here!
”

The hairs on her arms stood on end and her skin crawled. Jules could sense the blood drain out of her face and her body shake. She looked down at her hands.
Shit, my hands are white. What must I look like?

Sean had taken one look at her, turned, retraced his steps and returned a few minutes later carrying a small, see-through bag, inside which was a tag looking similar to the one she had seen earlier.

“All gone,” he said his demeanor cheerful “It’s away and in my car. Er…Jules, you won’t have a wobbly looking at this tag, will you?”

Men. Sometimes they just didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut
!

“Not at that, no,” she said, frost noticeable in her voice. “But if you keep that shit up, I might throw a wobbly at you. A something heavy and wobbly. Perhaps I should add on the fact that I played ladies’ cricket for a good few years and bowled the highest number of people out in our league—for four years running. What was it the paper said? Oh yes, I remember. ‘
A deadly accurate aim, guaranteed to hit whatever she wanted’
. So watch it.”

She saw Gray’s lips twitch, as it seemed he tried not to laugh.

“Same applies to you,” she warned him.

He held his hands up in supplication. “I come in peace.”

Come in peace? Now there’s a double entendre if ever there was one.
As Gray’s lips twitched when he spoke, it was a sure thing he had a similar thought. Jules smothered a laugh.

“Now.” Her tone of voice changed, resuming its usual husky but cheerful tenor. “Coffee and whisky, coffee with whisky, just one or the other?”

“Both.”

“One of each, please.” Two voices with similar ideas. Both conciliatory.

“Gray, will you sort it for me, please?” Jules asked him. “I’ll just have coffee at the mo. Whisky later.”

She waited until they all had drinks, then led the way onto the sunlit patio. Seeing the garden, weeds scattered by the vegetable patch, gave her pause for thought. But dammit, she was not going to be kept out of her favorite spot due to someone’s perverted sense of, well…whatever.

“So.” When they were all seated, Jules decided to take the initiative. “Perverts aside, what do we have, so far? Oh, and Sean, we’ve a car registration that might be worth a look at. So, who goes first?”

“You.” Both Gray and Sean sounded definite about it.

“Start from when I left,” Sean advised. “Doesn’t matter if we go over things twice. It’s chronological then.”

She nodded and briefly set out all she knew had happened, needing next to no help from Gray.

When she had finished, Sean looked impressed. “Excellent memory, Jules.”

She laughed with her good humor and her equilibrium restored. “I cannot tell a lie. It’s mainly on the laptop, and I just checked it was all okay. But is the car number a help?”

Sean nodded. “I can trace who it’s registered to.” He held his hand up.

“Don’t ask?” Jules said wryly. “I’ve been told that quite a few times about things you can do.”

“Your parcel.” It was clear he intended to ignore her interruption. “Unless the date stamp is wrong, it was posted here, in the village, this morning. How’s that possible?”

“A bit of jiggery-pokery. If it’s for someone local and posted in the village, it happens. As long as it’s posted early enough in the day, Catriona, the postmistress, will send it straight out with Dougie. We don’t ask, merely accept that sometimes we get stuff really fast. It’s not generally acknowledged, but, I guess most locals would know.”

“Therefore,” Gray cut in smoothly. “Either it’s someone local who wanted you to stay on edge, or someone not local who thought he’d let you calm down a bit before upsetting you again. Do many people know about your phobia?”

“Well, I don’t go around shouting it out, if that’s what you mean,” she said tartly. “But it’s not a secret, either. Family, friends, they all know. They’ve all been called on to put one of the little blighters out at one time or another. I’ve got a theory, that like cats, spiders know who doesn’t like them and position themselves accordingly at the most awkward times, the buggers. You wouldn’t believe how many baths I’ve let go cold because a spider decided to take up residence in my nice, warm bathroom.”

She shuddered.

“And maybe friends of friends and family.” Gray was half talking to himself and watching Sean, who had been talking rapidly in a low voice on his mobile.

Sean finished his call and looked at both of them expectantly. “The car. The Beamer. Registered in Glasgow. To a Raymond Adrian Archer. Ring any bells?”

“A bloody great big one!” Jules burst out. “The shit. I should have dug my heel into him when I had the chance.”

Both men winced. 

“Well, well, well, who’d a thunk it?” Gray remarked and then laughed. “Well, we should, I guess. Jules?”

She nodded. “Awful Adrian. I never knew his first name was Raymond. Until today. Well, yesterday. Sounds like, oh, a nice hairdresser. No wonder he uses his middle name. Mind you, so does that. Sound like a hairdresser. Oh Jules, wash your mouth out. Meow! Wonder how long he has had a hatred for me?”

“I don’t really think it’s for you, personally,” Sean said. “More to try to hold us off finding
her
.”

“And will it?” Jules asked with a sideways glance at Gray, who shook his head.

“Nope. Would Awf—hells bells, Jules, you got me saying it now. Would Adrian know about your arachnophobia?”

“Oh, yes.” She shivered. “He was on the end of a massive pinch on the arm when I saw one dangling from the canvas of the marquee at the wedding. Although,” she continued, gurgling with laughter. “I wasn’t really sure he believed me at the time, because I had just threatened to emasculate him if he didn’t move his hands—fast.”

Sean looked worried and moved one hand lower in a protective gesture.

“It’s all right. You took that big, hairy thing out again, so you’re safe. Oops. A bit of a dodgy thing to say. I’ll rephrase that, shall I?”

Gray wiped his eyes.

“Jeez, Jules, if I live to get divorced, it’ll be a miracle. You slay me. However, we need to decide what next.” He looked at Sean, who yet again had his mobile attached to his ear.

Jules followed his gaze and waited until Sean had finished his call.

“Why on earth don’t you put in on speaker phone and go hands free?” she asked. “Save you a sore arm.”

“Ah, but this way, I have an illusion that I’m in charge,” he said. “And in theory, don’t have to react like Pavlov’s dog when it rings.”

“But you always do.” She pointed out the obvious.

“Yes, but I choose to, and if I was hands free, I couldn’t use the excuse of hands busy, now could I?”

She shook her head.
Men. You’d gotta luv’em, idiosyncrasies and all.

“Well, fine,” she said prosaically. “So, what do we do now? Gray Reynard, clear your mind.”

Gray laughed.

She looked down at the scrap of paper where Sean had been writing what seemed to be an address. “What’s that?”

“An address—for a certain Mr. Archer. Although, sadly, he’s not there. Away on holiday, so the obliging neighbor said. Moreover, Mrs. Archer is with him. Their last chance before the baby comes, according to said neighbor. ‘Such a lovely couple. Only got eyes for each other, and
so
excited about the baby.’” His voice was invested with so much disgust that Jules and Gray had to laugh.

“Not much help to us though, is it?” Jules was disgruntled and sounded it. “How dare they have bloody holidays? Hell, if Julia is on holiday, as me, then as me, at least I should be enjoying it. What?” Both men were looking at her with varying expressions of bemusement and amusement.

Gray shook his head.

“Oh, Jules, what will I do with you? Hold that thought, love, until later. Think about it. If Mr. and Mrs. Archer are
away
—” He put his hands in the air, miming quotation marks. “Then, who is driving his car, phoning you up, and posting you nasty packages? QED, this holiday of theirs is just a trip to the country. To upset us.”

“Bastards. So, we just have to sit and wait, then? Until they decide to go home, or come and see us, or something? I don’t think so.”

“That’s my girl.” Gray sounded approving.

Sean nodded and got ready to leave. “I’ve got a few more things to do. I’ve got a lead on the jewelry that may be something or nothing. I wasn’t going to mention it yet, but thought, well, a crumb and all that. I’ll ring if I find anything out. And I’ll take Boris with me.” He waved and went out.

Gray was puzzled and showed it. “Boris?”

Jules regarded him with a twinkle in her eye. “The spider. A sixties song.
Boris the Spider
, by Melanie, I think. Don’t you know your classics?”

He shook his head. “Evidently not. But a bit before your time, isn’t it?”

“Ah, but not my mum’s. I grew up with a child of the sixties as a parent. I’m just thankful Dad persuaded her to call me Julia and not Damask as she wanted to.”

Gray had just picked up his now-cold coffee. Was she ever thankful he hadn’t drunk any, as his mouth dropped open. “What?”

She nodded, glad to have lifted the atmosphere. “Yup, or Larkspur Ophelia.”

“Julia Frances Frayne, you are having me on.”

She shook her head. “I’m not. It’s all true. Mum’s biggest regret was that she didn’t go to Woodstock. Though, as she met my dad at one of the Isle of Wight festivals, I don’t think she did that bad. We all had cowbells, joss-sticks, granddad shirts, thongs—the lot—in our house.”

Gray’s face was a study in incredulity.

“Even your dad. Thongs?” He shuddered.

“Of course. Oh.” She noticed his face and sniggered. “Thongs in those days were something very different to today. Not knickers or Australian flip-flops, but thin, leather strips you wore around your forehead. Sometimes with a gem on them. Mum had a lovely black leather and Jet one. Think I’ve got it somewhere. She decided not to take it on her travels.”

He looked at her inquiringly.

“They’re doing their gap year—or three. Dad retired early. Last I heard, they were in Kenya and heading to Zanzibar.” Her tone held both love and acceptance. “Which is a lot more exotic than us, heading for Catriona and the post office.”

“We are?”

“We are.” She confirmed and took his hand. “Purse, keys, phone. Okay. Let’s go.”

Muttering, Gray allowed himself to be led out of the house and down the path.

“I thought we were going to do lots of exciting things. We’ve got lots to discover and really ought to get on with it.”

“We are. I’m leading you down the garden path.”

“Not the sort of exciting things I had in mind. I need to recheck that tattoo, for a start. Hey, where are we going? The cars are over there.”

Jules turned left outside her gate and began to walk along the grass verge.