‘I’d like that,’ she said, returning to the book. ‘Thought I’d take a stab at making Cioppino tomorrow night.’
‘Really?’ asked Kingston, his hand on the brass doorknob. ‘What’s that? Sounds Italian.’
‘American, actually. It’s kind of a fish and shellfish stew.’
‘Sounds like bouillabaisse.’
‘It’s similar. Cioppino’s a true San Francisco dish. It came from the old American-Italian fishermen. My dad loved it.’
‘Why don’t you have Dot make it?’
‘I could. But I enjoy cooking once in a while. It satisfies my creative urges. I did it all the time at home.’
‘Maybe I can come up with a good red. Anything you might suggest?’
‘A nice Burgundy would work—and some French bread. I don’t suppose you can get a good sourdough here, can you?’
‘I doubt it. In London, but not down here—at least, I wouldn’t think so. I’ll call around, though.’
Kingston said goodnight and left for the cottage. Entering the small living room he could see the red light flashing on the answering machine. He walked over and pressed the Message button.
‘It’s Andrew, Lawrence. I’ve got some bad news. Your flat’s been broken into. Bit of a mess, I’m afraid. I called the police and they came over right away. But obviously we can’t tell if anything’s been stolen. Good news is that, as far as I can tell, they didn’t take any of your rugs or the new telly or any of the paintings. By the way everything was turned upside down, the police think they were looking for money, jewellery, that sort of thing. You’d better come as soon as you can, though. I’ll keep an eye on things till you get here. Call me—cheers.’
Kingston sat down on the sofa. ‘Jesus, what next,’he said under his breath. He picked up the phone and dialled Jamie’s number.
‘You’d better hold off on the Cioppino, Jamie—for me anyway,’ he said, when she answered. Then he told her what had happened.
Chapter Sixteen
With Andrew’s help, Kingston spent the next two days sorting through his flat. Andrew’s ‘bit of a mess’ was the understatement of the year. A cyclone passing through might have wreaked less havoc. As he went about picking up the pieces and returning them to their rightful places, throwing away the few things that were broken beyond repair, he began to realize that, as yet, he hadn’t noticed anything missing. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but all the items of value appeared to be intact. He never left money laying around the house and had little or no jewellery to speak of.
By the middle of the second day, order was more or less restored. A locksmith had replaced the front-door lock and Kingston had phoned the police to report that, as far as he could tell, nothing had been stolen. While he was relieved, he still thought that a burglary with nothing burgled was a bit out of the ordinary. But the policewoman on the phone assured him it wasn’t. Kids looking mostly for money, an interrupted burglary, there could be several explanations. They got hundreds of burglary calls a day, she said.
Kingston had just put the phone down on Jamie after bringing her up to speed on the situation and telling her that he would be coming back down the next day. He heard the doorbell ring and glanced at the carriage clock on the mantel. Andrew was his usual punctual self. Also a bachelor, Andrew was about ten years younger than Kingston and lived mainly for two things—the racetrack and good food. He had made a lunch reservation for the two of them at one o’clock, at Bibendum on the Fulham Road.
In the living room, Andrew handed Kingston a small brown-paper–wrapped package. ‘Here,’ he said with a grin.
Knowing Andrew’s twisted sense of humour and expecting the worst, Kingston opened the package. Inside was a box with a picture of a snarling German Shepherd on it. Above the dog’s head was the name Rex.
‘What is it?’ Kingston asked.
Andrew continued grinning. ‘It’s a barking dog alarm. It’s really nifty. It can actually see through walls. The minute it detects a movement it starts barking. It’s radar activated.’
Kingston laughed, then studied the label. ‘Where on earth do you find these things?’
Andrew shrugged.
‘Well, thanks, you clever old thing. I’ll plug old Rex in before I leave tomorrow.’ He placed the box decorously on the table, rolled the brown-paper wrapping into a tight ball, then looked up at the ceiling. ‘You’d better remind me to forewarn Mrs Badger upstairs, she’ll have a conniption if she thinks I’ve got a dog down here.’