The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs(24)

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Carl's text blipped across his phone.

Dinr ton. Hel coks. Seven.

That message ought to come with skull and crossbones, he mused. Helena's cooking was usually to be avoided at all costs. Occasionally—often after a quarrel with Carl—she went to the effort of playing housewife for a few days, charring some gourmet meal on her six-burner stove. Carl liked to invite Ben, as if he wanted witnesses.

Well, since he had a good excuse to make it an early night, it should be safe just to turn up with wine and leave before dessert. Wouldn't do any harm to try and get Helena on his good side, however uphill the slope seemed. He was a fighter and when he made up his mind that he wanted something nothing got in his way. Not even that sharp-nailed harpy.

And there were other reasons to stay close. He always found out useful information from an unsuspecting Helena, by way of careless Carl. Things like where Bryony had just got a job, what flowers she liked and when she was going to a gallery opening.

So he sent a text in reply.

OK.

The punishment he was willing to suffer for that sweet piece of ass!

Smiling, he dialed a number on his phone and held it to his ear. Rain dashed his car window, just as it had most conveniently last night.

"Yep?" A male voice answered. "Petruska, you ol' devil." Laughter.

"Good job, Officer. Payment get through ok?"

"You bet. It was in the fund account first thing. The widows and orphans oughta put up a plaque to you."

"Hey, you did good. You even fooled me last night."

"No problem. Next time you need a gas leak organizing, let me know, eh?"





Chapter Seven



The odor instantly suggested something was wrong with dinner. Unless Helena had boiled green beans with an old sock and some soap. Intentionally.

"You need any help?" asked Bry, setting her bottle of wine on the island.

"Oh no. It's all under control, Ms Cordon Bleu!" Helen replied with a snarky laugh. She seemed to view it as a personal affront that Bry took that cooking course in France. "You can open the bottle though. And tell Carl to turn that noise down."

The wine uncorked, she walked through to the lounge, where Carl was sorting through his collection of old vinyl records. "She says turn the noise down. Sorry."

He shrugged amiably and turned the giant knob on his precious Crosley. No doubt he was on his best behavior after the recent blow-out. Sometimes she wondered how he tolerated so much, but there was just no way of knowing what drew two people together when they seemed so oddly suited from the outside. Often the more dysfunctional a couple appeared on the surface the deeper the connection that held them together. Look at her parents for instance. Fifty years and still happily at battle. If anyone called peace they wouldn't know what to do.

Idly looking through Carl's collection, pretending she knew who half of them were, Bryony tried to ignore the strange sounds and smells sweeping in from the kitchen.

"How's the new job?" Carl asked.

"Great."

Like his wife, he always tried to give her advice when she hadn't asked for it. "Fitting in alright? I hear it's quite a man's world in that firm. You stand up for yourself."

"Oh, I do."

"Settling in to the social swing now you're back?"

"Yep." Only Carl would say something like that to a woman who dated maybe twice a year and never went to parties if they could be avoided.

"Helena said you had a date last night."

"Not really a date." She felt the heat rising and moved further away from the fire.

"You ought to join one of those online clubs. A lot of singles, like you, are doing it now you know. It's not the same as it used to be."

Bry cleared her throat and studied the shelf of old records. "Not really my thing."

The doorbell. Carl quickly slid a record back in its dust jacket and leapt for the door. Oh no, not a blind date. Had they set her up for—?

Ben walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand. Wearing black jeans and a surprisingly ratty sweater over a worn, frayed denim shirt, it certainly appeared as if he hadn't known anyone else would be there. His wine was probably three times the price of hers, she thought, sullen. Even shabbily dressed he had that expensive air about him.

Helena emerged from her steamy kitchen, looking harried. "I didn't know you were coming," she snapped at the new guest.

Bry hid a smile, turning to the mantle and reaching for a dish of peanuts. When Helena didn't bother, she really didn't.

"Should I leave?" Ben asked, his tone bemused.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're here now. I just wish I'd been told."

Carl tentatively interjected, "But I didn't know you'd invited your cousin. You didn't think to tell me, Helena."