Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil by Barbara Silkstone Read Free Book Online

Unfortunately, the ground came up rather quickly.
    “Ouch!” said a strange voice as I landed on something round and boney.
    Benny had called this place a garden of constant surprise. I had just encountered one.

Chapter 13
    I fell, rolled over onto my feet, and looked at my landing pad. It was the head of a scrawny little man wearing khaki shorts with pockets on the legs and a sweaty safari hat. His left ear swung away from his noggin like an open door on a taxi. He grabbed it and pressed it against his skull. “Wendy? Right?” he said. “Want to make a fast buck?”
    “Who the devil are you?”
    “Algy Green, the world famous entrepreneurial archaeologist at your service. I’m on the trail of a crime syndicate of archaeologists dealing in stolen antiquities. I could use your help.”
    “I’m already in a committed archaeological relationship.”
    “But, I’m talking big business. I heard you were staying here. According to the BBC news, you assisted Professor Jolley in recovering twelve of the Lost Boys.”
    “I’m not talking business with some English imbecile. What’s on your leg…?”
    “Nothing.” He blotted at it.
    “It looks like blood.”
    “It’s a goose bite. Some vigilante geese attacked me a bit ago. It’s a big problem in London. The heat is driving them insane.”
    His right ear came flinging away from his head. He now looked like a taxi with two doors open.
    “Your ears have popped away from your head,” I said.
    “No they haven’t!”
    “They have. I can see them.”
    “Have not!” he snapped as he clutched his ears.
    I tried to step around him. His hair was dusted with rose-scented talcum powder. Every time he jerked his head, the powder flew in my face and his ears flapped.
    He blocked my exit. “Not to worry. You can feel secure with me, as I’m not an easy wicket. Very few men take me on.” He put his arm over my shoulder.
    “That’s it!” With my trash bag in my left hand, I hauled off with my right and clocked him. He fell to the ground, feet up and knobby knees askew.
    “Why, I never!” he gurgled.
    “I’ll bet not!” I said.
    Hildy and Holly were at my heels honking and nipping. “Shoo!” I pushed them off. They turned on Algy Green biting his bum. He ran in the opposite direction.
    Dragging an iron patio chair to the side gate, I threw my bag o’ clothes over the edge, jumped on the chair, and lunged over the fence, falling on my fanny. I ran round the side of the townhouse onto the street, sweat dripping off my cheeks like an exotic salt facial. Thanks to our dinner excursion last night, I had my bearings. Benny lived in Lambeth on the south side of Westminster Bridge. If could get across the bridge, I’d hike to the Hyde Park Hotel where Roger would find me. My instinct was telling me that Benny hadn’t spoken to Roger since I’d arrived. I’d been hoodwinked, but for what purpose? I wanted Roger and a cold pitcher of beer, if for no other reason than to dump on my fevered brow.
    Scurrying along, I kept the London Eye over my right shoulder. It looked like a huge bicycle wheel in the sky. It lifted people up, gently looped them around, and plopped them back on the ground. I thought it a bit like the rhythm of my life. Loopy, but eventually I come back to earth.
    The pavement sizzled. I took short panting breaths. It hurt to inhale the steamy air. My ears ticked and my brain buzzed. I edged around emergency workers who were tending to a woman passed out on the sidewalk.
    A small cab slinked along the curb. It had to be one of the unlicensed taxis that cruised the streets. If he drove me to my hotel, I could dash in and maybe change my US dollars for British currency and pay him. Freelance taxis don’t have meters, so the fare is usually agreed to at the beginning of the ride. I stepped off the curb and closer to the cab, which was mostly yellow, but had one rusted orange door. “How much to the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park Hotel on