Birthdays Can Be Murder by Joyce Cato Read Free Book Online

as if an irritated puppet master had just pulled their strings. Jenny smiled grimly as he looked at her blankly. ‘I noticed your car parked outside, and thought what a good idea it’d be to ask you about your birthday cake.’
    ‘Birthday cake?’ Justin echoed, for the first time in his life, Jenny suspected, actually looking stupid.
    ‘Yes. Birthday cake,’ she repeated firmly. ‘I need to know what your favourite is. Tradition has it that it must be a fruitcake with a hard white icing, of course, but a lot of people nowadays prefer something more adventurous. After all, it is your birthday, you should have what you like.’ She kept her voice even and firm, knowing that discussing something prosaic was often the best way to calm down men who were overdosing on testosterone.
    She glanced across at Keith Harding and nodded politely. The mechanic took a backward step and began, under her steady and reproving eye, to look distinctly shamefaced.
    ‘Well?’ Jenny looked archly back at Justin, and then glanced, very pointedly, at the tyre iron, now hanging loosely and forgotten in his hand.
    ‘Oh, bake what the hell you like,’ Justin snarled, and slung down the iron. A loud clang echoed across the concrete as it hit a wall and fell to the ground.
    ‘Lemon Madeira with kiwi fruit?’ she asked mischievously.
    ‘Good grief, no!’ Justin snapped, then glanced from her to his protagonist and then back to her again. Slowly, he began to smile. ‘Jenny Starling, I do believe I’m beginning to like you. And I don’t think I want to.’
    ‘I should hope not, too,’ Jenny said sharply. She wanted nothing to do with rich spoilt kids. ‘Now, if you would kindly tell me what kind of cake you do want, I can get on with it.’
    ‘Coffee and walnut,’ Justin said at last, his lips still twitching reluctantly.
    Jenny nodded, surprised by his choice, but not showing it. ‘Chunky walnut pieces, of course?’
    ‘Oh, of course,’ Justin said with savage sarcasm, and very nearly gave a courtly bow. The look in her eye stopped him just in time, and Jenny felt her own lips twitch. Damn him, he was such a very attractive man. And didn’t he know it?
    ‘OK. Coffee and walnut it is,’ she said primly. As she turned to leave, she was relieved to hear footsteps following her, and a moment later the Aston Martin roared to life and shot past her.
    At the entrance to the garage yard she turned and found Keith Harding staring after her. His darkly handsome face was a mixture of anger, embarrassment and defiance. ‘What? No lecture for me?’ he asked, his uneven breathing spoiling his nonchalance just a little.
    Jenny saw, once again, Margie Harding being forced into being grateful for an old busybody’s knitted cardigan and turned abruptly away, her face absolutely expressionless. It was none of her business. She had to remember that. She kept getting into trouble when she made things her business.
    Behind her, unseen, Keith Harding flinched at her obvious disdain. His eyes, as he watched the strangely sexy and large woman go, were bleak and hopeless.
     
    When Jenny returned to The Beeches, she entered the cool hall through a side door, and was unceremoniously nabbed.
    ‘Excuse me, miss,’ a voice as deep as a tar pit boomed in her left ear. Had she not been so firmly anchored down by her own weight, she would have leapt about a foot into the air. As it was, she spun around, hackles bristling and prepared to repel all borders. The squat and solid policeman she had seen out of her bedroom window that morning met her glare with bland eyes.
    ‘Oh, hello, er, Sergeant, is it?’ she mumbled.
    ‘Mollern, miss, Sergeant Mollern. Could you spare us a moment?’ Although his voice put a question mark on the end, his eyes made it more of a statement.
    Jenny felt her spirits take a distinctly downward turn. First she had to deal with scrapping men in garages, and now the police. What had happened to her peaceful weekend in the country?