Jazz and Die by Stella Whitelaw Read Free Book Online Page A

play these days.
    Mandy came back with a diet coke for herself, a lager for Ross and a can of orange juice for me. ‘OK for you, Jordan?’
    ‘You’re a star,’ I said, taking the juice. ‘Thanks.’
    It was a step forward. We were going to get on.
    Apparently I had other duties when the concert ended. Rubbish to collect in black bin bags. Straighten chairs. Collect lost property. Fogged by the music, people left everything behind, walking away in a cloud of sound. Coats, bags, drink were left under chairs. Excuse me, I am here to watch Maddy, but it was not difficult to do both. Ross’s gear took the longest to cart back to his van. No mistaking his van. It had
DRUMS
stencilled on each side, the
U
in the shape of a kettle drum. I bet sometimes he wished he’d learned to play the flute.
    Chuck was, of course, surrounded by admirers. He sold and signed a pile of CDs. They had to make money somehow. He spotted me and waved me over.
    ‘Coming to the party? It’s at the Bull and Horn tonight.’
    ‘What about Maddy?’
    ‘She’s coming. She likes you, so thumbs up.’
    It was going to be a long night. I felt tired already and the comfy bed at the Whyte Cliff beckoned. Last night I had slept on the floor of my new flat in a sleeping bag. Strangely, I already missed my new flat. It was so right for me and an unexpected dream after my two bedsits.
     
    He was standing behind me. I knew without even looking. Did my shoulders have a sixth sense or was it because my hair knew that he had once touched it? Perhaps my hair remembered that moment, had stored the memory in its roots. It was DCI James, in a waterproof jacket that was glistening with rain. He waited until I had finished a bin bag collection.
    ‘I’ll take that outside for you,’ he said. ‘It’s started to rain.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got to follow Maddy.’
    ‘To the Bull and Horn. It’s a party. I’ll take you. A party sounds good. Then you can tell me about this riveting new evidence that has me leaving my real work.’
    ‘It’s another threat. Untouched, except by the writer. I found it pinned to Maddy’s bedroom door with Blu-Tack. There might be something on it.’
    ‘Did you get the Blu-Tack as well?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Blu-Tack sometimes absorbs sweat. Useful.’
    The chief steward came lumbering over. I liked him. He’d had a stressful evening with far too many people trying to get into the marquee but he had never lost his temper. The entrance couldn’t be closed because of people leaving to go onto a venue elsewhere. But he had made the overflow form an orderly queue. They didn’t mind. They could still hear the music outside, standing in the rain.
    ‘Well done, lass,’ he said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. ‘Don’t know what I would have done without you. The other steward on the rota didn’t turn up. They do that, you know, say they’ll do a duty and then go and listen to something else they fancy at another venue.’
    ‘Don’t worry, I’ll always help you out. It’s been a pleasure,’ I said. ‘Great jazz. Music for the soul.’
    ‘Tom Lucas,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘Are you coming to The Bull? I’ll buy you a drink.’
    Tom Lucas was at least twenty years older than me and twice my weight, but he was tall with it and moved easily. And he had an open, generous face with pleasant grey eyes. His brown hair was heavily flecked with grey. No oil painting but looks weren’t everything, as the magazine agony aunts are always telling lonely females.
    ‘I’ll see you there,’ I said, zipping up my fleece. I wasn’t going to miss out on a lift with James. Besides, I had to give him the threatening note.
    Tom Lucas wasn’t leaving yet. The marquee had to be secured for the night. Alcohol securely locked away. A couple of youths had brought sleeping bags and were spending the night in the tent. Nothing was safe these days but the boys thought it was a great lark. They’d listen to