Looking for Trouble by Cath Staincliffe Read Free Book Online Page A

streets?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Thanks JB’
    ‘See ya.’
    He was a nice guy. I wanted to get him something to show my thanks. Not just money, though I’d pay him for his time; he was doing the legwork twice as effectively as I could have done. No, something personal. Of course. A sketchbook, some charcoal or maybe a drawing pen. He’d like that.

CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    JB didn’t call that Thursday. I thought it was him when the phone rang at eight-thirty in the morning. I’d got a mouthful of toast and honey. I sluiced it down with tea.
    It was a new client; once he’d established that he’d got the right number, he asked for an appointment.
    ‘There’s some work I’d like you to do.’ He had a local accent, a slight lisp.
    ‘Could I have your name, please.’
    ‘Barry Smith.’
    ‘When would be convenient for you?’
    He wanted an appointment that afternoon. It suited me. We agreed on two o’clock. I gave him the address and directions to my office.
    ‘Da-da!’ I pirouetted into the kitchen and bowed.
    ‘You’re silly,’ pronounced Maddie.
    ‘Another job,’ I said to Ray. ‘Two cases at once. The big time.’
    ‘We’ll need it,’ he said. ‘Look at this.’ He passed me the phone bill.
    ‘Jesus Christ!’
    ‘Aw,’ said Maddie, ‘shouldn’t say that.’
    ‘I know. Sometimes people say things they shouldn’t when they get a nasty shock.’ I turned to Ray. ‘It’s nearly twice as much. And look at these; eight long distance calls. He’ll have to pay half of it.’
    Ray nodded. ‘Yep. Do we tell him before or after?’
    ‘Who?’ Maddie asked.
    ‘Clive,’ I explained.
    ‘I like Clive.’ Perverse creature.
    ‘You don’t,’ I said, ‘you never see him.’
    ‘I do like him.’
    ‘Because he gives you chocolates,’ said Ray.
    ‘And lollies.’
    ‘Coats on.’ I’d had enough of this. Clive’s habit of giving the kids sweets had been on the list of complaints at our last meeting with him. He thought we were being petty. I ran through the dental health arguments.
    ‘Well, if they brush their teeth afterwards...’ he said.
    ‘They don’t, not unless they’re frogmarched upstairs. You buy the sweets and we have to do the frogmarching.’ What irritated me most was that he gave sweets instead of time or attention.
     
    I devoted the morning to housework, ate a salad lunch in the garden and changed into my best work clothes. Blue needlecord pants and a large blue and cream print shirt.
    I was surprised to find Jackie and Grant Dobson arriving home as I reached their house. ‘Skiving off?’
    ‘No chance,’ groaned Jackie, reaching into the back of the car. ‘Marking.’
    ‘Exams already?’
    ‘Internal,’ said Grant. ‘GCSEs next month...’
    ‘Then A’s,’ Jackie added, straightening up, her arms full of folders. ‘We’ve not seen you about much.’
    ‘Thing’s have been pretty slow,’ I said, ‘but they’re looking up. I’ve one case on the go and someone’s due at two to talk about another.’
    I opened the door, while they lugged in piles of books and papers, then went down to my room. I sorted out pen, paper and diary. My watch reached two-fifteen. I picked dead leaves off the geranium on the filing cabinet. Two-thirty. I hadn’t even brought anything to read. I began to sort out my files, but gave up. There wasn’t enough in there to warrant serious sorting. I labelled a new folder ‘Martin Hobbs’ and put in the sheets of paper I’d done. Two forty-five. At three-fifteen I gave up. Thanks a bunch, Barry Smith. Presumably he’d chickened out. If he did dare to get in touch again, I’d charge him for my wasted time.
    Clive didn’t appear. No word. Reliable as ever. No word from JB either. I couldn’t make any headway until I heard from him. There didn’t seem much point in pursuing any other direction, like chatting to anglers up at the reservoir at Lostock. Martin was moving in rather different circles now. No. All my eggs were in JB’s basket.