Mean Spirit by Will Kingdom Read Free Book Online Page B

Marcus was too sick to come, and Marcus felt you were in some kind of trouble, and he didn’t want it to be … too late. Or something.’
    ‘Do I look like I’m in trouble?’
    ‘You don’t look too good, if I can say that. You look like the papers had it right.’
    ‘The papers are suggesting I’m mentally ill.’
    ‘Not necessarily that.’
    ‘Of course, that. No journalist who wants to stay on the national press can be seen to accept the spiritual.’
    ‘I did.’
    ‘Quite,’ Callard said. She laughed.
    Grayle stood up. ‘Maybe I’ll call Justin, find out if he tracked down an exhaust for my car.’
    In the candlelight, she saw Callard shrug. She reached for her bag and dug out Justin’s card.
    ‘That was rude of me,’ Callard said wearily. ‘Don’t go.’
    Grayle didn’t look at her. Held the phone up to the candle, punched out the number, which she now realized was a mobile. Clearly, the rundown garage was no longer on the phone.
    Callard said, ‘Why don’t you stay the night?’
    ‘That’s not possible.’ She heard the phone ringing at the other end.
    ‘Look,’ Callard said, ‘as soon as the oaf picks up your scent again, he’ll start reviewing his options. First, he’ll lie about your car …’
    ‘Mayfield Garage,’ Justin said.
    ‘Uh … it’s Grayle Underhill.’
    ‘ Hello, Grayle!’ Real jovial. ‘You find Miss Seffi Callard then, did you?’
    ‘Yes. Listen, I wondered if you managed to hunt down any kind of exhaust.’
    A pause. A chuckle. ‘Ah dear,’ Justin said. ‘I rang round six mates between here and Swindon. No can do tonight, but one of them reckons he might put his hands on something tomorrow.’

    ‘Oh.’ Not on me he won’t.
    ‘You’ll have to spend a night in the glorious Cotswolds, my sweet. Look, there’s a good country-house hotel not far from where you are. I could pick you up, take you there …’
    ‘That’s kind of you,’ Grayle said quickly, ‘but I already made a provisional reservation. In … in Stroud, I … Ms Call … Seffi’s gonna take me there.’
    ‘Fair enough,’ Justin said neutrally. ‘Fair enough.’
    ‘So I’ll call you from there tomorrow.’
    ‘Whatever you like.’
    ‘Well, uh … do your best with the exhaust.’ Grayle pressed end. ‘He can’t fix it tonight. I need to find a hotel.’
    ‘I told you,’ Callard said. ‘There’s a spare room here. Terribly twee and rustic.’
    Grayle shook her head. ‘I’ll call a cab. You have a phone book. Yellow Pages?’
    Persephone Callard didn’t move. Except to close her eyes.
    ‘Forget it.’ Grayle took the phone to the candle. ‘I’ll call Inquiries.’
    No reaction from Callard. She was kind of breathing heavily. Jesus, she fell asleep? She fell asleep from all the booze?
    Callard’s glass, still untouched, stood on the mantelpiece. Grayle punched out 192. ‘Directory Inquiries,’ a woman’s voice said brightly. ‘What name, please?’
    Persephone Callard sat up on the couch and her breath came out in a long, hollow whooooosh. Grayle jumped. Somehow, it was like a corpse rising.
    ‘Directory Inquiries.’
    The candle went out. Just went out. On its own.
    Grayle said, too loudly, ‘Uh, could you give me the number of a hotel in Stroud, please? A big hotel.’
    ‘Tell me, Grayle,’ Persephone Callard said softly, ‘what was the awful thing that happened to a young woman very close to you?’

V
    THE ROOM WHICH HAD BEEN, UNTIL HER DEATH, THE BEDSIT OCCUPIED by Mrs Willis, Marcus’s housekeeper and resident healer, was now the editorial suite of The Vision. Marcus stumbled in with a glass and his dying bottle of Glenmorangie, brushing a hand down the light switches, gazing around in bleary despair.
    The shelves which had held the herbal potions were dense with box files – Underhill having bought them as a job lot from a local farming accountant who was switching to computers.
    The boxes contained – for the first time alphabetically sorted and