Walk a Narrow Mile by Faith Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

or some such. Bragged a bit about her salary, her nice flat in Oxford. My mate was well up for it, I could see, though I tried to warn him off. She hooked him like a prize carp, flirting, showing off the cleavage, giving it with the chat.’ Brian mimed with his fingers the universal symbol for gabbing. ‘She could really talk, could Meg. Wind men around her finger. She had my mate panting about her tales from the office. A boring bloody solicitor’s office, I ask you! But even that she could make into a tale. She told my mate she knew no end of West End villains, men who made the Kray twins look like cissies, who’d been gotoff by one or other of the QCs her bosses hooked them up with. Had my mate believing that she visited them in their Spanish villas and South American hideaways for freebie holidays all the time. And he was lapping it up, poor sod. I could see she was laughing up her sleeve at him. She only did it to rile me, I suppose. Show me what I’d been missing.’
    Brian suddenly realized what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. For a moment he looked nonplussed, but then he laughed again. ‘Honestly, straight up, I didn’t lay a finger on her. That was the only time I saw her – and if you still want to dig up the garden, the offer still stands. It’ll be a way of getting some free gardening done anyway. It’s a bit of a jungle out there.’
    Hillary smiled. ‘I’ll keep it in mind, sir. In the meantime, if you think of anything else…’ She handed him one of her cards.
    Brian Vickary saluted her with it, and walked them to the door.
    Hillary let him get back to his beer.
    If Brian Vickary was her stalker she’d eat her hat.
    If she had a hat.

CHAPTER THREE
    T om Warrington took his lunch hour early. Since he’d volunteered to be posted back to admin he had more flexibility with his working hours than he had when he’d been on the beat, provided he could keep on the good side of the dragon, a civilian clerk who thought she owned the records office.
    He left HQ and drove through Kidlington, which was either one of the country’s largest villages, or a small town, depending on who you spoke to, and headed to the nearest Park and Ride. He didn’t like using it, since he always felt vulnerable without instant access to his car, but since parking in the city was about as easy to do as win the Lottery, he had little option.
    Getting off the bus in St Giles, he made his way to the covered market, just off Cornmarket Street. He felt more anonymous here than in a jewellery store in town, where CCTV tended to proliferate too much for his liking. He felt a stab of conscience for the lack of taste implicit in his choice, but he knew that Hillary would understand. He couldn’t make things too easy for her after all! Besides, she knew how much he cherished and rated her.
    And despite the rather dark, smelly and less-than-salubrious surroundings, the large, cosmopolitan market was quite capable of producing some very good quality items if you were prepared to put in the time and effort to look for them.
    And Tom was. He’d been on the look out for such an item every day this week, and he felt his heart rate quicken as heprowled the aisles of the last remaining jewellery booths he’d yet to inspect. Most was tat and he avoided that fastidiously. He didn’t like the bright, the brash and the costume stuff; that would be an insult to his Hillary, although he might pick up something to keep that stupid cow Vivienne Tyrell happy.
    He quickly pushed thoughts of the wearisome girl aside and concentrated on his task.
    Since he wasn’t sure what Hillary’s favourite gemstones were, he’d decided to stick with something classic and simple in gold. The high-quality stuff, naturally. He eyed lockets of all kind, and was sorely tempted by some of the antique silver ones especially. Although not gold, they had the quality and uniqueness associated with artisans long gone, and he thought that she would