How does she always find out? Has she got a network of spies scattered across the world to keep her informed? Or maybe she’s planted some kind of listening devices? ‘It’s not true, Mom.’TechnicallyI’m not lying. Konstantine was the one who put it all on red. Not Gran.
Mom’s sensitive about gambling due to an issue from Gran’s past. It was many moons ago and I’m fairly certain that Gran has full control again, but for a while there she lost her way after she married husband two.
British Florian Fairweather, horse trainer and part-time bookie. It came out later that he was fixing races and diddling punters. Gran never got to the bottom of the scandal because Florian did a midnight flit, taking with him only the clothes on his back and a suitcase full of stolen cash. The boat he escaped in ran into a spot of bother over the Mariana Trench and the last Gran heard from him was a distress call. She said she wanted to help but since he took all the cash she had limited resources with which to come to his aid and it’s not like he was sailing on the river across the road. He’d managed get halfway across the globe, in the Western Pacific for crying out loud.
According to Mom, Gran spiralled for a bit after losing him and finding out he’d stolen from his clients. For reasons unknown Gran tried to gamble her way back to profit, but gambling is a mug’s game and she went into further debt.
Eventually, she came out the other side when she met her Japanese soulmate who lived a gentler life. There were no bookies, no racehorses, no gambling. She swapped those vices with tea ceremonies and a spot of karate, in which she earned her black belt and became quite proficient with a katana.
‘My sources tell me otherwise, Evie. If I find out you’ve been covering for her, you’re going to hear about it from me.’
Yikes. Mom on the warpath is not fun. ‘OK, duly noted. Now I really have to go.’
Once I hang up I turn back to my unhappy customer who is still waiting, head in hands. ‘Were you lying to your mom?’ she asks, her expression quizzical.
‘Yes.’
‘Brave.’
‘Stupid. Now where were we?’
She shakes the oversized book in my face. Ah. Yes.
Chapter 22
On Friday, I’m at the head-between-the-legs stage, sucking in air so I don’t die, when Gran finds me in a corner of the bookshop. ‘Darling, what on earth are you doing?’
‘Concentrating on staying alive,’ I mumble through my legs.
‘Is this some kind of New Age thing?’
‘No, just your regular inhaling of precious oxygen thing!’ I straighten up too fast, and a wave of dizziness hits me. ‘Gran, I’m freaking out because Lucy Strike arrivestomorrow, and you’re prancing around like it’s just another day.’
‘It is just another day.’
I glare at her.
‘Oh you’re a pill, Evie. Why are you twisting yourself into a pretzel over her? This is supposed to be fun! She’s an author, you adore wordsmiths, so what’s the issue?’
‘She’s … a bit over the top for my tastes.’
‘You’ve met her?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Then how can you say that?’ Gran frowns.
‘Stop being sensible, Gran! You’re supposed to be on my side.’
‘Sensible, there’s a word that’s never usually associated with me.’ She rubs my leg. ‘I’m always on your side. And all you have to do is give me a sign if Lucy Strike needs to go. I’ll make it happen.’
‘Go where?’ I narrow my eyes at her. The last thing we need is Gran becoming the main suspect in the middle of another investigation. I can see the headlines now:Celebrity author feared dead. Two American suspects in custody.
‘What do you mean, where? Wherever the hell she comes from! Golly, darling, you act like I’m going to grab her by the ankles and fling her off a cliff or something! Does that sound like the kind of act an eighty-three-year-old would be capable of?’
‘Not most eighty-three-year-olds, but you’re capable of anything you put your mind to, Gran.’
She kisses the top of my head. ‘Thank you, darling girl. With you by my side I feel invincible.’
