Poinsettias and the Perfect Crime Page 13

  “I just think it would be great if you came back to work with me. It would be like old times. I miss those days, don’t you? What have you really got going for you here? You sell flowers at the market. That’s hardly a living. You’re not even making a difference to anyone. Don’t you want your work to mean something to the world?” George said, starting with the sweetness and ending with an attack.

  I frowned and decided to address his final points first. “My work does mean something. I personally get to see the effect it has on people. When my customers get a bunch of flowers, they’re happy. I get to make people happy. Also, if you’d bothered to ask, you’d realise that I don’t just sell flowers on a market stall. I supply events and florists. I run classes, and I even have my own online ordering business now.” So there, I silently added. I was proud of what I’d achieved in the time since I’d launched Diana Flowers Blooms, and I wasn’t afraid to show it.

  George looked like he might be about to be sick.

  “Why do you want me to come back to work?” I asked, realising that this was the important part of the conversation. “And don’t say it’s because you miss me. Were you sent to recruit me?” Again, there was a flicker of panic as I so clearly landed close to the truth. Whoever it was that had sent George, they needed to teach him how to keep a better pokerface.

  “We’re just working on some good stuff, and you’re really good at what you do. You’re one of the best we had at the lab.” He got the next words out with some effort. “You’re better than me. I’ll admit it. That’s why we need you back. I can get you more money.”

  I was aware that I was already shaking my head, even as he said it. “Whatever it is, there’s someone else who can do it. Try looking at university graduates. There are always bright young sparks there.” Once upon a time, I’d been one of them.

  “They’re not you! I need you,” he said, desperation lighting up his eyes. He inched towards me and this time I stayed where I was when he reached out and took my hand.

  “What is this all about, George? Does it have anything to do with Bill Wrexton and the diamond that was stolen last night?”

  Confusion flashed across his eyes for a second. “Diamond?” he said before shaking his head. “I didn’t know the guy. I was sorry to hear about it and all, but this is way more important than that. And stop saying my name like I’m someone you’re trying to talk down from a ledge!”

  “Where were you this morning at around ten a.m.?” I couldn’t help glancing at his dark blonde hair when I asked.

  “I was… that doesn’t matter! I was nowhere,” he said, stumbling again.

  Wow. Whoever was pushing him into this, they needed to at least attempt to train their worker bees. That was it. I was sure that this was the work of someone else, someone who had some hold over George and now wanted to get a hold over me, using him. It was clear that they didn’t know me well at all. The question was, did any of this have something to do with the missing diamond and the murder, or was it unrelated? I wouldn’t have thought that George would have any personal connection at all with the late Mr Wrexton, but if he was just a puppet with his strings being pulled by someone else… anything was possible. And it was plain as day that George was a man who’d been pushed to the edge.

  “You’ve got to tell me the truth if you want me to do anything,” I told my ex-boyfriend.

  “I am telling you the truth! It would be great to have you back. It would be just like the good old…” He trailed off, finally realising he was doing exactly as I’d said and just parroting the same phrases back at me. At this rate, he’d be our next prime minister.

  Then he clammed up. He really could be a politician.

  “I’m not going to help you if you don’t talk to me,” I said, firmly, fighting the urge to say something cliché like ‘things are different now’ or ‘I’ve grown as a person’.

  “I am talking to you! I’m telling you my feelings. I need you back.”

  I pretended to consider it. “What if I said I wanted to date you again but not work at the laboratory?” His expression was all of the answer I needed. “I thought so,” I concluded, before pushing myself to my feet. “I think it’s time for you to go back to London and tell whoever’s been pulling your strings that I’m not interested. Not in you, and not in whatever job they need me so badly for.”

  “You don’t understand, they’ll…” George said and then stopped.

  “If you were honest with me I would try to understand.”

  “I’m not allowed…” He was getting really good at this trailing off without actually saying anything bit.

  “I think you should go,” I said, unable to see any other way we could move forward in this conversation.

  George hesitated and then got to his feet. “This is not over. You don’t know what you’re saying.” The desperation had gone from his voice and now all that was left was anger. My ex-boyfriend had really imagined that he could waltz back into my life and pretend to love me, and I would come running back to London to work at the laboratory with him. My opinion of George hadn’t been high ever since I’d gotten over him and had realised just what a negative relationship we’d been in, but now it was at rockbottom.

  “I think I do. Have a nice life, but stay out of mine,” I said, walking over to the front door and holding it open. To heck with the heating bill, this guy wasn’t taking any small hints. He needed every visual cue he could get.

  George walked towards the door, seizing his coat from the banister when he passed it. Then he stopped and faced me. “You’ll come back. Even if you don’t listen to me, you will.”

  “More thinly veiled threats. Thanks but no thanks,” I said, attempting to close the door on him. I’d done my ‘hear you out’ bit, and now I was ready to see him out.

  His hand reached out and closed on the edge of the door, stopping me from pushing it further. I glanced down at my poker left within reach propped against the door jamb on my side of the door. Was I really going to use it? If I used it now, would it make things worse or better?

  “I think it’s pretty clear she doesn’t want you sticking around,” a new voice said from outside in the darkness of the Christmas night.

  “It’s none of your business.” George turned with a snarl.

  “It is my business. You’re refusing to leave when Diana clearly doesn’t want you in her house. Or anywhere near her at all,” Fergus said, stepping into the beam of light emanating from my door.

  George looked at Fergus. I picked up the fire poker and casually rested it over my shoulder.

  I could be wrong, but I thought Fergus might be about to laugh.

  “I’m going,” George said, throwing me one last baleful - and not at all lovey-dovey - look before walking down the path and, hopefully, out of my life forever.

  “What were you going to do with that poker?” Fergus said as soon as my unwelcome visitor had gone.

  “Something really impressive,” I replied, setting it back down behind the door… just in case. George would be a fool to come back and try this nonsense with me all over again, but I was no longer certain that he was acting under his own volition. There was something going on, and I wanted to be prepared for whatever it was.

  “Where were you?” I asked Fergus as Barkimedes ran out of the door and joyfully greeted his master.

  “I got bogged down in some interesting research. I was trying to look into the history of the family but, well…” He shook his head. “What was that guy doing here? I thought you told him you weren’t interested?”

  “Several times,” I assured Fergus.

  “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

  I bit my lip, hesitating to tell Fergus what I suspected. I needed reassuring that George was a crazy loner, not part of some giant conspiracy theory. I doubted I’d get any assurances from Fergus. But then I realised I needed something more than that, I needed a friend I could share everything with, and Fergus was the only one I wanted to tell.


  “I don’t think this is about rekindled feelings. I was given the impression that, although he wouldn’t straight out admit it, George wanted me to go back to working in London with him. It’s as though he were sent here with the sole purpose of tempting me back.” I shook my head. “Whoever made that decision knows nothing about me.”

  Fergus frowned and looked thoughtful - not a good sign. “Someone persuaded him to lie about his feelings, even get down on one knee, all to get you to take a job working for them?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but George seemed scared of something. When I asked him if we could get back together without me working with him, it was obvious that he wasn’t happy. That wasn’t what he wanted.”

  Fergus’ eyebrows were raised to their maximum height. “You were going to get back with him?”

  “No! I just said it to test his reaction… and I got the one I was expecting.” I looked imploringly at Fergus, hoping he would say something helpful back.

  He tilted his head at me. “You know what I’m going to say…”

  “…That it sounds like a bad ‘new world order’ conspiracy theory? It sounds like the rantings of a paranoid person, but you didn’t see him, you didn’t hear what he was saying. Or rather, what he wasn’t saying.” That was what had spoken volumes.

  “I believe you,” Fergus said. “You’re not exactly in the ‘I want to believe’ camp when it comes to contentious theories, which means we could have something serious on our hands. Or it could be nothing.”

  “I hope it’s nothing,” I affirmed, but something twisting inside of my stomach whispered that this wasn’t over yet - just as George had promised.

  “I’ll do some research into the company you worked for, in case something is wrong. Can you give me the name, business address, and anything else at all you think might be relevant? Did you have an office email address?”

  “I did. You’re not going to hack in to anything, are you?”

  Fergus smiled. “No, of course I’m not. I wouldn’t know where to start. That’s why I pay people to do it for me.”

  Somehow, I wasn’t reassured.

  “What did you find out when you did your research?” I asked, remembering that he hadn’t finished what he’d been saying.

  “Nothing actually.”

  I slumped down and looked miserable.

  “No, that’s the interesting part,” Fergus informed me. “The Wrextons are boring beyond belief. Nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to them, and I can’t find much trace of them throughout history.” He frowned.

  “Where did they get their money from?” That had been bothering me all day.

  “I honestly don’t know! Bill Wrexton was investing in stock before he died, I was able to find that much out. He was making a nice return, but it wasn’t his career. I’m not sure he ever had one. At least, I can’t find a mention of it, but I can’t find much mention of him at all, until after he married Gillian.”

  “What about Gillian?” I asked.

  Fergus shrugged. “Much the same. She married Bill and started living the good life. I guess it must be a case of money passed down through generations for so long it’s untraceable. It would explain the diamond.”

  “Or there’s some dark family secret that everyone’s keeping quiet about. Perhaps they’re the real thieves,” I said, half-wanting it to be true, just so I could feel smug. “Did you find anything about the relative who was a commander in the navy?” I said, remembering that I’d asked Fergus to look into that after Harrison had done some family tree sharing of his own.

  Fergus shook his head. “It was hard to find anything at all, but don’t be too surprised. I was searching in public places and through archives. Some families keep to themselves and live private lives. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “But someone in the military would have left a trace, wouldn’t they? It should be possible to find out if there ever was a commander related to Cordelia.” I wrinkled my nose at how at-odds that sentence sounded. Cordelia in the military? I couldn’t see it, even three generations in the past.

  “Not always,” Fergus said vaguely, before retuning to the here and now. “Did it occur to you that Cordelia might have concocted a story to impress her boyfriend?”

  “Yes, it did,” I grudgingly confessed. I wouldn’t put anything past Cordelia.

  Apart from killing her own father, I realised. As much as I disliked her, I couldn’t see it. She’d been a definite daddy’s girl when I’d known her at school, and the real clincher that convinced me she was innocent was that there was no way she would have got her hands dirty.

  If she’d paid someone to steal the diamond for her and that person had encountered her father… well, that was something I was far more willing to consider. Cordelia would have known the location of the safe and what was inside it. I sighed, knowing I had too many loose ends to tie up. Why would Cordelia have wanted to steal a diamond that her family already owned? And how did that fit in with the strange word left written on a notepad by her father before he died? Unless there was something big that I was missing, I probably had to accept that my arch enemy wasn’t about to go down for patricide.

  “Do you want to stay the night?” I said, before blushing like a fool. “In the spare room, I mean,” I added and then wondered if that had just made it worse.

  “I did say I’d come over for Christmas, and it is Christmas.” Fergus rubbed Barkimedes’ head and then did the same to Diggory when he complained about being left out. “How about a cup of cocoa and then bed?”

  I smiled. “I don’t know… I think we might be peaking too soon. It could be the highlight of Christmas Day.”

  “If you’ve got marshmallows, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  I did have marshmallows. Actually, they were unicorn marshmallows I’d bought on a whim at the supermarket and then hadn’t got round to using because I liked looking at them. I opened the packet and debated tearing them up before remembering who my guest was. He probably believed in actual unicorns for goodness’ sake! I shouldn’t be embarrassed about my guilty pleasure.

  “Are we opening presents now, or later?” Fergus called when I was stirring the hot milk into the powder.

  “Now would be nice,” I decided, thinking I needed something to cheer me up after George’s strange and alarming visit.

  I suddenly remembered the little package he’d brought with him when he’d arrived. It was still sitting on my hall table. I decided it could stay there for now. If he wanted whatever it was back, he could come and get it in the next few days, and I would do my best to not hit him with the poker. If he didn’t want it back, then I was just going to throw the whole thing in the bin without even looking at what it was.

  Probably.

  I resolved to forget all about it for now and hoped I’d be feeling more virtuous when it came to tossing it.

  I walked up the stairs and fetched Fergus’ present and he popped out to his car to get mine. Then, with no little apprehension, we exchanged parcels.

  “The Fact-Checker’s Guide to Checking Facts,” Fergus said, reading the cover of the book I’d given him. “Thanks… I think?”

  “Open it up!” I said, nearly rolling my eyes.

  “Spaceship cufflinks? And you got me a copy of Agent Mulder’s ‘I Want to Believe’ poster!” Now he was grinning.

  “You do sound a lot like him at times. I thought it would suit you.”

  “If you remember, Mulder was usually dead right and Scully with her boring science stuff was the one who was really in denial.”

  “That was fiction, Fergus. Remember, we’ve talked about this before,” I said with a knowing smirk. “But seriously, read the book. It’s a good one, I swear!”

  “Open yours,” Fergus instructed, and I did.

  “Close Encounters of the Eleventy-First Kind,” I said, reading the title on the first book that had been included in the parcel. There were others with equally idiotic titles. “If
someone can’t handle a standard numbering system, how am I supposed to take what they write seriously?”

  “You looked like you were enjoying the one you read, so I got you some of the others in the series.”

  A sudden thought occurred to me. “You didn’t write them, did you? Is I.C.Sawsers not your idea of a funny pen-name?”

  Fergus glanced at the cover I was showing him. “I think that’s his real name. You shouldn’t be so quick to mock people. Anyway, I write about…” He grinned. “…nothing that you’d be interested in. Open the green book.”

  I did so and discovered something inside. We’d both had the same idea. “You got me a necklace.” I examined it. “It’s an accurate depiction of a gardenia.”

  “Those were the flowers at that wedding weren’t they? You know… the wedding where…”

  “Thank you. It’s lovely,” I said, before he could get any further and remind me of the events of that day. I looked back down and discovered there was something else. It was a business card that listed my name as scientific consultant working for ‘The Truth Beneath’. “Cute,” I said, flashing it in Fergus’ direction. “But we need to discuss rebranding…”

  Fergus grinned. “I think it will grow on you.”

  I jokingly tucked the dubious business card into my jeans pocket, and then I put on the necklace. I had a feeling that the best part of Christmas may be this very moment. It wasn’t about the presents themselves, but the meaning behind them. We were still trying to bend the other to our own way of thinking to some extent, but both of us had come up with an idea that we knew would make the other happy as well. Who could ask for a better friendship than that?

  I raised my cocoa cup and we chinked them against one another, dripping melted marshmallow onto the wooden floor, where it was hurriedly licked up by the dogs.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said to Fergus. Inside, I silently wished that we would have many more years to come, full of moments like this one.

  “Merry Christmas,” he replied. In his eyes, I thought I saw the same thing reflected back. I looked back at my cocoa and almost missed the flash of regret that flared in his gaze the moment after we broke eye contact.