Chrissy Livingstone Three Book Set: Chrissy Livingstone PI

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Copyright © 2019 Blue Banana

Chapter One

One year earlier

He ate his cereal, his two young boys in their high chairs by his side at the table. Part of him wished he’d had them earlier in life, perhaps when he’d been in his late twenties or early thirties like his friends had. The noisy part of the young boys’ lives would then have been at a time when he’d been able to cope better, was less distracted with work. And other issues. But right now, he was conscious of how draining their exuberance could be, particularly when his head was someplace else. He craved peace. And escapism.

He watched Jo, all the time chattering to the youngsters, encouraging them both to eat up and become strong boys as she fed them simultaneously. Through the window of the spacious kitchen, the morning sun streamed in and he noticed the miniscule particles of dust floating lazily in the air around her and the boys’ heads, the light catching his wife’s highlights and the ever-present twinkle of her eyes.

He’d struck lucky when he’d met Jo. After being married for nearly ten years, they’d decided it was time to start the family they’d both been putting off. Mainly because of work. As a lawyer, Stuart had had no choice but to put the hours in. It came with the territory, and since Jo had worked at the same firm as a legal secretary, they’d more or less made it their way of life together. Each understood the demands of the other’s role, and that made their relationship work despite the gruelling workload they each undertook. And that understanding carried itself to their home life too. With Jo about to resume her position after an extended maternity leave, Stuart would find himself in front of the cooker of an evening just as much as Jo would.

The thought depressed him a little. He was getting too old for the constant demands on his time and had enjoyed the little extra solitude he’d stolen here and there while she’d been off. But Jo wasn’t one to sit at home all day with nothing to occupy her acute legal mind. Endless coffee mornings and lunches with the girls were as far away from her ideal as a wet weekend in Bognor Regis.

Stuart often wished it were otherwise. It would take the pressure off.

He was aware she had spoken and he hadn’t answered.

Sorry, did you say something?

Her smile was always a bright one; rarely was Jo ever cross or grumpy. I said you look miles away, and you obviously were. Anyplace nice?

Soon he would be. So soon.

Oh, idle thoughts. Nothing to write home about, he said casually, though the comment had pricked at him. Anxious to change the topic, he enquired about her day ahead. What time are you all leaving? Need a lift to the station?

All organised, thanks. Train leaves at eight forty-five, so you’ll be long gone. She smiled across at him and it nearly broke his heart. The irony of what she’d said hit him full in the chest and he struggled not to gasp out loud. When he was confident he could speak without his voice wobbling, he said, Well, enjoy your day out. Bring me a stick of rock back.

Do people still buy rock at the seaside, do you think?

I doubt it. I’ll Google it, he said.

She wiped the two youngsters’ hands with a cloth as she spoke, adding, Let me know what you find out. She then removed each child from its high chair and allowed them to wobble off on socked feet as she followed close behind. She glanced up at the replica old station clock on the wall and turned to her husband.

You’d better get a move on, dreamboat. Have you seen the time?

Time doesn’t matter today. There’s plenty where I’m going.

I have an errand out of the office, he said. A bit more time spare this morning. It wasn’t exactly a lie but it felt like one.

It was like watching his life roll out in front of him, like a play being performed and he wasn’t in it. He played along anyway and silently placed his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher along with the other breakfast crockery. He added powder to the dispenser and pressed start, and the machine hummed into action. The digital counter on the front told him it would take sixty minutes. He watched it for a while.

Fifty-nine.

Would it be finished in time, he idly wondered? So he could put the contents away beforehand?

Right. Okay. I’ll finish getting me and the team ready, then we’ll be off, she said chirpily. He could only smile in return. He sat back down at the table and picked the morning newspaper up, though he wasn’t really reading it; he was distracted. It was more to pass the time, pretend everything was normal.

About as far from normal as it could be.

Upstairs, little giggling sounds were barely audible as the three of them dressed and teeth were cleaned, a day bag packed with the necessary equipment two little boys would need for their outing at Grandma’s. When the small gang were finally ready, Stuart helped them outside to Jo’s car and loaded everyone safely inside. The boys blew bubbles as Stuart bent to kiss them both on their tiny flushed cheeks, hiding his emotions at the pain that was about to fall down on them. He looked across at Jo, already strapped in and ready to rumble.

Damn, she was a lovely-looking woman.

Have the best time. Stay safe.

It didn’t feel enough. What would be enough?

We will, she chirped back, and flashed him a dazzling smile.

The words caught in his throat as he added, I love you all, and coughed lightly to cover over the unsteadiness.

Love you too! she said and waved brightly as she reversed out on to the road. Stuart waited for her to pull away, his hand raised ready to wave them off.

Forever.

The car disappeared around the corner, leaving Stuart alone on the front step. Satisfied they had gone, he sauntered back inside. The house was silent. It was deathly quiet inside his head. He noted the dishwasher still had fifteen minutes to go.

I can’t wait.

He retrieved the old sports bag from its hiding place in the under-stairs cupboard and pulled out two pieces of card. Each was about the size of a novel, and he re-read the words printed on them, though he knew every single one.

He’d written them.

With sticky tape, he attached one first to the back door and then one to the front, message side visible to anyone who called. He was only expecting one visitor, but as a lawyer, he’d always planned for the unknown, other eventualities. This couldn’t go wrong; it was too important. When he was satisfied all was in order, he took the old sports bag and its remaining contents upstairs to their bedroom and carried out the rest of his plan.

By the time Jo’s train pulled away from the station, Stuart’s life had already left his body.

Chapter Two

Once a spook, always a spook. Even though she’d been retired, if that was the right word, for more than five years, the threads of a previous life as a government agent still dangled and teased in her veins. At the ripe old age of 41, she was hardly the normal retirement age—but then you’d never describe Chrissy as normal. Ever. And she definitely hadn’t retired in the conventional bored-out-of-her-brains manner that so many folks hurtled towards when the big R word loomed in the distance. No, not Chrissy. She hadn’t time to retire. Not yet. And certainly not today.

A horn beeped outside—her Uber, ready to pick her up. She was more than capable of driving herself to her sister’s place, of course, but Adam would be meeting her there later and they could ride back in his car together. She grabbed her bag and keys and pulled the front door of the brick house closed behind her. Cornflowers were showing off their blue heads in the garden bed adjacent to the garage on her left. The loose shingle of the drive crunched noisily as she stepped carefully so as not to scuff her patent boots before she climbed into the back seat of the car. Since the driver already knew where they were headed, he simply greeted her and offered her a mint.

No, thanks, she said politely, her tone sending the message she wasn’t up for conversation. He really didn’t need to work at it. Should she tell him he’d get a better tip if he kept himself to himself, kept quiet? It seemed a bit harsh, really, to say such a thing, so she kept the thought to herself. For the duration of the journey from Englefield Green to her sister’s place, which was all of ten miles away, she gazed out of her side window up at the summer sky.

It was Wednesday July 11 th, 2018, and Chrissy Livingstone was on her way to discuss their father’s funeral arrangements over tiny sandwiches and afternoon gin.

Deep in thought and enjoying the feel of the warm sunshine on her neck, where her jacket collar was opened casually, she startled when the phone in her bag vibrated and rang loudly with an incoming text. The loud bike horn indicated it was Adam; the tone suited him, and instinctively she smiled at his presence in her bag on her lap. The message was simple, as they always were.

‘Be nice to Julie. I’ll see you later.’

He ended it with an emoji with a halo on top of its head—Good girl. She felt like patting the top of her own head for good measure, like a parent might pat their ‘good girl.’

But Julie riled her up terribly, particularly when the gin was flowing, although Chrissy always did her best to let it wash over her. Why she did so, she had no idea, since Julie had the perfect suburban life on the surface, though that was maybe the problem. With 2.2 beautiful children, a purebred moggie, and a nice though dull husband, Julie wanted for nothing. Although maybe something a bit less dull in the husband department. To Chrissy, a woman who’d worked hard all her life and held down a career while raising her own family with Adam, it seemed her sister whined about and focused on the trivial things in life way too much. The best place for a facial, the newest eatery, the this, the that and not much of the other. Julie, for her part, thought that Chrissy needed to get out more, make more of herself, get her hair coiffed regularly, but those things didn’t interest her. A social butterfly she didn’t need to be; she was fine as she was. If only Julie knew the half of what she did. Had done.

The thought amused her again as the car pulled up to the front gate and Chrissy pressed the buzzer to notify her sister she had arrived. Knowing full well a camera was focusing on her right then and there, she smiled, Garfield-like, into the lens and heard the familiar click of the lock. The gates opened at a snail’s pace. Pulling her head back in through the open side window, she caught the eye of the driver, who’d seen her grin through the rear-view mirror.

I know. I do it because it bugs her. Too straight-laced, that sister of mine. She needs to let her hair down sometimes.

He nodded his approval. She smiled in return.

Grinning like Garfield was hardly letting her hair down, but it amused Chrissy anyway.

A moment later, Julie could be seen gracing the open front door, looking like she’d stepped straight out of Hello! Magazine’s celebrity pages. Clad head to foot in a cream linen trouser suit, she looked stunningly beautiful, though Chrissy thought her head of stiff blonde waves were in desperate need of liberating. One day she’d tempt her sister to let them hang loose. Or perhaps Chrissy could push her hands inside the lacquered fortress and force them loose herself, though she doubted they’d gain entry through the half pint of hair spray.

If two sisters could be polar opposites, the two women at the front entrance were a prime example of chalk and cheese, yin or yang, and if you didn’t know their origin, you’d have said they couldn’t possibly be related. Indeed, Chrissy had wondered if she herself had been adopted early on, or swapped at birth even, but blood tests when she’d needed surgery a while back had confirmed she was indeed the product of a diverse-looking family. She was her parents’ offspring through and through. And so was the woman in cream.

Darling! Julie cooed. She not only looked the part but acted it full time.

Hey, sis, Chrissy said as she gave her sister a bear hug. She could feel Julie’s ribs through her clothing. You could do with a hot meal or something, put some meat on your bones. You’re feeling a bit thin.

And you sound like Mum, Julie said, smiling at their regular dig at each other. Chrissy herself was on the lean side, but a sporty lean as opposed to an ‘I-don’t-eat-much’ kind of lean, celebrity lean. Julie went to the gym to walk on the treadmill and read her book at the same time, somehow managing to stay on the dry side of a sweat in an effort to burn a few extra calories. She’d rather do that than get a full healthy workout and have to re-fix her waves. Chalk and cheese, yin and yang.

Is Mum inside?

She is. Hardly said a word, though. I expect talking about Dad’s funeral won’t be easy. Be gentle, eh?

Chrissy noticed the pink rings under her sister’s eyes, though Julie had evidently tried to conceal them with foundation. So her sister did cry after all. Chrissy headed inside and on to the lounge where their mother was sitting alone. A glass of clear liquid had been set down in front of her; the gin had already started to flow. She bent and pecked her mother’s thin cheek before sitting on the rather formal and extraordinarily uncomfortable sofa, wriggling a little to find a soft spot. Julie joined them in a chair opposite. Their mother kept her head down low; she looked more frail than usual and hadn’t yet said a word.

Julie prodded a little. Mother, would you like to start? I expect Daddy had his own wishes for his funeral.

Sandra Baker raised her head for the first time since their arrival and spoke so low Chrissy had to ask her to repeat what she’d said.

With unexpected ferocity the older woman repeated her words, her voice a sudden angry shout in the stillness.

I said, I really don’t care what you girls organise. Do what you wish. I’ll have no part in organising it, not after what he’s done.

Chapter Three

What has he done? enquired Chrissy, dumbfounded. Whatever it was, was news to her. But then her mother had never confided in Chrissy, preferring the perfectly formed model ears of Julie. They shared the same surgeon.

Nobody spoke. She tried again. Is either of you going to enlighten me or do I have to guess? Chrissy’s voice rose an octave as she finished the sentence so ‘guess’ came out a tad higher than normal.

Julie voted herself in as spokesperson. It seems Daddy had a secret or two. Mummy found a letter, from a man.

Dad was seeing a man? Chrissy asked, incredulous.

No, silly! It wasn’t that kind of letter.

Well, you said it was from a man, and Dad had secrets. What did you think I’d think? Chrissy leaned forward and helped herself to a gin since everyone else had one. She took a mouthful and winced. She preferred a glass of wine. White.

It was a threatening letter, actually. Dad owed the man some money, though I’ve no idea how much. And the man was pretty upset about it. The letter was rather nasty.

Oh. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, Dad wasn’t in debt—was he, Mum? Chrissy looked across at the woman who seemed to have gotten frailer since she’d arrived. Her head hung low again, and Chrissy noted the thin line of her mother’s hair, pink scalp showing through the white silky threads.

Mum?

No, Well, not that I know of. It wasn’t much more than a whisper, and both sisters strained to hear her reply.

Chrissy turned her attention to Julie. Then what did it say? What made it threatening?

It merely said his time was up to repay and if he didn’t … She trailed off.

Go on. What would happen? Chrissy prodded, but Julie clearly didn’t want to have to say the words. Maybe it would be easier without their mother present. Chrissy made a sideways nodding motion with her head towards the conservatory door. Julie picked up the hint and they both stood. They doubted their mother would even notice them leaving the room for a moment; her head was still bowed to her knees.

When they were both out of earshot, Julie closed the conservatory and resumed speaking.

Daddy apparently owed the man a considerable sum, though he doesn’t say how much exactly. Reading how it was phrased, the words he’d used, I’d say we’re talking hundreds of thousands. Julie’s face wore a disapproving, worried look, her designer lips twisting awkwardly.

Holy shit, Jules. Does Mum know you think it’s such a vast sum?

Afraid so. That’s why she’s so upset, and quiet. She’s barely said a word since I mentioned it. She’s angry at him, understandably.

What the hell did he owe money for? It’s not like he wasn’t well off. Chrissy fell silent again, processing what Julie had told her a minute or two ago.

Threatening.

Have you still got it, the letter?

No. Mum took it back, shredded it and threw it in the rubbish. It’s in the kitchen bin if you want it, in tiny pieces.

Great, Chrissy said sarcastically. I’d have liked to see it with my own eyes before she ripped it up.

Why the interest? He’s dead now, so whatever it was, he can’t pay it back anyway. The sunshine peeked out from behind a cloud and the furniture in the conservatory gleamed a brilliant white. It was almost too dazzling, and provided a break in their conversation; both stood with their own thoughts. When the sun disappeared behind another cloud, Chrissy spoke first.

Still. It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? And Mum’s upset and that’s not right. She should be grieving her loss, not being angry at the man for having a secret.

Do you think she’s safe? We’re safe?

Eh?

That they’ll come after Mummy or us for the money? You hear of these things.

Drama Queen Julie, said Chrissy, rolling her eyes. The man’s dead. End of story. Surely. Despite herself, there was a slight question in her voice. Surely?

You don’t sound convinced yourself, said Julie. And I’ve been thinking since I found out. . . She sounded a little cagey, almost embarrassed to say what she had been thinking about.

What about? A beat passed. Spit it out, then.

Julie turned towards the manicured back garden so her back was towards her sister. Maybe she was embarrassed after all. Chrissy waited and watched a sparrow land on the lawn, its tiny beak pecking the ground, looking for food. With a couple of hard tugs, a couple of inches of worm dangled from its beak as it prepared to devour it. It swallowed its meal and then pecked for more.

Do you think he could have been killed over it? Julie said at last. He is dead, after all. And it’s a lot of money, remember. Julie turned back to face Chrissy. Her brow was wrinkled slightly, Chrissy noticed. That in itself was unusual. Botox was hard to wrinkle. Chrissy wore the wrinkles for them both.

Dad had a bad heart, Julie. He died of cardiac arrest. He had an electrical malfunction and nature took its course. Nobody knocked Dad off. You’ve been reading too many crappy books.

Well, I think we should have a post mortem, Julie said haughtily. He could have been drugged and it caused the heart to stop. I’ve heard of it before—minute traces of a substance that go undetected. Spies use it. Bond used it.

Chrissy couldn’t help smiling. Well, if James Bond uses it, it must be real. You’ll be telling me you’ve seen it on Facebook next. Because everything on Facebook is true.

"Spies do use it. And double agents," Julie said petulantly, putting out a perfectly collagen-filled lower lip.

Spies, eh?

Look, if you’re worried, we can talk to the doctor and see what he says, Chrissy said, relenting. She walked over to her sister, arms outstretched for a hug. Even chalk and cheese could be pals, after all, and she had no wish to fight with her sister right now. As the two women connected, Chrissy squeezed tighter than usual, sensing her sister could really use the support she was offering. Citrus fragrance filled her nostrils and she tried not to sneeze. At least it was fresh smelling and not cloying, like her mother’s would be.

Let’s go back to Mum, eh? There’s plenty to sort out for Dad’s day, and we need to get her involved somehow. It’s not good for her to send him off angry, so no more mention of the letter. Agreed?

Her sister’s stiff blonde waves bobbed up and down. They opened the conservatory door and, arm in arm, walked back to their mother.

Chapter Four

In reality, their mother had little to do with their father’s arrangements and stayed speechless for most of the afternoon, quietly sipping gin and tonic and staring at nothing in particular. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. The two sisters carried on regardless; someone had to organise his funeral. At just after 4 PM, they had done all they could and were now chatting about things other than fillings for the sandwiches and what type of sherry would be available. The local pub would be the venue, it was decided; it had a large bar area and back room to accommodate those who wished to mingle. Gerald Baker had been a popular man.

Though it seemed at least one person would disagree.

Chrissy checked her watch. Adam would be arriving shortly.

I think we’ve covered the most of it. Are you happy with everything, Mum? she asked. She got barely a nod back, but at least their mother was communicating.

Don’t worry, Julie said. She’s stopping with us again tonight; probably until the funeral is over, I expect. Which reminds me, there’s probably flowers backing up at her front door. I should get a notice organised to bring them here.

Good idea. I’ll drop by on the way home. Find me some card, will you? I’ll make it up.

It’s in the desk drawer. You’ll find all you need in there, Julie said, pointing to the nook at the back of the room. On the desk sat a Mac, which Chrissy knew was more for the children. It had been placed out in the open so that Julie could keep a close eye on what they were researching rather than them being closeted away in their rooms surfing goodness knows what. Chrissy sniggered under her breath. Both children had their own smartphones. Any dubious sites they surfed would be viewed in the privacy of their own palms, and they certainly wouldn’t be sitting in the lounge while they gawped. Julie was going to have a shock one day at just how much her young teenagers knew about life. And how life itself was made, no doubt.

Chrissy strode over to the desk and found the card in the top drawer of the desk; she grabbed a roll of sticky tape while she was at it.

We don’t want prospective burglars to think there’s no one home, she said to her sister as she began to write. I’ll simply put ‘Flowers to be redirected to. . .’ and this address.

Perhaps add in ‘Other deliveries please knock’? That way it won’t look so much like no one’s home.

Fair point. Chrissy added the extra text. She heard the gate buzzer ring. Adam had arrived.

Will he stay for a drink, perhaps? said Julie hopefully.

No, I doubt it, thanks. We’ll get straight off. I’ll get this done, she said, indicating the card sign, and I’ll collect what flowers are already there. Chrissy rose and went to the door to let Adam in.

Who’s that? said a faint voice from the sofa. Mrs. Baker was finally taking notice.

It’s Adam, Mummy. He’s come to take Chrissy home.

Oh. Good. No more funeral talk, then.

Chrissy saw Julie refrain from rolling her eyes as Adam entered the lounge. She never ceased to marvel at how Adam filled a room with his presence. As usual, he wore a well-cut suit and a grin that would make any GQ model envious. Six feet tall, with strength and width in his shoulders from his early rugby days, he was many women’s hot dream.

Julie had had a couple herself, Chrissy suspected. His entry was always a good excuse for her to get close to him for a moment and, right on cue, Julie stepped forward, arms outstretched.

Hello, darling Adam. How are you? she enquired formally, perfect teeth peeking out from perfect lips. Chrissy watched in bemusement as her husband went to her sister and pecked her lightly on the cheek. She caught Adam’s quick wink back at her. They’d giggled about Julie’s crush on him, but they both gamely played along.

I’m good, thanks, Julie. You look lovely as always.

Chrissy rolled her eyes.

Oh, thank you, Adam. Under the circumstances, I’m holding up.

Heavens above, give me a break.

Well, you’re doing well.

Chrissy stepped in. I’m ready to leave when you are, Adam. I need to make a slight detour on the way back to Mum’s place, though, she announced brightly. We’ll collect the flowers from the house. Mum’s stopping here with Julie tonight.

Adam turned to his mother-in-law, who was still sitting on the sofa. He placed himself gently down beside her, reached out for her hand, and squeezed it gently. She turned to him, her eyes moist, and said ‘Hello.’ As it had been all afternoon, there was no power in her voice; it was a defeated sound, full of lethargy.

You’ll feel much better when the funeral is over, I expect. And we’re all here to support you, remember that. Her eyes were still locked onto his, though they were vacant, like she had left somehow. Adam squeezed her hand lightly again and held it to his mouth to kiss goodbye. It’s good you’re staying here with Julie. It wouldn’t do you any good being at home all alone. He stood and caught Chrissy’s eye. Time to leave.

As the two of them headed towards the front door, Chrissy called over her shoulder, I’ll call you tomorrow, sis. Watch out for flower deliveries.

Thank you for coming. See you soon, Julie called back as they started down the front walk. They climbed into the car and Adam started the engine as Chrissy opened the passenger window. Julie was standing on the front step waving like the Queen Mother.

Lady of the Manor.

Bye! she called brightly.

When they were safely on the road and heading towards her mother’s place, Chrissy told her husband all about the letter. What do you make of that, then? she asked him.

Adam was silent for a moment. Well, let me put it this way. As an investment banker, and knowing Gerald, I’m not at all surprised.

Chrissy turned and stared at him in surprise. That was not the reaction she had been expecting.

Oh? she enquired, her interest piqued.

He wouldn’t be the first, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

But still, it seemed a little too close to home to Chrissy.

Chapter Five

Half an hour later, Chrissy and Adam pulled up in front of her mother’s house. Judging from the heaps of flower arrangements around the front door, it looked like the florists’ delivery vans had already been busy. And probably sold out of chrysanthemums. Chrissy wrinkled her nose at the sight of them; they were her least favourite flower. Cheap, nasty petrol station bouquets usually bought as an afterthought, but in this case, organised and delivered nicely.

Looks like it’s started, said Adam. What shall we do with them all?

Load them up, I guess. Take them home. There’ll be more to come as the week wears on and people hear the news.

They both got out of the car and made their way up the front path. Chrissy took the makeshift sign out of her bag and taped it to the door.

There, she said, standing back to look at it. That should redirect any more bouquets.

Adam picked up a wrapped arrangement and poked at a chrysanthemum nestled amongst the irises and freesia. Are you sure you want these at home? You hate them.

I know, she said, sighing. I’ll take them out and put the rest into vases. The compost heap will enjoy them.

Adam raised his eyebrows at her; he hated waste. Seems a shame.

But why display something you can’t stand? It’s hypocritical. Cut flowers die soon enough anyway, so they may as well go and die now.

Adam raised his eyebrows again. He couldn’t argue with that. Between them, they carried the rest of the flowers over to his Audi and loaded them into the boot. When it came time to close the lid, Chrissy pushed straggling flower heads out of the way so they wouldn’t get chopped off. Chrysanthemums or not. She’d sort them out when they got home. When they were done, they climbed in and set off towards home.

He was a popular man, judging by that lot already, Adam stated.

Chrissy stared at the road ahead. I’ll read the cards later, see who they are all from. The obituary notice is in the paper now. I expect there’ll be a big attendance at the service.

Traffic was building up as rush hour spewed more and more vehicles on to the road making the journey home slow. And warm. In July, and inside the car with the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows, she was starting to bake. Chrissy reached for the air conditioning, leaving it on low. It would be just enough. The bus directly in front of them chugged out diesel fumes, the dark grey emissions rising in a thick cloud and eventually disappearing. Chrissy watched them rise and drift away, transfixed. Idly, she wondered if the smoke from her father’s cremation would look the same. Dark grey. Would the crematorium wait until everyone had left to burn her father’s body? And what if another service was due directly after theirs? Did they wait and light the fire at the end of the day, perhaps? Did they then all go in together, to save on the gas bill? Could she even be certain they would receive only her father’s ashes? Maybe the funeral home mixed all the day’s ashes together and then doled them out to the families, she thought grimly. The family of a big man would get more ashes back; the family of a skinny woman only a few. It was a sobering thought. She hoped not.

The traffic ahead freed up slightly and it wasn’t long before they were turning down their leafy lane on the outskirts of Englefield Green. Elton John had a place not far away. More like a small park and mansion, actually. And Chrissy and Adam’s two boys attended the prestigious Bishopsgate School nearby, though the education fees made them both wince. Still, the boys enjoyed it, particularly the sport programme. Like their father, they preferred rugby to cricket.

At fourteen and fifteen, the boys, Thomas and Harry ate them out of house and home and were each other’s best mate—unusual for many boys, indeed many families. Chrissy and Adam had raised them fairly, teaching them manners, responsibility, and accountability and showering each of them with quality time doing the things they loved individually. All in all, the Livingstones were a wonderful, happy family.

Chrissy needed her own individual time too, but like most mums, she rarely got it. Yes, she couldn’t complain about her life at all, not the life she led with Adam. She hadn’t been entirely truthful with him since … Well, since they’d first met about twenty-five years ago. And that’s how it had always been. She’d never seen a reason to upset the way they worked and lived; there was nothing to gain by filling him in on her past now.

But there was a whole lot to wreck.

Adam believed she worked as a freelance HR contractor, a job she ran from her home office. And since she’d always been vague on the details and refused to gossip about her colleagues, particularly as they were nonexistent, the subject of her work rarely came up. And that was a good thing, because Chrissy didn’t work in HR, never had. No, Chrissy had only ever worked for one employer since leaving university and that was the government.

As a spook. An agent.

But she’d retired a handful of years ago, and continued with the pretence.

Why?

Because she loved her own time. Her time away. Her time abroad. On her own. And it continued to work for her, and no one was any the wiser. It was too late to come clean now. She didn’t like it, but the alternative could be far worse.

Looks like the boys are back, Adam said, pointing to the two bicycles laid on the pebbles near the front door. The door itself stood wide open, and two school bags had been tossed onto the lawn. Manners and respect or not, the boys were always in too much of a rush to stand their cycles up properly. At the sound of the car tyres on the pebbles, the two boys appeared in the doorway, both with a peanut butter sandwich in hand. Their mouths worked hungrily, the boys’ mousy brown curls bobbing slightly with the ferocity of their chomping.

Some things never change, eh? Good job they’re eating now because I’ve no idea what’s for dinner, Chrissy said wearily. She climbed out of the car and strode to the front door, kissing each boy in turn before going inside herself.

Adam sat behind the wheel for a moment, watching his wife and sons from a distance. He had something rather more pressing on his mind: he’d found an envelope while collecting the flowers and had slipped it into his pocket without showing Chrissy. He pulled it out now. On the front, in flowing handwriting, was one word—Thief.

What had Gerald Baker been up to?

Chapter Six

Adam waited until after dinner and Chrissy was upstairs reading on the sofa in her den. He pulled out the envelope again

Thief.

He ran his fingers over the back of the envelope and, listening to make sure he was undisturbed, carefully opened the flap. There was a piece of paper folded up inside, and he opened it. The writing was just the same as the handwriting on the front of the envelope. And of course, it would be. Why wouldn’t it? It would have been odd had it been different.

He read it to himself. There were only a few sentences, and he quickly scanned to the bottom. It wasn’t signed.

I’ll not let you rest until I have back what is rightfully mine.

And I know I’m not alone.

Others are waiting behind me, ready to stake their claim.

You’re a common thief and nothing more.

It wasn’t a surprise really. He’d heard the rumours about Gerald—that he had been involved in a scheme or two. He’d heard that some folks weren’t exactly happy with their arrangement, their returns, but then Adam worked in finance himself. It happened all the time: gossip, and vocal clients. Gerald’s activities didn’t sound any different from what other financiers he worked with were doing, how they handled their business, and so he’d never given it any further thought. But this letter put a new spin on things. The word Thief felt threatening.

He slipped the letter back into his pocket, for safekeeping more than anything. Would he tell Chrissy? Not yet. Better to wait until after the funeral, he reasoned. No point upsetting her beforehand.

The leather crunched underneath him as he got up off the sofa and stood and stretched. He was a big man, though not overweight; just chunky. Chunky in a way that he liked, chunky in a way that Chrissy liked. Solid, she’d told him.

He opened the den door and headed upstairs to Chrissy’s den. He stood for a moment before rapping on the solid wood door, as was their custom. Since their dens were each other’s private territory, they respected the self-imposed rule and didn’t go barging in like other rooms of the house. Apart from the toilet, of course. In all the years they’d been together, he’d never once seen her on the loo, and vice versa. They were a close couple, but there was simply no need to see each other doing their ablutions.

Come in, Chrissy shouted through the door. Tentatively, even though he knew he wasn’t going to say anything about the letter, he opened the door and smiled at the back of the head of his beautiful wife. She was at her laptop typing. She finished off a sentence before turning to give him a dazzling smile as she always did. Chrissy was one beautiful lady, he thought again.

Hey, Adam said. What’re you up to?

Just finishing some paperwork. I have that conference soon and I need to be up to date before I go.

Where is it this time? Adam asked. He was used to Chrissy going away occasionally, often abroad.

West coast of the US of A, she said in a mock American accent, sounding like one of the cast from Gone with the Wind. Her southern drawl amused him and he smiled at her effort, raising his eyebrows comically. Georgia was nowhere near the west coast.

Again, she added. Most of these things seem to be. I don’t mind, though; the sun is always out on the west coast. What do you need, hun? she enquired.

Oh, you know, just seeing how my favourite woman is after an emotionally stressful day. It can’t be easy losing your father, but I must say you’re handling it remarkably well.

You know me—emotionally detached from my family where possible. She smiled wryly.

Adam was aware of family feuds in the past, some more bitter than others. Chrissy had only recently begun speaking with either of her parents again after a disagreement about Adam a couple of years ago. They had, however, started to heal the old wounds.

How is Julie? She seemed a little dazed. As did your mum.

She’s just Julie; nothing changes there. Everything is a drama, hanky at the ready. But her looking after Mum is probably doing her good, giving her something to focus on. Two people in the house can’t both be in the same down place. When one is up, the other one is down, then the other way around. That’s how it works; they’ll bounce off each other for a couple of days, no doubt. Being together could do them good.

Well, like I said, I think you’re being remarkable, said Adam, but you’re always remarkable at everything, so why am I surprised? He ran his fingers through the back of her hair and she looked up into his eyes. They were still the lovebirds they had been when they’d first got married.

I’m only remarkable because you support me the way you do, and I thank you for that, she said. Anyway, enough of the mushy stuff. Fancy a cup of hot chocolate? I just have a yearning for one.

Adam checked his watch. It was nearly 8 PM. It would mean a trip to the loo during the night. Oh well. Why not? he said. I’ve not had one in ages.

Christie closed the laptop lid and stood quickly, pecking him on the nose. She took hold of one hand and led him out of her den towards the stairs. As they walked, the low bass of both boys’ music could be heard from behind their closed doors, the deep throbbing of a dance beat. Since Chrissy and Adam were now some way past their teens it wasn’t their kind of thing. Still, the boys needed their own space, and giving them theirs was part of raising two intelligent, well-mannered young men. Downstairs, Chrissy closed the kitchen door behind herself and Adam, and the boom boom boom could hardly be heard.

I don’t know how they can listen to that all the time, Adam said wearily. Perhaps I’m getting old.

"No, you only sound old. We were no different when we were their age. We just weren’t allowed to play our music so loud. Well, not in my house anyway." Chrissy busied herself filling mugs with milk and placing them both in the microwave. Adam grabbed the drinking chocolate from the cupboard along with a half packet of Hobnobs. Taking one from the pack and offering Chrissy one, he changed the subject back to the funeral.

So, what have you still got left to organise? Adam asked, crumbs falling to the floor as he bit into a biscuit and it broke awkwardly. The microwave whirred in the background.

Not much on my side, to be honest. Julie is taking most of it on. I’ve got work and she’s only got spa. Give her something meaningful to do for a change. There was no malice in her voice, and it was the truth. Julie really did not have anything important to fill her day with, and every day was the same. It would drive Chrissy nutty.

Well, I think, when the funeral is over, we should head away for a weekend somewhere, just two of us. What do you reckon?

Sounds good. Anywhere in mind?

Oh, I thought there might be a music festival on somewhere. We could go and hang out by the beach for the weekend.

The microwave pinged; their milk was hot. Chrissy smiled at his suggestion, knowing full well he was only joking about the music aspect. Shame; she enjoyed music, even dance music, and a festival would be fun.

Adam would have hated it, though.

Chapter Seven

The next five days went by in a flash. On the morning of the funeral, Chrissy looked stunning in her simple black dress, her hair tied into a loose knot behind her head. She wore simple stud pearl earrings, just like her mother undoubtedly would. She sat in front of her dressing table mirror and applied the last of her tinted lip gloss, rubbing her lips together.

Adam watched from the doorway. The day would probably be hard on Chrissy and the rest of the family, he knew, as funerals inevitably were. He looked as handsome as ever in a dark fitted suit. In a low voice he said, Everyone’s here. We’re ready.

I’ll be right there, Chrissy said and stood gracefully, glancing back at the mirror one more time before approaching Adam. She slipped her arm through his and he slowly led her back through the doorway and downstairs. From the bottom of the stairs, Chrissy could see a gathering of people, or, really, the hats of the gathering of people. And the sea of hats was all black. She wondered why people felt the need to wear a hat at weddings or funerals. Perhaps she’d missed a tradition along the way; she wasn’t wearing one herself.

It’s a funeral, remember?

Yes, but does it matter?

They went through to the lounge; through the tall bay window, she could see a group of black cars waiting outside. The hearse was parked out front and four sombre-looking gentlemen stood nearby. They belonged to the funeral parlour and were ready to look substantially more sombre and mournful when the family were ready to leave.

Would you like a quick drink before we go? Adam asked.

Right now, Adam, I would love a wine but I don’t think it would be appropriate. And it’s a bit early, though I expect it’s got to be five PM somewhere in the world. She managed a weak smile, and Adam squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Someone came up behind them, and given the cloying smell of the perfume, Chrissy figured it would be an older relative. She was right.

Chrissy, darling, the woman said, as Chrissy turned and fixed her weak smile back on her face.

Hello, Clara. Good to see you! Chrissy said almost too cheerily for the occasion, and she meant it. Clara had been a friend of the family since Chrissy had worn nappies, and used to push Chrissy in her pram when she was a tiny girl. To her mother’s annoyance, Clara had inevitably had a biscuit or two for Chrissy in her handbag, meaning the pram had always been covered in crumbs and prints from chocolatey little fingers. Chrissy being Chrissy, she bent in close to the older woman’s ear.

I don’t suppose you have a chocolate biscuit in your bag, do you, Clara?

Clara laughed lightly as Chrissy turned to introduce her to Adam.

Adam, this is Clara. I don’t think you have ever met her. Clara was always a bugger for giving me a biscuit in my pram and pissing Mum off. She smiled warmly, and Clara and Adam both smiled in return.

In that case, I’m pleased to meet you Clara, said Adam. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle shake.

And nice to meet you Adam, though on such a sombre occasion. I’m sure there will be time afterwards to chat more over a sherry. She winked at Adam, who, ever the gentleman, bowed slightly and replied, Then I will look forward to it.

The conversation was interrupted by an announcement from the front doorway that the procession was almost ready to leave, and people began to filter out into the driveway, Chrissy, Adam and Clara included.

Clara bent in to whisper in Chrissy’s ear. Thank goodness it’s not raining. I hate rainy funerals. It makes it even more depressing.

Chrissy could only smile. It was true; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Birds tweeted cheerfully from nearby trees and bushes, adding their own chorus to her father’s other big day. Shame he wasn’t able to see it, to enjoy it, Chrissy thought, though she felt he was with them in spirit.

She thought uneasily of his body in its wooden box that would soon be turned to nothing more than ashes. But that had been her father’s wish. He hadn’t wanted to rot in the ground; he’d wanted to have a warm sending-off.

It would be warm, all right.

Damn hot, actually, Chrissy.

She’d seen a joke earlier on Facebook saying, "The only time I’ll ever have a smoking-hot body is when they take me to the crematorium."

It had made her laugh out loud then, and she fought off the urge to giggle again now. Her father would have loved that.

Car doors slammed shut noisily as people filled the waiting cars, and the sound of voices finally ceased. Chrissy felt Adam steer her gently towards their appointed car, and it was only as she approached it that she noticed Julie and her mother were already seated inside, ready to go. Julie’s husband, Richard, had made his own excuses not to attend and so the two women were alone. Chrissy bowed her head in thanks to the funeral home staff who was holding the door open for her and climbed in. Adam was sitting in the front seat beside the driver.

The car was now full. Nobody said a word, and Chrissy didn’t catch anybody’s eye. She turned and gazed out the window; it was the safest place to look, and she had her own thoughts to keep her company. The driver took his seat and the car moved forward, headed towards the tiny church in the centre of the village.

They could have walked, in reality. It wasn’t far, but with older relatives and mourning family members to take into account, the short drive was more appropriate. The drive took precisely three minutes. While it wasn’t the longest three minutes of Chrissy’s life, it felt right up there. Adam reached between the seats, took her hand and squeezed it gently. As their car pulled to a standstill, Chrissy fought to control the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks; it was all so final now.

Out in the front of the church, on the small lawn where the summer garden market took place, there wasn’t a blade of grass without a foot on it. There were cars of all descriptions parked on grass verges, in the church car park and as far as the eye could see down side roads. It was fair to say there were people everywhere. She knew her father had been popular, had lived in the village most of his life, but hadn’t realised just how many people he had known. From the gathering, you would have thought a local celebrity was in town.

And perhaps there was.

You will always be a celebrity to me, Dad.

She and Adam climbed out of the car and began to walk towards the church, Adam tall and strong by her side. Julie and her mother climbed out the other side of the car; they still hadn’t spoken a word to her. Likely, they were struggling with their own thoughts, their own grief, Chrissy thought. She could hear the sound of an organ coming from inside the church, though she had no clue what the tune was, not being a regular churchgoer. Julie and her mother had decided on the hymns to be sung—slaughtered, more likely—by relatives and acquaintances during the service.

The crowd made its way inside the cool stone church that had stood centre stage in the village for more than a hundred and fifty years. Chrissy and Adam took their seats in the pew at the front of the church. She wished Thomas and Harry were with them, but they had asked to be excused from attending, and Chrissy and Adam had decided there was no point in forcing them. What good would it do? They were good kids, and they would pay their respects in their own way; they didn’t need to be in church beside their grandad’s casket to do it.

She turned towards the front of the room as the vicar took his place. The organ music drew to a close and conversation ceased.

Gerald Baker’s funeral service was now in progress.

Chapter Eight

Julie and Mum had done well. Chrissy guessed, rightly so, that Gerald had left a detailed will of what he wanted to happen at his funeral, and they had done him proud. A warm send-off, it had said and that’s what he’d gotten.

The hymn he’d chosen to be played at the end of the service was All Things Bright and Beautiful. It was not a common choice for a funeral, more a wedding or christening, but her father had never wanted people to limp along singing songs they didn’t know. Chrissy made a mental note she’d quite like the same hymn at her own funeral. She must mention it to Adam—and they must update their own wills.

When the service was over, the sea of black hats made their way to the front door and back out into the sunshine. Preferring to keep herself to herself, Chrissy guided Adam away to the side and under a shady tree. She didn’t feel much like socialising. It was an odd place to be social, a funeral, though there would be plenty of time for small talk over more gin and tiny sandwiches later.

Adam spoke first. That was nice, Chrissy, wasn’t it? he said gently. Great last hymn.

Yes, it was, she conceded. Mum and Julie did a good job; I knew they would. I wish the boys had been here, though, don’t you?

I know what you mean, but there was no point in making them come. They will remember him in their own way.

While they stood, Chrissy people watched for something to do other than interact with a bunch of strangers. There were many people she didn’t know, of course. But someone took her interest. Through the canopy of black hats, she noticed a single man on his own, leaning by a car. Why she’d noticed him she’d no idea, and as she watched him, she couldn’t think why he stuck out to her other than that he, too, was alone. He looked like any other man there—dark suit, sombre expression—but somehow, he stood out. She nudged Adam and nodded towards him.

Any idea who that is? she asked. Adam looked but didn’t recognise the man either.

No idea. I guess he knew your father, like most people here. You don’t get many funeral crashers.

That made Chrissy smile. You’re as bad as me, she said, stifling a giggle.

Adam squeezed her affectionately and glanced towards the man again. But seriously, why do you pick him out? There’s plenty of people here you don’t know.

I know. But there’s just something about him. It’s almost as if he’s… She searched for the word. …browsing. Watching people. Seems odd.

"Aren’t you doing that?"

Yes. But I’m family, I’m his daughter. I’m allowed to watch people and be on my own.

They fell into a comfortable silence together and watched the crowd some more; Chrissy kept one eye on the man by the car. A moment later, he turned in their direction and looked straight at Chrissy. Their eyes locked for a moment, but the man’s face remained unchanged; not a muscle moved. It was unnerving. Surely he’d give a tiny smile, a nod of recognition, something?

The man looked away again, then dropped the cigarette he’d been smoking and stubbed it out in the dirt. He opened the driver’s side of the car he’d been leaning against, climbed in and started the engine. Without a backwards glance, he drove slowly away down the lane, which was packed with parked cars.

See? I told you, Chrissy said. As soon as he saw me watching him, he took off and I bet he’s not going to the crematorium.

I wouldn’t pay any attention to him, Adam said. Your dad knew so many people there are bound be some here that you don’t know.

From the corner of her eye Chrissy could see Julie approaching them both. Her black hat was somewhat bigger than everybody else’s and it was hard not to miss the stiff blonde waves peeping out from underneath. As she got closer Chrissy could see that she had been crying. She extended her arms to greet her and Julie slipped between them. The two women hugged as more black hats milled about nearby.

Finally, Julie pulled away and dabbed her eyes. Who was that? she said, inclining her head in the direction the car had gone.

That’s just what Adam and I were discussing. He stuck out to you as well, did he?

He did, actually, yes. Don’t know why. He was quite good looking, though.

I don’t know about that part. Anyway, he’s gone now. I doubt we’ll see him again.

Changing the topic, Julie said, It’s time to go anyway. Are you coming in our car? We’re setting off now if you want to ride with us.

Of course we are, Chrissy said, smiling slightly. Our car is back at the house.

The three of them made their way back towards the car they’d arrived in. The black hats were thinning out now, with those who had come just for the church service making their way home or on to the pub to make an early start on refreshments. Chrissy hoped the sandwiches wouldn’t be put out until later. She hadn’t felt like eating at lunchtime, but her stomach was now starting to grumble for sustenance.

The service at the crematorium was short, almost perfunctory, and they all said their final goodbyes to Gerald Baker.

Chrissy hoped the staff would wait until everybody had left the grounds before they struck the match. She had no desire to see the smoke billowing from the chimney. Shivering, she made her way back to the car, tucking herself under Adam’s arm for comfort.

Chapter Nine

It hadn’t been his intention to be spotted. The man had stood by his vehicle watching the funeral like any other nosey local attendee. But she’d seen him, and that annoyed him because now it could make things difficult.

The summer sun glared in his eyes as he made his way back towards the motorway and towards his hotel. He’d shown his face, though unintentionally, but he’d needed to go and make sure that the old bastard was dead.

He owed them that much.

There wasn’t much else to do, apart from keep his nose clean and stay out of the way. Between them, they had come up with the plan, but it had been he who had actioned it on their behalf. Why? Because three of them were already dead. And why were they dead? Because Gerald Baker had killed them. He might not have meant to kill them, he might not have actually done it with his own hands, but they were dead nonetheless and it was all Gerald Baker’s fault. Their deaths were on his hands.

The man retrieved his iPhone from his inside pocket with one hand on the steering wheel, and with his other hand checked the time in LA on the phone app. It was late afternoon, so he pressed the appropriate number on his speed dial and waited for the phone to connect on the other side of the world. It didn’t take long before it was picked up. He recognised the male voice instantly and it gave him some comfort.

How did it go?

Nothing remarkable; just as expected. It was a church service.

Didn’t think he’d be much of a churchgoer. Definitely dead, then?

"Oh, definitely dead. I didn’t hang around to go to the crematorium and check it was him in the box, but the whole family—in fact,