here.
The cherries could go on top. Where else would they go?
‘Wasnae difficult,’ Stewart said, around another mouthful of my precious, precious cherries. I took the bowl away from him. ‘I loathe trifle. My granny used to make it slimy and gritty at the same time.’
‘She was doing it wrong.’ Stewart’s granny had to be a pretty special person to make trifle both slimy and gritty.
‘So…’ he said now, pretending to be casual. ‘What did this Margarita say?’
Ah, the metaphorical mutual flashing of underwear. ‘She said Bishop was a Spanish bull in a previous life, which I really couldn’t argue with. Then she said that cats were the superior species and they’re just waiting for us to die so that they can become the super-species of the planet, and I was going to run away very fast at that stage, but she distracted me with some Jackie Kennedy pillbox hats until I calmed down. Then she started telling me all about how some bastard set up a trap in the street, and her cat got caught in the net. She said it was about the right size for a person, but it was under a tree, not done with poles like the one upstairs.’
‘Does she hae any of the pieces?’ Stewart asked quickly.
‘Nah, she cut the cat free and took him home. The next day, when she went back, the whole thing had been dismantled.’ I hesitated. ‘Do you think Crash Velvet are in on this? I mean, is it some freaky publicity stunt?’
‘Killing some bloke is gaein a bit far,’ said Stewart. ‘Even metal bands don’t tend to be that hard-edged.’
‘Bishop said…’ I swallowed, remembering Bishop telling me that Stewart wasn’t to be trusted. ‘And this is totally off the record, but it probably wasn’t murder. The busker died of an overdose, and they’re thinking it was accident or suicide. Which suggests that his death was drug related, though Anderson wouldn’t confirm that for me. Maybe … Crash Velvet had a party or something and the guy overdosed and they thought they’d use it to their advantage.’ That was the creepiest train of thought I’d had in a long time. Never mind cherries—it was time to start eating custard straight from the bowl.
‘Maybe,’ said Stewart. ‘But they’re pretty damn clean-cut as rock bands go. I mean, blue muffins and Facebook? That was their big plan to conquer the internet? Also, I don’t think they have parties up there. They rehearse during daylight hours, but I’ve pulled a couple of late nights at Sandstone City , and they don’t even turn up their telly loud enough for us tae hear it. I’ve known Boy Scouts who were less considerate neighbours.’
I ate some more custard. ‘Maybe the traps are … random. And the dead body is just a dead body.’
‘Could be,’ said Stewart. ‘So we have three traps, one in Bellerive, one in Dynnyrne, and one upstairs. Randomly.’
My spoon hovered halfway between my mouth and the bowl. ‘The postman’s trap happened in Bellerive?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s where Margarita’s was, aye? The postman lives in Dynnyrne. Parliament Street.’
I stared at him. ‘Margarita’s shop is in Bellerive, but she lives in Dynnyrne. Well, Sandy Bay, but the street where her cat was netted is, like, just around the corner from Parliament Street.’ And about thirty seconds from my house. Holy crap.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘I … this is starting to feel kind of personal. Margarita and this postman of yours both live close to me. And the busker in the net was here upstairs.’
‘So,’ Stewart said slowly. ‘What do ye want tae do?’
Throw myself into Bishop’s bed until the danger has passed. ‘I think,’ I said, licking my spoon. ‘I think maybe it is time to start playing girl detective.’
Stewart took the bowl away from me. ‘Too much sugar, lassie. I’m cutting ye off.’
‘No, I’m serious. I want to know what’s going on, especially if it’s in my back yard. I am a genuinely nosy person, and
The cherries could go on top. Where else would they go?
‘Wasnae difficult,’ Stewart said, around another mouthful of my precious, precious cherries. I took the bowl away from him. ‘I loathe trifle. My granny used to make it slimy and gritty at the same time.’
‘She was doing it wrong.’ Stewart’s granny had to be a pretty special person to make trifle both slimy and gritty.
‘So…’ he said now, pretending to be casual. ‘What did this Margarita say?’
Ah, the metaphorical mutual flashing of underwear. ‘She said Bishop was a Spanish bull in a previous life, which I really couldn’t argue with. Then she said that cats were the superior species and they’re just waiting for us to die so that they can become the super-species of the planet, and I was going to run away very fast at that stage, but she distracted me with some Jackie Kennedy pillbox hats until I calmed down. Then she started telling me all about how some bastard set up a trap in the street, and her cat got caught in the net. She said it was about the right size for a person, but it was under a tree, not done with poles like the one upstairs.’
‘Does she hae any of the pieces?’ Stewart asked quickly.
‘Nah, she cut the cat free and took him home. The next day, when she went back, the whole thing had been dismantled.’ I hesitated. ‘Do you think Crash Velvet are in on this? I mean, is it some freaky publicity stunt?’
‘Killing some bloke is gaein a bit far,’ said Stewart. ‘Even metal bands don’t tend to be that hard-edged.’
‘Bishop said…’ I swallowed, remembering Bishop telling me that Stewart wasn’t to be trusted. ‘And this is totally off the record, but it probably wasn’t murder. The busker died of an overdose, and they’re thinking it was accident or suicide. Which suggests that his death was drug related, though Anderson wouldn’t confirm that for me. Maybe … Crash Velvet had a party or something and the guy overdosed and they thought they’d use it to their advantage.’ That was the creepiest train of thought I’d had in a long time. Never mind cherries—it was time to start eating custard straight from the bowl.
‘Maybe,’ said Stewart. ‘But they’re pretty damn clean-cut as rock bands go. I mean, blue muffins and Facebook? That was their big plan to conquer the internet? Also, I don’t think they have parties up there. They rehearse during daylight hours, but I’ve pulled a couple of late nights at Sandstone City , and they don’t even turn up their telly loud enough for us tae hear it. I’ve known Boy Scouts who were less considerate neighbours.’
I ate some more custard. ‘Maybe the traps are … random. And the dead body is just a dead body.’
‘Could be,’ said Stewart. ‘So we have three traps, one in Bellerive, one in Dynnyrne, and one upstairs. Randomly.’
My spoon hovered halfway between my mouth and the bowl. ‘The postman’s trap happened in Bellerive?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s where Margarita’s was, aye? The postman lives in Dynnyrne. Parliament Street.’
I stared at him. ‘Margarita’s shop is in Bellerive, but she lives in Dynnyrne. Well, Sandy Bay, but the street where her cat was netted is, like, just around the corner from Parliament Street.’ And about thirty seconds from my house. Holy crap.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘I … this is starting to feel kind of personal. Margarita and this postman of yours both live close to me. And the busker in the net was here upstairs.’
‘So,’ Stewart said slowly. ‘What do ye want tae do?’
Throw myself into Bishop’s bed until the danger has passed. ‘I think,’ I said, licking my spoon. ‘I think maybe it is time to start playing girl detective.’
Stewart took the bowl away from me. ‘Too much sugar, lassie. I’m cutting ye off.’
‘No, I’m serious. I want to know what’s going on, especially if it’s in my back yard. I am a genuinely nosy person, and
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