Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) by Vic Marelle

living, even if
only for half an hour over relaxing refreshments. Waitresses in Victorian style
white aprons over black dresses brought cakes and sandwiches to its tables on
three tier cake stands, with leaf tea in china pots and twee little china tea
cups in which to drink it. Outside, more tables under umbrellas were arranged
in the roadway of the pedestrianised street, taking
the concept a little towards a French pavement café and confusing the issue
somewhat. Modern essentials like WiFi Internet access
and rubbery burgers on tasteless buns had not been invented in the days that
the Windsor attempted to emulate, though the softly playing piano emanated from
a decidedly up to date audio system rather than a real grand piano.
    A jangling bell announced the entry of the two
detectives, drawing a smile from the assistant manageress and a welcoming ‘a
table for two is it?’
    ‘Yes please, though we would like you to join
us please,’ responded the senior officer, introducing them and reminding her of
his sergeant’s earlier visit.
    ‘Oh dear,’ she replied, ‘I hope that I didn’t
say something that I shouldn’t have. I would hate to get anybody into trouble.’
    ‘No, not at all. Actually, you were very
helpful and we just thought that perhaps you could help us a little more.’ Keep
it all friendly thought the inspector. If she had been embarrassed at having
modelled for the picture there would be no point in putting the poor girl on
the defensive right from the start.
    Clearly not at ease, she spoke in short bursts,
as if she was searching for some gem of a statement that would placate the
policemen and send them on their way but couldn’t think of one. ‘If I can. Of
course. But in what way? It’s pretty ordinary around here. Nothing much
happens. People come in for tea and a cake. That’s all. What else do you want
to know?’
    ‘Now now love, don’t get upset. We are just
trying to piece together some loose ends and since we don’t know much about
this street and those working here we thought that perhaps you could help us.
Local knowledge and all that.’
    After instructing a young waitress to take over
her duties she sat with them at their table. What could all this mean? The
police didn’t just turn up asking questions if you hadn’t done anything did
they? Well the nice young sergeant had done yesterday, but that was different
because he was checking out the burglary at the electronics shop further up the
street. Now there were two of them – and one of them an inspector no
less. It couldn’t be the parking ticket she had got when she overstayed her
time in Tulketh Street, that wouldn’t warrant an
inspector would it?
    ‘Don’t worry Miss, you won’t get anyone into
trouble. And if you do tell us something that helps us we won’t be telling
anyone where we got the information either.’
    He was a nice one that sergeant. A little old
for her of course, but nice all the same. More like a father figure, but not
old enough for that either. Only the second time they had met but he understood
her. That was more than Jack did. What in heaven’s name should she do about
Jack?
    ‘Right Miss.’ The sergeant brought her out of
her reverie. ‘How well do you know the people at the electronics shop?’
    She didn’t know them all that well actually.
Nor did she know the owners of the travel agent, the cake shop, the butcher,
the instant print shop or the Christian book shop.
    ‘Ah, but you know the art shop man pretty well
don’t you.’
    ‘No, not really. Just to say hello to now and
again’ She said.
    ‘But I heard that you knew him well enough to
take your clothes off for him.’
    In an instant she had blushed redder than a
lobster. And she was fidgeting with a napkin on her knees. Embarrassment was an
understatement. ‘No I don’t know him well. I just modelled for the life
painting class. And I only did it the once. Lifting her head to look at
Radcliffe she fixed her eyes rigidly on his