Lovelace and Button (International Investigators) Inc. by James Hawkins Page B

minutes later as he squats on the floor of Minnie’s kitchen next to a garbage bag he’s dragged out of a bin in the backyard.
    With one hand over his nose, Bliss is holding up a crumpled piece of paper to Daphne with the other.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asks, keeping her hands in her overcoat pockets.
    â€œThis,” he says, unfolding it and flattening it on the floor, “is a Western Union receipt for four thousand, nine hundred pounds. And I bet there’s another in here if I dig deep enough. Thank God the garbage hadn’t been collected.”
    â€œBut, I don’t understand…”
    â€œIt’s the missing money, Daphne. Stapleton didn’t steal it. She sent it to…” Bliss pauses while he deciphers the writing on the receipt. “She sent it to Canada.”
    â€œShe didn’t know anyone in Canada,” spits Daphne indignantly. “Why on earth would she do that?”
    â€œI think it’s a company name,” says Bliss, reading aloud. “‘CNL Distribution, White Rock, British Columbia.’”
    â€œCall Mike, your Mountie friend in Vancouver,” says Daphne, indicating Bliss’s cell phone. “He’ll know.”

chapter four
    Mike Phillips is a recently promoted inspector with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Vancouver, and he is growing accustomed to becoming embroiled in murder cases involving his English counterpart, David Bliss.
    â€œI could get shot for this,” says Bliss as he opens his cell phone and flicks through the digital address book looking for his Canadian colleague’s number. “It’s my job to make sure that people don’t short-circuit the system,” he continues irritably as he taps in the number of the officer with whom he had once teamed up to trace a serial killer. “That’s what Interpol’s for,” he carries on as he waits for the connection. “If everyone made their own enquiries with foreign forces there would be anarchy.”
    â€œOh, you can be such a stuffed shirt sometimes,” says Daphne snatching the phone. “The closest I’ve ever been to being on the force was cleaning the constables’ toilet down at the police station. So unless you think thatapplies…” She pauses, with the phone close to her ear, mouthing “Voice mail,” then adds, “He’s on leave — Hawaii for two weeks,” as she waits to leave a message, but then she changes her mind and slowly closes the phone. “Minnie and I were planning on going to Hawaii,” she tells Bliss, with a sniffle of unfulfilled nostalgia, and then she brightens with an idea. “What about Trina?” she says, pulling out her diary and searching for a number.
    â€œI don’t know…” begins Bliss hesitantly, having mixed feelings about the zany Canadian woman who had become enmeshed in Phillips’s mass murder case and had found a kindred spirit in Daphne.
    â€œIt can’t do any harm,” continues Daphne as she punches in the international code. “We only need the phone number of the company, and then we can ask them about Minnie’s money ourselves.”
    â€œI still think I should do it officially through Ottawa,” Bliss is saying as Daphne listens for the ringing tone.
    â€œDon’t you worry, David. I’ll talk to her,” says Daphne sarcastically. “I wouldn’t want her getting into trouble with Interpol as well.”
    â€œVancouver Zoo. Monkey House,” answers the voice on the phone, and Daphne puts on a puzzled face.
    â€œIs that you, Trina?”
    â€œOh. Hi, Daph. Yeah, it’s me. Hang on. There’s a guinea pig on the loose…” Then she yells, “
Kids!
” with such force that Daphne ducks.
    â€œSorry, Daphne,” says Trina, coming back on the phone. “It’s a madhouse here. I was just making some curried banana cake.”
    Daphne grabs a pen