Be Careful What You Wish For (Amber Fox Mystery No 2) Page 5

  ‘Lee went to prison for bank robbery and Carl Thomas’s bank was recently robbed,’ Brad said. ‘Doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me, either.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Coincidence number two.’ I held up two fingers. ‘Maybe Carl was using his bank’s money to place illegal bets on sports events. If he had an insider tip-off, he could’ve made a hell of a lot of money.’ I stood and walked to a tall filing cabinet in the corner of the room.

  Hacker’s keyboard clattered as I rummaged through and pulled out the file for Levi’s medical insurance. I sat back down and flicked through it.

  ‘Hi, everyone!’ Tia breezed into the office wearing pink leggings, a yellow peasant-style blouse, and a red silk scarf around her neck. She liked to dress loud.

  I’d met Tia when I was investigating the disappearance of her famous Fashion Designer father, Umberto Fandango. Everything about her was cute, from the heart-shaped face right down to the immaculate blonde ringlets. But beneath her kooky, airhead demeanour there was a determined and resilient streak. Tia was also psychic and did spells. Occasionally she made me do them, too (God, I’m such a sucker sometimes).

  I felt a bit left out in the superhuman power department. Hacker could Voodoo to death and turn people into zombies. He could also do Reiki (although I often wondered what would happen if he mixed the three up by accident). Brad could kill people with his bare hands (and probably a few other body parts, too), and Tia knew heebie-jeebie things. If I had a superhuman power, I’d want to be able to make myself invisible. Oh, yes, you could learn a hell of a lot of secrets if you were invisible. It would certainly make my job easier.

  Hacker gave her a goofy grin. ‘Hey, Tia.’

  She blushed an interesting shade of crimson and smiled at him, bumping his shoulder with her own. ‘Hey, yourself. You ready to go to the cinema?’

  Brad and I exchanged raised eyebrows. A budding romance had been blossoming between Tia and Hacker for a while, but this was the first actual confirmation of it. Luckily for them, Hi-Tec didn’t have a “No Inter-Office Relationship” policy. Good job, really, seeing as Brad sexually harassed me (in a good way), fought over me (not literal fisticuffs at dawn), flattered me (I’m a sucker for a bit of flattery – what girl isn’t?), and vied for my attention (quite flattering, actually – you see!).

  Hacker sucked his lips together with disappointment. ‘We’ll have to take a rain-check. A new case has come in. A bit of a hoo-ha has been going on.’

  She pulled up another chair and scooted towards Hacker. ‘Can I help?’ Tia’s American accent sang out in the quiet office.

  Hi-Tec was rapidly turning into a branch of the United Nations.

  ‘What is a hoo-ha anyway?’ Tia asked. ‘Is that a Brit word?’

  ‘I don’t actually know if hoo-ha is the right word,’ Hacker looked to me for guidance. ‘Some of these English words still confuse me at times.’

  ‘Your English is better than my Haitian,’ I said. ‘Well, I guess it means different things to different people. To me, a hoo-ha is something small going on that creates a lot of interest.’

  ‘Awesome! I love that word now.’ Tia grinned. ‘So, a hoo-ha is like a bit of gossip about something?’

  ‘Yes-ish,’ I said.

  Tia glanced down at the file I had in my lap. ‘Levi Carter. He recently took out a life insurance policy with us.’ Tia was now Hi-Tec’s office receptionist, administrator, and in training to be my part-time assistant. One of her other attributes was that she seemed to have a photographic memory where office admin was concerned.

  That got my attention pretty sharpish. From the look on Brad’s face, this was news to him as well.

  ‘How recently?’ I asked.

  ‘A few weeks ago.’ She smiled.

  I flicked through the file until I found the relevant paperwork. ‘You’re right. Coincidence number three?’

  Amber Fox rule number two: too many coincidences are not a coincidence.

  My stomach growled at me. ‘What’s Carl Thomas’s address? I know it’s somewhere near my parents’ place.’ I asked Hacker.

  He abandoned one computer and turned his attention to a laptop. ‘Ashcombe House.’

  I smiled, thinking I could kill two birds with one stone. ‘I need some food. I’m going to Mum and Dad’s for some lunch, then I’ll pay a little visit to Carl Thomas.’ I stood up and grabbed my rucksack.

  ‘Just be careful, and stay away from Vinnie,’ Brad said.

  The only problem was that careful wasn’t in my vocabulary.

  ****

  The absence of a Sunday roast was the first thing I noticed at my parents’ house. Unlike my apartment, where the only cooking aroma is from the smell of a freshly delivered takeaway or a ready meal, my mum’s kitchen was usually filled with delicious home cooked smells. I’d toyed with the idea of getting some cooking lessons from her, but somehow the idea didn’t seem as appealing when you could just undo the cardboard box on a ready meal and pop it in the microwave. Plus, I was far too busy, and my kitchen was of the minuscule galley-style variety that didn’t exactly inspire any culinary motivation. Well, that was my excuse, anyway.

  ‘Hello?’ I called out after letting myself in with the key I’d had since I was a kid.

  ‘Hi, honey,’ Mum shouted from the kitchen.

  I wandered in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  She sighed. ‘He’s out saving the neighbourhood again.’ She looked up from the magazine she was reading and rolled her eyes at me. She was good at that. She’d taught me all I know about eye-rolling.

  When Dad retired from the police force he’d formed a Neighbourhood Watch programme. He took his duties as seriously as his time on the force. Sometimes too seriously. Disguises were a particular obsession of his at the moment.

  ‘Want a sandwich?’ It was more of a statement than a question. She closed the magazine and strode to the fridge without waiting for an answer. She knew me too well.

  ‘What’s Dad up to now, then?’ I sat down at a breakfast stool in front of the cream Shaker-style island in the centre of the room.

  ‘There have been a few burglaries around here in the last few weeks. He’s out doing observations every chance he gets.’ She sliced up a loaf of bread and buttered it vigorously – any more vigorously and she’d run the knife straight through it.

  ‘I thought you didn’t mind him doing all that.’

  She stopped buttering before she completely annihilated the slices and shrugged. ‘I don’t normally. It’s just that…well, this time his disguise is going a bit overboard.’ She flapped the knife around in the air.

  So far, Dad had been disguised as a woman and a tree on his surveillance stakeouts. I wasn’t too sure what could really be worse than that.

  ‘What’s his new disguise?’ I asked as Sabre, Dad’s ex-police German shepherd, bounded into the room. To put it mildly, Sabre was schizoid. I think it kind of ran in the family.

  Sabre jumped up, planting his paws on my shoulders and trying to slobber all over my face.

  ‘Get down!’ I pushed him away and he sat there for a while before jumping up again to carry on his licking-fest. ‘Agh!’ I stood up and he toppled back down again. Then he sat on my foot, licking his lips and staring at my other foot like it was a tasty bone. I grabbed a meaty biscuit treat from the kitchen cupboard and threw it across the room. Sabre jet-propelled himself in the direction of food, banging his head on a cupboard door in the process, and wolfed it down quicker than you could say “Canine Crunchies.”

  ‘Your dad’s dressed as a homeless man now.’ Mum placed a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches on the breakfast bar for me before turning on the kettle and scooping out coffee into a French press. ‘He stinks!’ She pulled a face at me.

  Realizing the doggy treat had been devoured, Sabre sat up and searched for more. He gave a sigh, turned around twice and flopped back down, eyeing my sandwich as if weighing up how to steal it from my vice-like grip.

&nbs
p; ‘Well, he does like to make his disguises look realistic,’ I said, trying to make her feel a bit better about it.

  Dad and I had been cops for a long time. We knew the importance of good surveillance techniques. The thing is that Dad was a little on the quirky side – well, OK, more like eccentric – and I’d inherited his crazy genes. Most of the time it seemed to pay off, but judging by the tone in Mum’s voice, she was finally getting a bit fed up with it.

  She sighed. ‘I know. It’s just that…’ She blinked and shook her head, plunging down the French press hard enough to snap it. ‘Never mind. Enough about your dad. What’s going on with you and Romeo?’

  I took a bite of sandwich and chewed slowly, trying to delay the inevitable of telling her. It didn’t work, though.

  ‘Well?’ She prompted me, pouring out two mugs of steaming coffee.

  ‘We’re kind of on a break.’ I swallowed and took another bite, hoping she wouldn’t question me further.

  Surprise registered on her face. ‘The last thing you said was that you were going to move in with him. What happened?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess I’m still not ready for the whole commitment thing,’ I said, but even to my ears it sounded a hollow and empty excuse.

  ‘It’s because of Brad, isn’t it?’ She wrapped her hands around her mug and stared at me.

  ‘No – Yes – Oh, I don’t know. Romeo gave me an ultimatum. Either I move in with him or he calls the whole thing off. He’s fed up with me not moving our relationship to the next level.’ I put my sandwich down. ‘But I’m not very good with ultimatums.’

  Mum gave me a knowing nod. ‘It’s Brad.’

  Deep down, I knew she was right. In a perfect world I wouldn’t want Brad anymore. In a perfect world I’d be way over him by now. But that was the trouble. We didn’t live in a perfect world. We lived in a world where feelings didn’t follow any rhyme or reason.

  She squeezed my hand. ‘Why don’t you–?’

  ‘So, where were these burglaries?’ I butted in.

  Mum pursed her lips. I couldn’t fool her. She could tell exactly what I was doing. ‘You get that stubborn streak from your dad, you know. It definitely doesn’t come from me.’

  I was about to tell her that being stubborn was probably what made us really good at solving crimes, but I didn’t think it would go down too well, judging by how pissed off she seemed with Dad at the moment. Probably being stubborn wasn’t so good for your love life.

  She glared at me for a bit, hoping I’d spill the beans, and after a few minutes, when it was obvious my mouth was on strike, she gave up. She knew I’d tell her in my own time.

  ‘There were three in one night on Honeycombe Lane about a month ago,’ she said. ‘Of course, when your father got to hear about it, he was straight out there doing observations and recording anything suspicious. After the first three, there was one at Ashcombe House in the next street over about three weeks ago, and one was two streets away last week – number 50 Swallow Mews. Your dad’s worried there’s going to be a burglary epidemic in the area so he’s out there every chance he gets, trying to catch who’s responsible.’

  ‘What did you say? Ashcombe House?’ I frowned. That was the second time I’d heard that address today.

  Carl Thomas lived at Ashcombe House. Coincidence number four? There was only one way to find out.

  I wolfed down every last morsel from my plate. ‘Thanks for the sandwich, Mum. I’ve got to shoot.’ I deposited my cup and plate in the dishwasher and kissed her goodbye.

  I’d just slid into my new silver Toyota (courtesy of a hefty bonus cheque from Umberto Fandango and a big discount from a garage owner who was scared of me) when my mobile rang.

  It was Hacker.

  ‘Yo, what have you got for me?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve been checking out betting patterns for Levi’s fight like you asked. Huge bets were placed on Ricky Carter beating Levi in the eighth round.’

  ‘Huh?’ The internal processor in my brain whirred away as I took in that snippet of information. ‘The eighth round? You’re certain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So if it was a fix, why did Levi go down in the sixth?’

  ‘Strange, huh?’ Hacker tapped away on his keyboard again, the sound echoing in my thoughts. ‘The bets were placed in different betting shops around the country.’

  ‘Were any of them placed through Lee’s bookies?’

  ‘No,’ Hacker said. ‘None went through Bet-it.’

  Interesting. ‘Any idea who the betters were?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ I heard the smile in his voice.

  ‘Wait a sec.’ I grabbed a notepad and biro from my rucksack, pen poised ready to take notes. ‘OK, go ahead?’

  ‘First off, there are loads of them, so I still need to run the names and find out who they all are. But one name stuck out immediately.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Edward Kinghorn,’ Hacker said. ‘Joint owner of Kinghorn Thomas Bank.’

  Even more interesting. ‘Maybe that’s the link between Carl Thomas and Levi. Maybe Carl and Edward were both using the bank’s money to place illegal bets after getting tip-offs from Vinnie.’

  ‘Well, since Levi got knocked out in the sixth round instead of the eighth, they’re going to be pretty pissed off about not getting their payout, then.’

  ‘If Vinnie ordered Levi to go out in the eighth round, he won’t be too happy either, and an unhappy Vinnie is not a nice sight.’ I rated it right up there with spotting the Yorkshire Ripper in Starbucks.

  ‘The odds on the Ricky Jackson/Levi Carter fight were thirty-to-one, so Levi was the sure favourite.’

  ‘Wow. Vinnie and Co. would’ve made a fortune on betting for Ricky to win, then,’ I said. ‘Have you worked out exactly what Carl Thomas was shouting at Levi yet?’

  ‘I’ve isolated the first few words. He said, “I know what you…”, and that’s as far as I’ve got. I’m having trouble with the rest of it, but I’m still working on it.’

  I wrote that down in my notepad. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Yo.’ That was Hacker’s way of saying goodbye and hello.

  ‘Yo.’ I snapped my mobile shut and stared at the words I’d scribbled on the page.

  I know what you…

  What the hell did that mean? It could be anything. I know what you drive, I know what you did last night, I know what you had for breakfast; I know what flavour icing you like on your cupcakes. The possibilities were endless.

  I’d gone through about fifty ideas alone by the time I’d driven two minutes down the road to Ashcombe House. For some reason they all ended up related to food. I know what you like in your pasta sauce; I know what you order from the Chinese; I know what make of tablets you put in the dishwasher.

  Oh, shut up, Amber, you’ll be here all day at this rate.

  The name Ashcombe House conjured up the image of a country mansion, and the reality was not far off. It was a huge, dual-fronted modern house with a driveway for about eight cars, a detached triple garage, and a rolling expanse of landscaped gardens. Business must be good at Kinghorn Thomas Bank.

  I rang the bell and heard classical music echoing in the house beyond. I glanced around while I waited. A silver Mercedes was parked in front of the garage. Hopefully that meant Carl was home.

  Nothing happened so I rang again, listening for any sounds of life from inside.

  Apart from some soft flute music, not a peep.

  I peered in a large bay window to the right of the door, but I couldn’t see anyone. To the left of the house was a side gate that led to the rear garden. I clicked the latch and wandered through.

  The garden looked like it was straight out of the pages of Home and Garden. Perfectly sculptured lawns, flowers in various stages of abundance, manicured topiary trees in the shape of birds, garden ornaments of an ancient Greek woman carrying a vase, and a man with a massive…well, you know! I seriously hoped it wasn’t based on a real person. He’d have done
himself an injury walking around with one that size.

  Kneeling at a flowerbed below one of the rear windows was a woman in her late forties. Even though she was dressed in cords and a checked shirt, I could tell they were expensive and designer. A pearl choker and matching studs gave her a hint of class. A half empty bag of fertilizer sat by her side and she scattered the yellow-green pellets around the flowers.

  ‘Hi. Sorry, I knocked, but no one answered.’ I smiled as I walked towards her.

  Startled that someone had intruded upon her solitude, she jumped. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’ she said in a cut-glass, posh accent as she gave me a suspicious stare.

  ‘Hi, I’m from Hi-Tec Insurance.’

  She got to her feet, dusted mud and fertilizer off her knees, and frowned. ‘Is this to do with the burglary? I don’t have house insurance with Hi-Tec.’

  ‘No. I actually need to speak to Carl Thomas. Is he here?’

  She did a brief, angry snort. ‘Carl doesn’t live here anymore.’

  Obviously a sore point, then.

  ‘Oh, can you tell me where he lives?’ I said.

  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘And why do you want to know that?’

  ‘I need to speak to him about an investigation I’m conducting.’

  ‘Oh, this is to do with the safety deposit box robbery at the bank?’ Less suspicious now.

  I just smiled and let her think that it was. ‘Do you have an address for him?’

  ‘He’s renting a house on the other side of town.’ She gave me the address.

  ‘Was there much stolen in your burglary?’ I nodded towards her house.

  A patch of red crawled slowly up her neck, making the white pearls stand out even more. I noticed one of the pearls was shaped like a heart.

  ‘No. Nothing was stolen.’ She didn’t take her eyes off mine, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t telling the truth.

  ‘And the burglary here happened before the robbery at Carl’s bank?’