Paparazzi, Jo Fenton [books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

my life has lifted my spirits. I guess I’ve missed being a detective.

Chapter Eight

“Alexa – turn up the music.”

The sound of my favourite band fills the apartment. I open my laptop and load the photos I took last night. So beautiful. Such a vivid setting. The darkness of the club; the lit stage; and the audience. All so important to capture correctly.

The target is perfect. I get close, but not close enough. I need to meet, to touch, to know. Until then, I cannot be fulfilled.

The song ends, and another begins. The title, Death is Beauty, is so apt. I shut my eyes and allow the melody to resonate through my body. Rapture fills me, and as the song reaches its peak, so do I.

 

Chapter Nine

Joanna moved into her new house yesterday. I’m going after breakfast to help her unpack. She had a van bring her belongings down from Edinburgh.

I’ve been battling with the need to tell Matt, but he still seems so tired, it’s hard to bring myself to say something that might upset him.

Cheryl’s in school, and Matt is sitting at the kitchen table eating a healthy breakfast of poached eggs on wholemeal toast – made by my own fair hands. Yes, I’m trying to get him in a good mood. He’s concentrating on the newspaper with a frown on his face. Not a very auspicious start. I sit down opposite him, with coffee and a banana. I wait a moment until he turns the page.

“Joanna and I are going into business together,” I blurt out.

“Okay.”

Okay? Is that all? It’s taken me over a week to work up to this, and all he can say is ‘Okay’!

“She moved into a house yesterday, quite near here. It’s that estate at the back of the shops. I’m going round to help her get sorted out this morning.”

He doesn’t lift his eyes from the paper. “Good idea. It’ll be helpful for you to get out of the house.”

“Helpful to who?” That just slips out. I’m trying so hard not to be confrontational, but his lack of interest is infuriating.

He finally looks up.

“You need to get out more, Becky. You’re looking tired and stressed. I know you’ve had a bad time of it with nightmares and flashbacks in the last six months, but maybe going into business is a good idea. It will stop you from—”

“Wallowing?” I’m not sure if he catches the dangerous note in my voice. He’s in trouble if he carries on like this.

“That wasn’t quite the word I was looking for. I was thinking more ‘brooding’.”

“Same thing, isn’t it? And don’t you want to know what sort of business?”

“Some sort of detective agency thing? Cheryl mentioned that Joanna wanted you to start one with her.”

I gaze at him incredulously.

“You’ve known about this for how long? And you’ve not bothered to mention it?”

“You seemed reluctant to mention Joanna to me; I didn’t want to upset you.”

I take my coffee and manage to refrain from spilling the scalding liquid on his head as I walk past him into the lounge. I grit my teeth and slam the door shut behind me with my foot.

It’s only as I sip my coffee in front of Breakfast TV that I wonder if there’s another reason he wants me out of the house. I need to keep my comings and goings a bit unpredictable, and see if I can catch him talking to someone about ‘a drop’.

***

Joanna’s house is a pleasant two-bedroom semi, with a lounge at the front, and an eat-in kitchen at the back. There’s even a downstairs loo. She seems excited as she shows me round.

“I thought we could interview any clients in the front room. I want to set up cameras to focus on the sofa and chairs, with a live feed into a laptop in the kitchen or the office upstairs. You’ll be able to watch the feed and come in if you think it’s appropriate.”

“Sounds good. Will you inform the clients that they’re being filmed? I think you have to these days.”

“Yeah – I’ll say it’s saving me taking notes, as it’s better to have things directly available if I need to recall something.”

“Okay. You mentioned an office upstairs?”

“When we’ve not got clients in, I thought we could each work in a separate space. One of us in the kitchen, the other in the spare room. The lounge can be for conferences and interviewing.”

“That’s great. I’m impressed. We just need some furniture now.” I look around the lounge. There’s currently a couple of wooden dining chairs and a small glass nest of tables. The kitchen holds another two dining chairs and a matching pine dining table, big enough for four people. Apart from a double bed in Joanna’s room, that’s the full extent of the furniture. There are a few boxes dotted around the room, presumably containing personal items and ornaments. “Is this it?”

“Yeah. The bailiffs had a field day with us, thanks to my git of an ex. I had to give them cash to get them to leave what I’ve got here, and then I had to pay storage for it. But all these things were expensive when I first bought them, and I didn’t want to have to replace them with rubbish. I’ve been back on Google, and there are a couple of furniture warehouses in Bury. They seem to sell stuff quite cheap. I did a lot of shifts at Asda in the last week while I was waiting for the keys to here, so I’ve got a bit of money for stuff. If I put it on my credit card, it should be fine.” As she rambles on, she’s fidgeting with the scissors.

“You’re going to do yourself an injury with those. Put them down.” I wait until she replaces them on top of a box. Diagnosing her anxiety as money-related, I do some quick thinking. “Why don’t we just get the basics for now? A suite for in here, as this is where