Dennis’s head snapped back, like a cobra ready to strike. Before he could complete the maneuver that would spread Paulie’s nose over his face, the dealer shouted, “Wait!” Dennis paused. The sound level in the room had dropped to an ominous level. A sheen of sweat had appeared above Paulie’s top lip. His hand fluttered at his bodyguard who was straining at an invisible leash. “It’s OK,” he said loudly.

Gradually, the noise picked up. Paulie wiped his face with a paisley silk handkerchief. “OK,” he sighed. “About a month ago, this tart came up to me in the Hassy saying she wanted some smack. She didn’t seem to know what she wanted or how much.

I believed him. It wasn’t so much the threat of Dennis breaking his nose that had changed his mind. It was the thought of what would happen to him if the O’Brien brothers came looking for him. Even bodyguards have to sleep.

The thing that bothered me was that Dennis’s methods hadn’t bothered me. Maybe I’d been reading the wrong books. Perhaps tonight I should tuck myself up with an Agatha Christie and a few balls of pink wool.

Chapter   26

I was thirty pages into The Murder At The Vicarage when Richard breezed in through the conservatory. “Sorry to interrupt you while you’re working,” he teased. I put the book down as he sat down beside me and pulled me into his arms. It was a long kiss, as if to make up for the little time we’d spent together in the previous few days.

“Fancy an early night?” Richard whispered.

“That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me today,” I replied, snuggling into him. “How in God’s name do you manage to put up with your job? If I had to spend my time with assholes like that lot, I’d slit my wrists.”

“You just tune it out. I always treat it like I’m watching Dynasty or the South Bank Show. You know, it’s either glitz or pretension. I never let myself believe it’s the real world. Sometimes I feel like David Attenborough, sitting in a hide watching the habits of a strange species,” he told me. “It’s fascinating. And I like most of the music, so I try to forgive them their worst excesses.”

“Like murder?”

“Maybe not murder,” he conceded. “Though I’d have to say I think that someone like Jett is a bigger contributor to the quality of life than your average copper.”

“He’s not contributing much to the quality of my life right now. This job is mission impossible. A house full of people and not a decent alibi among them. And everybody has some kind of a motive. Except for Neil, who seems to be the only person who had a vested interest in her staying alive.”