Just My Luck Adele Parks (if you liked this book txt) 📖

glance apologetically at Gillian and Mick Hutch. “He wouldn’t let it go. He said he only had ever done it to humor Jake. He was quite patronizing. Quite personal. Going on about Jake liking a wager, as though Jake was some gambling addict. He kept coming back to the common thing. He was behaving like a real snob. Going on about people on benefits, ‘doleys’ he called them, and he compared doing the lottery with taking your shirt off in public or having a tattoo.”

“Well, none of those are criminal offenses,” comments Gillian tartly. She has a tattoo on her wrist, a small bird.

“I know that. Jake has a tattoo. It was clear what Patrick was saying. He was saying we are common. I tried to reason with him. I pointed out that the school’s Parents Association runs a raffle every term. It’s the same thing. I challenged him on why he’d suddenly had a change of heart, after all those years.”

“Yes, the exact question I was going to ask,” challenges Double Barrel 2. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, I suppose people change.” I take a deep breath and stare across the table at the gaggle of lawyers who are opposing us. “Look, there’s no room for confusion. He was very clear about the matter. He said he didn’t want to be a killjoy, but they were going to pull out.”

“They? Both Mr. and Mrs. Pearson resigned from the syndicate?”

“Yes. She always goes along with him. She said, ‘It’s not as though we’re ever actually going to win big.’” Those were her exact words. Ironically.”

“And Mr. and Mrs. Heathcote?” asks their lawyer, Mr. Elliott.

“They’d largely been quiet throughout the row. Fred kept dozing off in his chair, but as the Pearsons left, they stood up to go, too. Jake explicitly asked them whether they were still in.”

“And how did they respond?”

“I remember it clearly. Fred said, ‘I think it’s had its day, old man.’ I remember it clearly because the phrase was annoying, a ridiculous affectation. Jake isn’t an old man and Fred isn’t a 1940s cad in a B movie. I offered to get his coat.”

CHAPTER 14

As Carla Pearson entered the room, all the men rose from their seats. This meant the women felt compelled to do the same. Carla was a very attractive woman, the sort that people held doors open for, packed shopping for, went the extra mile for. She had a flat stomach, silky hair, a suspiciously wrinkle-free forehead. Nothing about her admitted that she was a middle-aged mother of three. “Mrs. Pearson, thank you for agreeing to speak to us,” said Gillian.

Carla smiled at her bank of lawyers. Patrick had insisted that they employ three; he said it would intimidate the Greenwoods. He pointed out that they might as well—they had lawyers on retainers anyway as his businesses demanded a lot of legal attention. He said he knew what he was doing, and she had to believe him. “Call me Carla, please. We don’t need to be formal, do we?”

“Well, actually I think it is best if we stay formal,” replied Gillian, politely determined. “You understand this is entirely voluntary.”

“I want to be here. I want my say.” Carla sat down and crossed her legs at the knee. Her flowing skirt had a split in it, which fell open to reveal toned, tanned flesh. “Although why there has to be a huge inquiry is beyond me. It’s not complicated. We were in a syndicate. The money should be split six ways.”

“Six? Not three?” asked Ms. Walsh.

Carla waved her manicured hand. “Whichever.”

“Can you tell us about Saturday the thirteenth of April? We’ve established there was a dinner party at Lexi and Jake Greenwood’s home. We know who was in attendance. What we’re looking for is your account of the evening.”

“It was very jolly,” Carla said firmly.

“Throughout?”

“Yes. We ate a lot. Talked a lot. Laughed a lot.”

“Can you recall what you talked about?”

“Oh, the usual things. The kids, goings-on at their school, our holidays.”

“And was there an altercation?”

“No, nothing of the sort.”

“No cross words exchanged?”

“No, none.” Carla shrugged her skinny shoulders with a chic insouciance. “Why would there be? We’ve been friends for years. There’s rarely a cross word between us. We’re more like family.”

“The families I know do have cross words,” pointed out Mick Hutch. Everyone turned to him. These were the first words he had spoken throughout the proceedings. People had forgotten he was in the room. Or wondered why he was. However, the point he made was a fair one.

“Oh, but you know what I mean. We’re friends who are practically family. That’s why this is all so upsetting, actually. I just don’t understand them. I don’t understand how money can have come between us. Why won’t they just share it?” Carla’s eyes became watery. The men felt varying levels of sympathy for Mrs. Pearson, ranging from mildly uncomfortable to genuine concern; the women in the room wondered how she could do that on command.

“Was the lottery mentioned at all?” asked one of the Pearsons’ lawyers.

“Yes, actually it was. Briefly. Lexi said she needed us all to chip in again, that the kitty had run out. She buys the tickets, you see. Always has.”

“And did you all chip in?” asked another one of the Pearsons’ lawyers.

“Yes. Yes. The moment she asked for it, I reached for my bag. Patrick doesn’t carry cash. I paid. I contributed to that winning ticket.”

“And was there a contract confirming this syndicate exists?” asked the Greenwoods’ lawyer. Carla didn’t like the look of the woman. She was the sort who didn’t bother to make the most of herself, which Carla thought a waste.

“No, of course not. Friends don’t draw up contracts between each other.”

“Any written correspondence at all? A text? An email?” the woman lawyer with the frizzy hair pursued.

“Well, no,” Carla admitted.

“And is there any similar correspondence to suggest the contract has been terminated?” asked one of Carla’s lawyers.

She smiled at him. “No.”

“I’d have thought a fallout of