The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 David Carter (autobiographies to read txt) 📖

day and that was possibly part of the plan. Perhaps he’d been waiting outside. He’d had a shave and applied aftershave too, and she could tell what was on his mind, though she guessed he wouldn’t have the balls, the guts, to ask her out.

He bought a couple of items and ambled to the till. No one else about. Just the two of them. It would be now or never. He made small talk. Nice spring day. Quiet in here. Been busy? See the Queen’s under the weather.

He wasn’t going to ask her, she just knew it.

He liked the dark blue skirt and the light blue blouse she wore. Fit her like a glove, they did, and she had a great figure. Was it company uniform, or her own clothes? He had no idea.

He heard Topsy outside yelping his displeasure at being abandoned.

‘So glad I’m finishing in ten minutes,’ she said, blowing out air.

She’d recently retouched her perfume. The aroma crossed the counter and attached itself to William’s jacket.

‘It’s been a long day and I’m parched,’ she wheezed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

He still wasn’t going to ask her. The bloody wimp!

She didn’t want to go home to an empty house, and sometimes with daft horses you had to lead them to the trough.

‘Can’t wait to get into the Crown & Anchor, get a few drinks down my neck,’ she said.

‘You going to the Crown?’

Hallelujah! At last, the penny’s dropped.

‘Yep, thinking about it,’ she said, smiling at him again.

‘I might see you in there,’ he stammered.

‘Yeah, maybe. What’s your name?’

‘William. William Camber.’

‘William, that’s a nice name.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yeah. Like that young Prince William.’

‘Yeah. What’s yours?’

‘Lorraine Bickerstaffe.’

Bickerstaffe? The name was familiar. He used to be taught by a Bickerstaffe. Maurice Bickerstaffe, that was it, and he was a right bastard. Maybe she was related. Maybe she was his daughter. Heaven forbid.

‘I might see you later,’ he said.

‘Not if I see you first,’ she said, grinning, to show it was a joke.

William wasn’t sure about that, but went outside and hurried Topsy home for his tea. After that, went to the bathroom, combed his hair, cleaned his teeth, splashed some cologne on his face and inside his shirt, checked he had sufficient funds, and headed back toward the Crown.

He congratulated himself on how easy it had been. Asking her out, bet that surprised her, being accepted, and he put it down to his charm and attractiveness, and wondered why he had fretted about it beforehand. He should have had more belief in himself, just as his dead mother always reminded him. They couldn’t resist him, could they; the women, and an attractive woman too. She fancied him, didn’t she, course she did. It had been so easy, but deep down he always knew it would be.

SHE WASN’T THERE.

The bitch!

She wasn’t there.

He couldn’t believe it.

Leading him on like that.

Standing him up.

Next time he went into that Expresso store he would give her a piece of his mind. He bought a drink, whisky, though he didn’t much like whisky, and went and bunged some change in the fruit machine. Lost it in five minutes flat. Bugger!

Strolled back toward the padded bench seat. Sat down, sipped the drink. Glanced round. Four old blokes, two sitting together, two alone, minding their own business, looking miserable, a little like him. If he wasn’t careful he’d morph into one of those old geezers before he knew it.

God, how shit life was when you’re alone, when you’re lonely.

Five minutes later she came in and the whole place came alight. It was as if someone had opened the double doors and allowed in the sunshine. The landlady smiled at the newcomer and asked, ‘What can I get you, darling?’

The four old guys gave the newcomer the once over.

She had a lovely backside; you could make out her knickers beneath her tight blue skirt. The two guys sitting together elbowed one another and stared. The other two sipped their drink and glanced at her, and thought about what might have been, or perhaps about something from long ago.

She bought a white wine, turned about; saw the four old guys and William, sitting there, admiring her. She liked that, being admired; and smiled at each one of them, and they all smiled back as she strolled across the bar like a catwalk model and said, ‘Ah, there you are,’ and sat down beside William, close beside.

He smelt her perfume.

He felt the warmth of her body next to his.

He felt like a million quid.

The old guys took a sniffy look at William to see what was so special about him, then sat back and glanced down at their well read red-topped newspapers, and waited for the next one to come in.

WILLIAM AND LORRAINE dated for eight months. It might have been the best eight months of his entire life, and it would have been too, but for the way she finished it.

She wrote him a letter.

Said she’d met someone else, and she didn’t want to see William again. Sorry, but there it is.

That was partly true. She was seeing someone else, that was honest enough, but she omitted to mention that she had been dating Joe O’Burn all the while she was seeing William.

She’d been trialling the pair of them, couldn’t decide between the two. The truth was she liked them both. Joe for his manliness and wildness, quickness of temper, though he wasn’t so bright. He was a redhead and what do expect from a redheaded man?

William for his conversation and gentleness and unthreatening company, won hands down on the more cerebral things of life. She was always far more relaxed in Will’s company, for he was so easy to be with, but he was no wildcat that was for sure. Her lovers seemed to dovetail perfectly. Between them they provided her with everything she needed, but why couldn’t one of them possess the attributes of both?

She’d grown tired of lying, covering her tracks,