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What could be worse than exploding hair product?
Hair product that isn't actually for that purpose because...it's lube. Exploding lube.
Kit Maguire is in trouble with the ferocious
Women with Curls secretary after accidentally landing her with a garage full of exploding lube. But why is it exploding? The one person who could have helped her solve the mystery is missing. The flatmates haven't seen their resident science expert since he nipped out to check on something and didn't return.
Where is he? And why is Kit being followed by an undercover cop?
To finish off Kit's Bad Hair Day, why is her mother trying to marry her to an illegal immigrant?
Find out by downloading this sequel to Dead Straight today.
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BAD HAIR DAY
The Curly Fan Club
K T BOWES
Copyright and Disclaimer
As always, this novel is the exclusive property of K T Bowes, writing for the Hakarimata Press.
The words on this page came out of her crazy head and were typed by her stumpy fingers.
The characters are inspired by real people, but great dollops of poetic licence have been exercised in their fictional reproduction.
Please don’t copy bits, share great chunks, pretend it’s your own work or otherwise draw the attention of the lawyers.
They’re caged and quiet for the moment and it’s best they stay there...
CONTENTS
The Curly Fan Club
K T BOWES
Copyright and Disclaimer
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
JOIN OUR awesome book CLUB
CHAPTER ONE
A Curly Bomb
CHAPTER TWO
Curly Placation
CHAPTER THREE
A Fast Buck
CHAPTER FOUR
A Persistent Itch
CHAPTER FIVE
The Price of Regret
CHAPTER SIX
Curly Academics
CHAPTER SEVEN
Curly Cuts
CHAPTER EIGHT
Disaster Recovery
CHAPTER NINE
Bad Unicorns
CHAPTER TEN
Curly Coercion
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Curly Close Encounters
CHAPTER TWELVE
Curly Saviour
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An Unusual Kink
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Threats and Warnings
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Scientific Twists
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Curly Escapes
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ear-holes and Eye-holes
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pineapple Lumps
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Curly Sleuthing
CHAPTER TWENTY
Curly Custody
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bouffant
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Curly Flatmates
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Purchasing Power
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Best Laid Plans
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Curly Detective Duo
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Straight Search
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A Brace of Clerics
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A Night Visitor
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A Change of Religion
CHAPTER THIRTY
Piper’s Dilemma
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A Secret Curly for Raj
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A Curly Crisis
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
No Way Out
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Curly Breaks
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Curly Confusion
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Curly Horsing Around
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Curly Conclusions
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
High as a Kite
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About the Author
LAST CHANCE TO JOIN IN
CURLY GIRLS
Other novels by K T Bowes
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
I’d like to dedicate this novel to all women with curly hair.
This is for you.
Trust me, the purple-willy-shaped lube works.
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By signing up, you’ll get four free novels to enjoy.
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These free novels could be yours.
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CHAPTER ONE
A Curly Bomb
Pop!
“Arghhhh!”
Engrossed with emptying a fresh bag of two-dollar coins into the cash register, Kit’s hand jerked in shock. The coins tumbled in every direction but the slot she intended. Groaning, she slapped her palm over an escaping pair and stilled their chaotic tumble. She couldn’t prevent the other four coins from bouncing onto the floor and rolling under the counter. “What are you doing over there?” she called.
“You dirty old man!”
Kit froze at the indignation contained in the wavering female voice. She slammed the drawer of the cash register closed and abandoned her post to investigate. Skidding to a halt at the end of the aisle containing personal hygiene products, she barrelled into a mobility scooter with a grunt of pain. The red flag protruding from its rear poked her in the eye. She wailed as the scooter’s occupant reversed over her foot. “Stop! Stop!” she squealed. A pair of flashing blue eyes glinted from behind outdated spectacles as the scooter driver jerked on the accelerator handle and drove forward over her foot again. “No! No! Keep still!” Kit dragged her foot clear of the wheels and hopped on one leg, rubbing her instep with frantic fingers.
Pursing her lips, she glared at the scooter driver as a numbing ache blossomed across the top of her foot. “You need special permission from Mr Rashid to ride that around the shop!” she snapped. “Health and safety.”
Instead of apologising, the woman pointed a shaking finger at the shop’s owner. Mr Rashid stood in a slick puddle of clear goop, the back of his olive left hand rubbing at his eyes. “Oh, my days!” he mumbled through a beard and moustache dripping with shiny moisture. “Oh, my days.”
“What happened here?” Kit hopped forward and almost lost her balance on the tiles. A layer of grease covered the aisle floor. “Whoa! Clean up on aisle three!” She let go of her foot and snatched hold of the opposite shelf. A multi pack of toilet rolls tumbled to the ground.
“I can’t see.” Mr Rashid turned in her direction. He stopped rubbing his eyes and stretched the fingers of his left hand out in front of him as though blind. The mobility scooter driver tutted as Kit spotted the object clutched in his right hand.
“You’re not meant to put that in your eyes,” she said, drawing out the suggestion as awkwardness shrouded her like a veil.
Mr Rashid’s eye rubbing had slicked his eyebrows upward into an alarmed expression. He lifted the tube of purple-willy-shaped lube and waved it at Kit. His blindness meant he turned his body towards the female customer instead. The woman gave another huff of indignation. “This is your fault!” Mr Rashid spat.
Kit dodged sideways as the woman put her scooter in reverse and sailed past Kit at speed. Her wheels caught on the grease and she performed a breath-taking doughnut and spun to face the opposite way. Her wheels scrabbled for purchase and spread the grease around the corner as she took off past the counter. “Disgusting!” she shouted, once out of reach of Mr Rashid’s greasy hands. “I’ll report you!”
Kit wrinkled her nose at the clatter of the scooter colliding with the newspaper rack. The woman gave a wail of dismay and unhooked herself with much clanging and the screech of metal. The door chime registered her final escape into the sunshine. Kit turned her attention to Mr Rashid. His attempt to shuffle forward in his sensible shoes led to a slippery, arm waving dance. “How is this my fault?” she demanded. “You went to check the stock, not play with the purple-willy-shaped lube. What possessed you to cover your entire body with it? I think it works best if you remove your clothes first.”
“Get Mrs Rashid!”
Kit inhaled and took a step backwards. “I will not! Go upstairs if you’re planning kinky business!”
“I need her!”
“Oh, please!” Kit placed her sore foot on the ground and frowned at the dirty tyre marks staining her white plimsoll. “That woman ruined my shoe.”
“Get Mrs Rashid!” Mr Rashid’s voice rose to a wail. “I need help. I can’t see!”
Kit took a step towards him and lost her footing again. “The floor is like sheet ice.”
“Get my wife!” Mr Rashid shook the tube of purple-willy-shaped lube at Kit and the lid fell off and rolled under the nearest shelf. Then she noticed the crack winding its way around the top of the tube.
“What happened to the tube?” she asked. “Did you squeeze it too hard?”
“It exploded!” Mr Rashid growled through bared teeth. The snarky angle of his eyebrows and his tight lips made him resemble an angry schnauzer.
Kit shook her head. She used the shelf to edge her way back to safety, struggling to avoid the greasy tracks left by the mobility scooter. “Exploded? It can’t have just exploded by itself. You must have done something to it.”
“It was on its side, so I picked it up and sat it upright and it exploded! In my face! Get my wife. Oh, and you’re fired.”
“I’m fired?” Kit’s head shot upright and her eyes widened. She slithered back towards him and snatched the broken tube from his fingers. “You’re firing me because you won’t admit you dropped it and now, you’re embarrassed? Really?” Kit put her hands on her hips and lube dripped onto her left leg. She groaned and tried to tamp down her redheaded temper. “Don’t be ridiculous. I need to close the shop before someone breaks their neck in this mess. Then I’ll get Mrs Rashid.”
Kit slipped her plimsolls off and tiptoed around the shelves to the front door. She shot the catch and flipped the sign to show ‘closed.’ The clearing of a male throat just behind her made her jump and scream at the same time. Her eyes narrowed at the man rubbing his chin with nervous agitation. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. “I’m good at first aid.”
“I bet you are!” Snarkiness oozed from Kit’s voice and she backed away from the handsome customer. His dirty blond hair showed highlights either from the unforgiving New Zealand sun or an expensive overseas holiday. She didn’t care which. His proximity raised a host of conflicting emotions. Kit teetered between wanting to hug him or beat him to death with the remains of the leaking purple-willy-shaped tube. Unable to trust herself, she took another step backwards, her bare feet slippery against the tiles. Never any good at ice skating in her youth, she didn’t imagine she’d prove much better at almost thirty.
The man offered a steadying hand and she batted it away, choosing to end up on her backside rather than allow him any further foothold in her life. “You need to stop coming here!” she bit. Her fingers grappled at a nearby shelf, at the same time squeezing the lube. A jet of clear liquid shot down the front of his pants.
“You can’t get rid of me, Katharine.” Alec Roy frowned at the grease soaking into his expensive pant leg. “Yuk! What is that?”
“Lube.” Kit tilted her chin up, giving herself a haughty look. “I’m sure you can find a use for it with your wife. There’s more on the shelf, if Mr Rashid hasn’t got into that too.”
Alec dared to take a step forward. He lifted his hands as though to embrace her and then thought better of it. “When will you forgive me, Katharine?”
She reared back as though slapped. “For abandoning me on the day of my father’s funeral? For marrying someone else like I didn’t matter?” She pressed a shaking index finger over her chin and pursed her lips as though thinking. “Actually, Alec, I think the clincher was firing me after more than a decade of hard work because you seriously thought I killed your father!” Her voice rose to a screech and she hated the sound of it. Alec blinked against the force of each word, an expression of distaste spreading over his angular features. Hysterical women weren’t his favourite kind. Kit considered ramping up the volume and antagonism in the hope he’d leave of his own volition.
“I didn’t fire you.” His tone remained even and calm, irritating Kit further. “You quit.”
Without a suitable response on the tip of her tongue, Kit resorted to her two favourite weapons; bluster and fury. “Go away, Alec. Leave me alone. Never come here again.” She pointed the tube of purple-willy-shaped lube remnants at the door.
Alec’s strong brow furrowed into a set of neatly crafted lines which disappeared as soon as they landed. “I can’t,” he began.
“Get out!” Genuine hysteria lodged a lump in Kit’s throat as she issued the command.
“I can’t!” Alec’s voice rose a notch and helplessness descended over his capable veneer as his lips closed into a firm line.
“You locked the bloody door!” Mr Rashid yelled. “Let the poor man out and get me my wife!”
Kit slipped and slid towards the door and fumbled the catch. She pivoted on the hairy coconut fibre doormat to stop herself ending up on her backside. Alec slipped through the narrow gap and collided with a customer trying to get in. Kit slammed the door, shot the catch into the locked position and dropped the blinds in a single fluid movement. She ignored the angry sounds from beyond the glass.
“Help!” Mr Rashid yelled. “I can’t see!”
Kit shimmied along the tiles, using the shelves as hand holds. With a glare along aisle three at her furious employer, she nipped behind the counter, lifted the telephone and pressed the intercom for the apartment above the shop. A woman’s voice answered, an inflection in her tone. “What now?” she demanded. “You said you’d be upstairs half an hour ago. This body suit is cutting off my circulation.”
Kit’s eyes narrowed and she tapped an irritated beat on the counter with her fingernail. “So, he wasn’t just standing it upright then?” she demanded. “What a liar!”
“Oh, Kit.” Mrs Rashid cleared her throat and an embarrassing silence deadened the air between them.
Kit sighed. “Your randy husband had an accident with a tube of purple-willy-shaped lube and he’s blind. Oh, and he just fired me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Curly Placation
“I sat him on a plastic stool in the shower.” Mrs Rashid dried her hands on a towel and ignored the knocking on the front door. “He’s sulking.” Her lips quirked upwards as she gave in to the grin. “His hair has never looked so shiny. Like a Bollywood star.”
Kit shook her head and sat the mop back in its bucket. Grease snaked across the water like an oil slick. “I’ll finish up and then go. He fired me.”
Mrs Rashid inhaled. “Don’t even think of not coming in tomorrow. That silly old man needs you.”
Kit pursed her lips and smirked. “Not as much as he needs you, apparently.”
A flush crawled up Mrs Rashid’s neck and intensified her stunning mocha tones. She blinked in a rapid-fire motion. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this to any of my sons,” she said, lowering her voice. Her fingers strayed to her ample bottom and she grappled around in her voluminous skirt. Kit heard a distinct twang. “Mr Rashid bought me fancy underwear and I need to get it off fast. I’ve lost an entire seam in an intimate crevice.”
Kit closed her eyes, but the mental image stayed imprinted inside her eyelids. She shook her head. Nope, still there. “Okay, but at least put cones at both ends of this aisle until the floor dries. Then we can open the shop before that customer breaks down the door.”
Mrs Rashid shuffled off in obedience before returning upstairs to rescue her pruned husband from the shower. Kit shoved the mop and bucket behind the counter and served the distressed man who snatched a tub of baby milk powder from the dried foods’ aisle and barrelled towards the counter waving a fifty dollar note. “Don’t have kids!” he snarled. Snatching his change from Kit’s hand, he ran for the door.
“I don’t intend to,” she replied to no one in particular.
“Oh, you’ll change your mind. Wait until you hit twenty-eight and those hormones start flowing. You’ll be popping out bubs with the rest of the crowd.” The middle-aged woman adjusted her suit jacket, causing her breasts to bulge against the narrow channel between the lapels. She dropped a jumbo-sized bag of confectionery on the counter and dug in her bag for her wallet. “I’m babysitting the grandkids tonight. Little buggers. These are for bribery.” She missed Kit’s wooden smile as she keyed her pin number into the credit card reader. Exiting amid a cloud of lavender and Rescue Remedy, the woman left without realising the offence she’d caused at having dismissed Kit’s life choices with a blanket statement.
Kit busied herself in between customer interruptions, using a bucket of soapy water to wash the shelf where the lube exploded. It had coated the underside of the shelf above and splattered other nearby products. She washed those too and put several of the items with soiled labels into a reduced bin near the counter. The floor seemed less of a skating rink by the time she’d run over it twice more with clean water and disinfectant. She spent the rest of her shift in bare feet as her plimsolls needed shoving in the washing machine. They were scarred both by the oil slick on the bottoms and the tyre mark across the instep from the mobility scooter.
Raj breezed in after lunch and frowned at the sight of the cones at either end of the aisle. “You dropped something?” he asked.
Kit communicated her irritation with a pointed glare. “No. Your father did. I’ve spent the morning clearing up and haven’t had time to even Scrunch Out the Crunch from my hair.” She waggled her head and ringlets bounced on either side of her face. “And this woman told me I’d change my mind about having kids. She doesn’t even know me.”
Raj jabbed an index finger towards her bare feet. “You can’t have kids. Dad won’t grant you maternity leave. Where are your shoes?”
Kit sighed and headed towards the bathroom. “Covered in what your father dropped.”
“No, no! Don’t leave me here! I just popped in to see my parents!” Raj threw his arms in the air, the drama wasted on Kit’s retreating back. “Have kids if you want to! I’m sure he’ll give you a couple of hours off just to give birth. He’s not an unreasonable man.” Raj sniggered at his own humour. The smirk drooped as he realised the statement summed up his father’s expectations for his assistants.
“Five minutes,” Kit announced, throwing the statement over her shoulder. “I’m entitled to a toilet break.”
It took six minutes for Kit to use the toilet, wash and dry her hands and crack the cast formed by the lube on her hair. Her ringlets lost their wooden appearance and sprang into place with perfection. She finger-curled a stray hair into a nearby clump to avoid it frizzing later and admired the final effect. Then she frowned. Raki made the lube she used, crafting two full vats of it in his laboratory. It worked even better than the purple-willy-shaped stuff she’d relied on until recently. As her thoughts returned to her missing friend, a line of anxiety carved itself into her forehead. “Where are you, Raki?” she breathed. Her reflection offered no clear answer and she sighed and turned away.
Raj chatted to his mother behind the counter. They laughed about something and Kit imagined she knew what. Mrs Rashid kept prodding her fingers into the back of her skirt, so Kit figured she still wore the painful body suit.
An hour later, Kit paused with her hand on the door handle leading to the apartment above the shop. Her arms ached from the effort of making a pyramid out of baked bean cans. Mrs Rashid’s eyelashes fluttered as she leaned against the counter. “Raj just nipped out to fetch his father’s prescription. He won’t take long. He’s a lovely boy.”
Kit ground her teeth in her jaw. “And I’ve known him since he still wet the bed. I don’t see a relationship between us working. Am I safe to get my bag and go home now?”
Mrs Rashid wrinkled her nose. “Mr Rashid is a little embarrassed. Perhaps don’t mention ‘the incident’ to him.”
“Okay.” Kit gave her a winning smile, while her mind worked overtime. Hell would freeze over before she let her vocal boss off the hook for this one.
“No, seriously.” Mrs Rashid raised a hand in warning. Bracelets cascaded along her forearm like tinkling bells. “One exploded last night after you left and we thought maybe it was a one-off incident. He was checking the batch numbers when the second one exploded in his face earlier.”
Kit’s complexion paled. “The second one?” The event lost its humour. “The ones I got from Australia?”
“Yes.” Mrs Rashid nodded, the action jerky and repetitive as she increased the emphasis of her statement. “He just rang and cancelled the next order from your friend. He wants his money back.”
“Debbie?” Kit felt the groan building in her chest and fought to keep it there. “Money back?” An accident with Debbie’s credit card had led to a thousand tubes of lube arriving at New Zealand customs instead of ten. Debbie hadn’t forgiven her. If she couldn’t offload the haul filling her garage, she’d excommunicate Kit from the local chapter of Women with Curls and send her back to Frizzy Hair Hell.
Kit took the narrow stairs two at a time. She snatched her bag from the shoe rack at the top and spun around to leave. A wavering voice called from beyond the lounge. “Is that you, my sweet? I’m still slippery.”
Kit closed her eyes against the thought of an excited Mr Rashid and almost lost her footing. She reached the bottom of the stairs at a run and blasted through the door. Raj caught her, his upper arms bulging with muscle and sinews. “Where’s the fire?” His eyes crinkled in amusement.
“I’m just in a hurry.” Kit grabbed her plimsolls by the laces and dangled them in front of her as she ran for the door. “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow,” she called.
Raj released a whoop of joy at the thought of not being the one to open the shop for the paper boys at five in the morning. Kit didn’t wait for his reply, ploughing across the car park on a mission.
Her phone rang as she settled into the creaky leather seat of her yellow car. She answered it one handed, her tone impatient.
“Kit, Raki didn’t come home again last night.” Kit heard the strain in Langdon’s voice. She shifted the battered mobile phone across to her other ear.
“Where can he be?” she demanded. “He always tells us when he’s going away. This is too strange.”
“Jerry’s back from his visit with his parents and he’s concerned too now. He’s adamant Raki told him he’d be home for dinner five nights ago. I asked if he could be mistaken, but he says not. Raki said he wanted spaghetti Bolognese, so that’s what Jerry cooked specially before he left for Auckland. What should we do?”
Kit sighed and looked at her watch. “I’m on my way. We’ll talk about it when I get home. I agree it’s very odd and not something Raki would normally do. Does Jerry remember where he was going?”
“The university. He went to pick up something from his lab and said he’d only be half an hour at the most. That was five days ago.” Fear leaked from Langdon’s voice and infected Kit.
“Give me about twenty minutes,” she said. “We’ll sit together and work out a plan. I promise I’ll come straight home.”
“I think we should call the police again.” Langdon sounded funeral-serious. “Jerry doesn’t stress about much, but he’s worried about Raki.”
“Okay. I’m coming now. I need to make one more phone call about some exploding lube. I think I have bad news to break to a very scary woman.”
CHAPTER THREE
A Fast Buck
“You what?” Debbie growled. Kit could hear her teeth grinding through the telephone. “I’m not giving him his money back.” She sounded determined and Kit winced. “It’s bad enough that he’s cancelled the next order.”
“It might not come to that. Mrs Rashid just mentioned it was the second one to explode. I wondered if you’d had any other reports?”
“I don’t care! I’m not giving any money back. It’s not my problem. The tubes were sold as seen.”
“But if there’s a problem,” Kit began. Debbie interrupted her.
“This is all your fault. You can give them their money back for all I care. It was your mistake and now I’m paying the price. I have a garage full of sex lube and that’s down to you.”
“That’s not fair! It was a simple error and I apologised. I intended to get rid of the lube myself. My mother offered me a loan so I could pay you back. You demanded all the product and said you’d take care of it. I tried to help you out by selling a load to Mr Rashid, but I didn’t foresee you would hike the price.”
“It’s supply and demand,” Debbie snapped. “There’s a shortage, but only for as long as the next shipment takes to get here. I need to get rid of what’s left in my garage before that arrives otherwise, I’m stuck with it. Raising the price a little at least means I can cover my credit card bill if I don’t sell it all.”
“Of course, you’re not stuck with it!” Kit argued. “How do you work that out? You’ll always be able to make your money back, even if you add on the import duty. But hiking the price too high will make it less attractive. Besides, I thought the Curlies were snapping it up fast.”
Debbie’s tone became sarcastic. “I told you, I have a credit card bill to pay. You can tell your megalomaniac shopkeeper that he’s not getting any money back from me!” A sharp click heralded the end of the call.
Kit gave a sigh and shook her head. Guilt blossomed outward from the centre of her chest. Debbie was right; it was Kit’s mistake. Her panic over the lube shortage had caused it. Although she’d offered to put it right, she’d been relieved when Debbie had demanded the lube be delivered to her garage and said she’d take care of it herself. Kit suspected Debbie had seen a way to make a fast buck and hoped it didn’t backfire and cover them both in the process.
The journey home took far longer than usual as Kit planned what she might say to the boys. A tractor travelled at a snail’s pace despite the queue building behind it. The driver ignored three opportunities to pull to the side until an angry man in front of Kit decided to lean on his horn. Raki’s sudden disappearance created a strange knot in the pit of her stomach. A creature of habit, Raki always told one of them his plans. Since Jerry’s arrival at the flat, the two boys had bonded enough to start cooking together and sharing the cost. If Raki had requested Jerry’s famous spaghetti Bolognese and not turned up, then it was cause for alarm.
Kit used her indicator before turning left off the main road and heading home on the narrow lane which passed her house. She pursed her lips and made a decision.
The officer manning the telephone at the local police watch house answered on the third ring. He breathed out a bored sigh at Kit’s enquiry. “As I explained before, Miss Maguire, it’s not uncommon for adults to go walkabout for a variety of reasons. It’s still too soon for us to start a manhunt. Have you spoken to his parents as I suggested or tried to contact someone at the university?”
“Raki’s parents are travelling America at the moment,” Kit conceded. “They attended a science conference at the start of the month. They don’t have social media and I only have their home phone number. Is there any way that you could contact your counterparts in America?”
The officer masked a snort of hilarity and moderated his tone. “Look, with respect, Miss, he’s just your flatmate. It’s unlikely he would tell you all his plans. I suggest you try the university or wait for his parents to come home. I’d be more concerned about whether he’s paid his share of the rent and bills because if he hasn’t, then that’s a whole different set of problems.”
Kit offered polite noises of thanks, which she didn’t really mean before ending the call. She hadn’t considered the issue of rent and tried to push the new concern from her mind.
Her Volkswagen bug gave a happy shudder as Kit bounced it up the sloped kerb of her driveway and manoeuvred it around Jerry’s old Mustang and Langdon’s much newer station wagon. She settled on the gravelled area just under the lounge window and sat with her hands resting on the steering wheel for a moment.
Her driver’s door popped open and made her start. A hand appeared in her peripheral vision. “How was work at the chalk face?” Jerry’s full lips broke into a smile as he leaned down next to her. His dark hair mussed in the breeze. Tall and imposing, he oozed a sense of safety and competency. “Anything exciting to tell?” He took Kit’s handbag from her outstretched arm and waited as she stepped free of the vehicle, then he closed the car door behind her with a click. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her plimsolls dangling from the laces in her fingers. “Oh. That looks intriguing.”
Kit waved a hand in dismissal and followed him up the porch steps. “My day involved being run over by a woman in a mobility scooter, a tube of exploding sex lube, and a dirty old man who needs to exercise more self-control.” Kit dumped her plimsolls outside the front door and followed Jerry into the house. She blinked against the darkness inside after the bright sunshine which dappled the lawn. “I almost forgot,” she added, “I threw Alec out of the shop again. He can’t seem to get the message.” A sudden yawn occupied her facial muscles and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, it’s been a long day,” she conceded.
Walking to the front window, she looked out at the neat lawn. A young man sauntered past, hands shoved in his jeans pockets and a hood pulled up over his head. A bright red beard glinted in the sunshine. Kit frowned. “That’s weird.”
“What is?” Langdon appeared from the kitchen, a steaming mug of coffee in his left hand. He’d removed his uniform jacket, but his dog collar and black shirt still marked him as a cleric. A blonde fringe danced against the flick of his eyelashes and the sleeves of his shirt strained against muscular biceps.
Kit shook her head. “A guy walking up the lane dressed for winter.” She shrugged. “Nobody walks this far out of town.”
“Do you want me to have a word with Alec?” Langdon offered. “His behaviour is becoming more than a little stalkerish.”
Kit smiled at the suggestion but wrinkled her nose. She imagined the kind of word Langdon might favour and sensed it involved a lecture on appropriateness and a great deal of talk about repentance. “He’ll get the message eventually,” she said, though her brain reminded her he hadn’t managed it yet. “He’s not used to people turning down his offer.”
“I can help him with that,” Jerry suggested. The underlying growl in his voice sounded ominous and hinted at more than a conversation.
“It’s fine,” Kit said. “I appreciate both of you very much and if it gets unbearable, I will definitely ask for your help. But we have a bigger problem right now and I don’t know where to turn to next.” She threw herself into her reading chair and flicked on a lamp beside the tall bookcase. It seemed ridiculous with the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the front window and glinting off the roof of her yellow car, but it offered her a sense of comfort as she pulled her legs up beneath her. Langdon settled himself on the wide couch opposite and Jerry slumped down next to him.
“Meeting in session,” Langdon said. He brushed his blonde fringe from his eyes and blinked as though preparing to chair a meeting of his church deacons. Jerry grinned and bit his lower lip. Kit felt the humour pass her by for once.
“I’m lost,” she admitted. “I just tried the police station again and the local cops aren’t interested. We need to find him ourselves somehow. His parents are away and no one else cares.”
“What about his rent?” Always practical, Jerry used his ex-lawyer’s mind to begin with the evidence. “Raki knows Kit’s situation with the mortgage. He knows she won’t afford the payments unless we stay on top of the rent. If he planned to go away, he would set up an automatic payment, so she didn’t fall behind.”
“Good point!” Kit’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think to check the flat account.”
“I’ll do it.” Jerry reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. His fingers moved across the keypad at speed as he pulled up the shared bank account into which each member placed money ready for rent and upcoming bills. Kit held her breath, only releasing it as Jerry looked up and gave a slow shake of his head. “Nothing,” he concluded. His fingers tapped against his thigh. “I know he’s absent-minded, but he wouldn’t forget this kind of stuff.”
“Why didn’t he set up automatic payments, anyway?” Langdon shook his head. “It’s really easy to do and Raki’s cleverer than all three of us put together.”
“I told him not to worry,” Kit admitted. “He went overdrawn a couple of times last year because his housing benefit or his student allowance hit his account late. I usually give him a couple of days leeway after the due date and he’s always paid me back. It’s a little tighter now that I need to make the mortgage payment on time, but there’s still a week’s grace and so I haven’t worried. I trust him. In all the time we’ve lived together, it’s never been a problem.” Kit’s teeth gnawed on her lower lip. She didn’t dare contemplate the mortgage payment due at the end of the month.
“We’ll help you cover it.” Jerry spoke into Kit’s thoughts as though he’d read her mind. The horrified look on Langdon’s face showed he hadn’t discussed it with him first. With a huge effort of will, the prudent vicar forced himself to agree with his curate in the interests of flat harmony. A slight tick in his left cheek told Kit he didn’t like it.
She swallowed, reluctant to accept their help but lacking any other possible solution. “Thank you.” She lowered her voice and her tone sounded sad. “If for some reason Raki doesn’t return, I’ll pay you back myself.” Her sentence seemed to split the air. All three of the flatmates held their breath as the awful fact presented itself. They hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the possibility that their scatty, lovable friend might never come home. Now, she’d said it and the reality hit them like a hammer blow.
