Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 (33 page)

“I’d suggest you watch your back,” Peter muttered. “He may say one thing to your face, but it’s another matter when you’re not around. You can’t trust people like that. That book he’s reading from tonight? It’s not even properly published.
Self-published
.” He said it like it was the literary equivalent of having a wank in public. “It’s just vanity.”

I shifted on my feet, a twinge of unease making me restless.
Was
Raz that sort of bloke? All sweetness and light until you turned your back on them and they stuck a knife in it?

“When
I
get published,” Hannah put in, her tones smug as she looked up at Peter, still hanging on to his arm like a fainting Victorian maiden. “I’m holding out for a proper contract with a major publishing house. And a five-figure advance.”

“Of course you are. There’s no point, otherwise. It’s not like there’s even any money in self-publishing. Just think about it—unless you spend a fortune on advertising, how is anyone even going to know your book exists?”

“Quite right. Why don’t we go and sit down?” Hannah suggested and steered him off to a couple of seats in the front row.

“You were quiet during all that,” I said to Phil in a low voice. “Menacing but quiet. Aren’t you going have another go at talking to Hannah?”

“Not while she’s with him, I’m not. She wouldn’t say anything she didn’t think he’d want to hear.”

“Yeah, I got that impression too. Funny, I thought at the meeting it was Morgan she was all starry-eyed over, not Peter. Want me to try and grab him later, and you can corner her?”

“Maybe. See how things go.” He paused. “What do you reckon to what he was saying about Raz?”

“Dunno.” I looked away. An elderly couple were doddering among the chairs, trying to sort out each other’s walking sticks. She sat down with an audible huff, and he eased himself down beside her slowly, as if half his joints had rusted up. Then they shared a smile that seemed to say
we made it, and we’re not dead yet. Good for us
. “I’d like to know exactly what he said about me. And whether he’s still saying it when I’m not around.”

“Good luck on that one. Course, you could always ask him.”

I followed his gaze. Sure enough, Raz had just walked in the door. He gave a jerky little smile that lasted all of half a second when he saw me looking at him. I took a step towards him, meaning to go and say hi, but he blanked me and started weaving his way through the chairs to the front.

“Huh. Maybe Peter was right about old Raz blowing hot and cold,” I muttered as Phil and me took a couple of seats near the back.

“It’s nothing personal. Look at him. He’s wound up tighter than a bishop’s balls in a brothel.”

“Get that one from Greg, did you?” I followed his gaze. Sure enough, the slim book in Raz’s hands was trembling as he stood up there in front of a mostly empty rank of chairs, all on his lonesome. “Bloody hell, the poor sod’s got a bad case of stage fright.”

“Either that, or he’s just found out what they’re putting in the tea at halftime. Any rate, we’d better sit down. I think it’s about to kick off.”

Bridget came up to the front and said a few words about Raz, and then we were up and running.

Not literally, unfortunately. God, it was dry. Raz had only been reading for about two minutes before I remembered just why I never go to poetry readings. It was so far over my head it was practically stratospheric. Plus, I was having flashbacks to English classes at school, and Mrs. Mertle singling me out of the class and demanding to know exactly what whoever-it-was meant when he wrote the words “vegetable love”.

I got a two hour detention that day.
And
she never told me what the right answer was.

“
Oof
.” I glared at Phil, who’d just elbowed me in the ribs.

“For Christ’s sake, don’t go to sleep,” he hissed.

“I wasn’t!” I hissed back.

Raz faltered in his reading, and both of us sat up straighter, trying to look like we were paying really close attention and absolutely not talking in class.

By the time he finally closed his book, my bum was totally numb and my legs felt stiff from sitting down so long. We joined the smattering of polite applause. Raz, I was relieved to see, was smiling properly now. “Is it over now?” I whispered to Phil. “Or is it just the interval?”

“It’s over.”

“I’m gutted. You promised me a halftime. With poisoned tea.” We stood up, along with everyone else. “Are you going to nab Hannah now?”

“Yeah. You going to talk to Raz?”

I nodded, but by the time we’d threaded our way out of the chairs, Morgan was standing in our path, flanked by a tight-lipped Margaret.

“This is disgraceful. Must you hound us everywhere we go? I’ve a good mind to call the police and complain about this harassment.”

“Hey, hold on a mo.” I held up my hands. “We’re just here to listen to Raz’s poems, that’s all. No harassment. Honest to God.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Then perhaps you’d like to give an opinion on them.”

Shit. “Er… Very heartfelt, I thought.” That was a safe comment, wasn’t it? “I really liked the one about the shards.”

Morgan’s looming menace didn’t soften. “He didn’t read that one tonight.”

Oops. “Yeah. Shame, that. Still, the others were good too. What did you reckon, Phil?”

All right. I was being a bit of a bastard, dropping him in it like that. But it was his job, this sort of stuff, wasn’t it?

Phil paused before he answered. “I thought it was pretty brave stuff. Putting so much of himself out there like that.”

Christ. Morgan was actually nodding. Then he frowned at Phil. “Your voice sounds familiar. Have we met?”

“We spoke briefly at Cherry’s party,” Phil said smoothly.

I gave him a sidelong look, caught myself and stared guiltily at my feet, hoping I hadn’t given the game away. When I looked up again, though, Margaret’s beady eyes were piercing right through me.

“Really?” Morgan was saying. “I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”

“Phil Morrison. Good to see you again. You’ll have to excuse me, though. There’s someone I wanted to—”

He didn’t get to finish. Raz bounced up to us, still hyped up on nervous energy. “What did you think?”

He was looking straight at me, which I was pleased to see confused the hell out of Morgan and Margaret. “Great.” What had Phil said? “Really brave.”

Raz looked like I’d given him a puppy. “Thank you. It’s not easy, standing up and baring your soul in front of people like that.”

Now I felt like a total shit about the whispering in the back row. Mind you, Phil had started it. “Tell you what, have you got any more copies of that book of yours?” Maybe if I sat down and spent a couple of hours reading the thing, I’d work out what it was all about.

“I have, yes. Would you like one?” Raz was already opening up his backpack and pulling out a copy of
Splintered Soul
. He’d brought a whole stack of the things along, but obviously not quite got up the nerve to actually get them out and encourage people to buy them. “Would you like me to sign it?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. How much is it?” I dug in my pocket for my wallet and managed not to wince when he named his price. But seriously,
how
much? The book only had about twenty pages. I handed over my tenner with a smile, though, and he signed the book with a flourish.

“We’re going for a drink now,” Raz said as he passed it to me. “Would you and Phil like to come along?”

I looked up to find the rest of the Literati ranged around us, staring with varying degrees of bemusement at me and Raz being BFFs. Drinks with this lot didn’t sound like my idea of a fun night out, and there was no way I was going to talk to Raz about Auntie Lol in front of everyone. But maybe Phil would want to go along and observe the Literati in their unnatural habitat? I glanced up at him, and he shook his head minutely.

“Thanks,” I said. “But we’d better get back and make sure Cherry’s okay. Some other time, maybe?”

“Oh dear.” Hannah made a concerned face. “She hasn’t been ill again, has she?” She was still standing close to Peter but not hanging off his arm anymore.

“Nah, she’s fine. Just don’t like leaving her alone for too long, that’s all.”

“Oh, are you staying at her house?”

“Er, something like that.” I didn’t want to go handing out Cherry’s current location to any murderers who might be in the vicinity. “You ready, Phil? Right. You enjoy your drinks, Raz, and I’ll give you a bell, okay?”

We turned and walked briskly to the door, me cursing myself under my breath. “I shouldn’t have said that about Cherry. What if one of them’s the murderer and they work it out?”

Phil gripped my shoulder reassuringly. “Look, we’re doing okay. We’re not leaving her there on her own, and anyway, it’s not like she’s being stalked by a bloody axe-murderer. Whoever’s poisoning stuff is using that method to avoid confrontations. They’re not likely to turn up on your doorstep with the carving knives.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wish I’d thought more before I opened my gob, that’s all.”

Phil just squeezed my shoulder again.

“Thought you might have wanted to go to the pub with them and see if alcohol loosened a few tongues,” I said as we got back in his car.

“No point. Not with them all closing ranks like that.” Phil buckled on his seat belt and started the engine.

“Yeah, but you still might have learned something.”

“What, like how you’ve apparently got a death wish, wanting to go for drinks with a bunch of poisoners?”

“Bloody hell, you think they’re all in on it?” I grinned. “Wouldn’t have put you down for a conspiracy theorist. But seriously, I thought we’d agreed it was Cherry they were after?”

“Yeah, well. Excuse me for not wanting to take any chances with my boyfriend’s life.”

“Careful. You keep saying stuff like that, I might start thinking you care.”

“Course I bleeding care.”

“Yeah, well. Me too and all,” I muttered to my boots.

Then I switched on the radio so we could listen to the sports news and avoid any more awkward talk about feelings.

“Think Cherry and Gary are still speaking to each other?” I asked as I opened my front door.

They weren’t. They were sprawling on the sofa, giggling helplessly. Cherry even had tears in her eyes. When we walked in, they both looked up, tried to straighten their faces, then fell about laughing again.

Bloody hell, just what had they been talking about? There was a half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio on the coffee table, and—yep—an empty one hiding coyly underneath it. “Oi, Gary, have you got my sister pissed?”

“It’s all right,” she said solemnly. “He hasn’t tried to have his wicked way with me.”

Then they both cracked up again. Seriously, I wasn’t sure who was in more danger of wetting themself.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full with these two,” Phil muttered.

“Yeah. And it looks like Gary’s not going to be driving home tonight. You all right giving him a lift back to Brock’s Hollow?”

“No problem.”

“Coming back after?”

“Think I’ll call it a night after that. Got to go talk to Peter Grissom first thing.” He yawned.

Come to think of it, I was feeling pretty tired myself. Exhausting stuff, this poetry. “Right. I’ll see you, then. Come on Gary, time for all good little boys and girls to go home to bed.”

Gary held out a plaintive hand, so I grabbed it and heaved him to his feet, not without a bit of difficulty, seeing as he weighs half as much again as I do. Predictably, he did a fake stumble and landed in my arms. Drunk Gary is the cuddly sort. And then some. “Whoopsadaisy!”

I backed away from the fifty-proof breath. “Christ, Gary, you stink like an alkie. Darren’s going to think we’re a corrupting influence on you.”

“You’ve never let me corrupt you in your life. Ooh, is that an invitation?”

“Gary, you’re engaged. And my boyfriend is
right here
.”

He pouted. “Spoilsport. I’m sure Darren wouldn’t mind if it was you. Or Phil. He
likes
Phil.”

I had horrible visions of us being invited to make up a foursome. “C’mon, Gary, just let Phil take you home. And try really hard not to open your mouth on the way, yeah?”

He sniggered. “Are you worried something might fall into it?”

“Nope. Not worried at all.” I glanced at Phil. “Sure you’re okay with this? I could give Darren a call and let him sleep it off on the sofa.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Come on, Gary. I’ll take care of you.”

“Promises, promises!”

When the door had finally shut behind them and we only had the lingering smell of alcohol to remember Gary by, I turned to my sister. “Right. You, young lady, are drinking a pint of water, and then you’re going to bed.”

She giggled.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No.” She giggled again. “
Something might fall into it
,” she quoted, and spluttered with laughter. “He meant Phil’s penis, didn’t he?”