Chapter 8 Playing Hunches #2
Jack negotiated the Friday afternoon rush while making lists in his head.
This close to the end of the day, few customers wandered the aisles of the local builders’ merchant.
Jack grabbed two iced coffees at the concession stand while he waited for Nico, who’d gone to fetch one of the large trolleys.
“Here.” He handed one drink to Nico. “I’ve just spent an hour listening to Mrs Farnway singing your praises. She’s impressed that you’re watching out for everyone and teaching them how to keep each other safe.”
Nico blushed. “She said that? And she doesn’t mind what I’m doing? Dawn is convinced her mum doesn’t believe her. That she thinks it’s just so much drama.”
“Well, she does and she doesn’t,” Jack summed up the conversation. “She believes that Manville is creepy. But just… normal creepy. The opportunistic kind that stops when someone’s watching.”
“And you don’t think that?”
“No, Nico—you don’t think that. And she’s maybe a bit embarrassed that you had to organise the class into teams to protect the girls and then got in trouble yourself.”
“She turned up to watch,” Nico said after a moment. “That counts, right?”
Not where Jack was concerned, but if Nico wanted to be charitable, he wouldn’t stop him. It wasn’t why he’d brought them here, either. “Since you’ve been so busy making sure everyone else was safe, how about doing the same for yourself and Daniel?”
It took a few moments, but then Nico’s eyes went wide. “We’re going to build the escape route? I thought you’d never get around to it!”
“I know. And I apologise. Twice.”
“Why twice?”
“Because I’m not going to build it. This will be your task.
Gareth and I will help, but you’re in charge of both design and build.
We’ll buy some of the basic equipment today.
Then you can start thinking about the design and what else you might need.
Keep in mind that Gareth and I used to do this for a living.
You can ask us any question you can’t find the answer to.
We’ll help with the building work, too. Once we have our escape routes in place, we’ll practice using them until it’s automatic. ”
“Like fighting?”
“Just like that. In an emergency, you don’t want to freeze or get confused over what you need to do. Mission clear?”
Nico grinned like a loon and slammed his right fist into his left shoulder. “Mission clear.”
They trawled the store for four-by-fours, rope, hooks, and chain.
Jack found a rope ladder and added it to their stash, much to Nico’s delight.
He could see Nico’s mind spinning, diving deeper into the project with every item Jack added to their cart.
He only stopped and returned to the here and now when they reached the section that held wallpapers and paints.
By that point, Nico no longer just followed where Jack led.
He’d offered to paint his and Daniel’s workroom and, after days of painting sample squares, the two had decided on a soft, cheerful yellow to contrast with the dark wooden floors and skirting.
Nico added wood stain and satin wall paint to their cart, and Jack crossed one of the many DIY jobs off his list. Nico would paint their workroom, even if rope and ladders now occupied his mind.
It wasn’t until later, when they’d made it home and had unloaded their haul of weekend projects, that he texted Tara and Pauline: How do you feel about getting togged up and taking all our assorted offspring to a ridotto the Sunday after the ball?
The string of emojis on his phone cracked him up. He hadn’t realised there were so many ways to illustrate a simple WTF. Nor had he expected Pauline and Tara to jump on the idea as if it was a trampoline.
For the rest of the evening, pictures of ballgowns, masks, and frock coats appeared on his phone, and he watched them with increasing incredulity, deciding what they needed for this whole crazy adventure of music and dance was Skylar Payne doing hair and make-up for the girls and their mums. He didn’t doubt the four of them could manage just fine on their own, but having a stylist of Skylar’s calibre helping them get ready had to be a treat.
Skylar’s living room looked like an explosion in a photo studio.
Stacks of prints covered the seldom used dining table, and every free square inch of the living room floor.
He’d arranged all the photos he’d taken in Margot McTavish’s flat by individual rooms, created spaces he could step into and turn in, and still he wasn’t seeing what was there.
It drove him nuts, and he’d spent as much of the last three days outside of his home as he had spent in it.
Walking away and coming back often helped him refocus and change his perspective, but his tried and trusted method refused to work.
When his phone chimed with a text, he could have wept with relief.
What will it take for you to do hair and makeup for a ridotto? Jack had written.
A great deal of alcohol, Skylar texted back. And who the hell still holds ridottos?
His phone rang, and Skylar clapped it to his ear. “Well? What’s the answer?”
“A hotel in Richmond,” Jack told him. “It’s an afternoon tea dance the day after the kids’ ball, so I thought we could give the fancy dresses and brand-new skills another outing. Give them a chance to actually enjoy themselves?”
“Sound strategy,” Skylar acknowledged. “How many?”
“There’s ten of us, kids and parents, but I thought you could give the girls and their mums a special treat.”
Skylar thought of the sharp-edged, closed-off hacker he’d met three years earlier and marvelled at how much the man had changed without changing at all. He was still one of the most dangerous SOBs of Skylar’s acquaintance. “You’re a marshmallow, Horwood.”
“Nah. That’s Flynn. I do this for a quiet life.”
“In your dreams. What dresses are they wearing?”
“How the fuck would I know? I haven’t seen them yet.”
“Then find out and text me the deets. Better yet, send me details of the event. If it really is a ridotto, you’ll want masks, and they’ll need to match.”
“What?”
“Look it up, why don’t you?”
“You’re more than ordinarily ratty. Problem?”
“Yeah, kinda. Failing to see something I know is there. It’s driving me nuts.”
“Step away and let it go,” Jack advised, familiar with Skylar’s plight. “Go ice skating, or painting, or pick a fight.”
“I’m not you, Horwood.”
“You know how to use a knife. What I’m saying is… walk away and do something that needs concentration. It won’t come to you, otherwise.”
Skylar stared around his living room at the hundreds of photos. One of them showed that Margot McTavish hadn’t died of a heart attack. He just had to work out which one.
His phone pinged with the details of the ridotto, and Skylar found a smile. “You know what?” he said, heading into the hall for his shoes and coat. “I think you’re right. Only, I’m going to head over to Richmond and find out about your ridotto. That should distract my mind for a while.”
“Whatever floats your boat, man. If you need a second pair of eyes or hands for your problem, you know where to find me.”