MURDER IS SKIN DEEP by M.G. Cole (read dune .txt) 📕

this time last year.” Wendy swirled her glass and peered at him from over the rim. Overtly personal questions were something they had both tactfully stepped around. Garrick sensed this one was more pointed than usual.

“Very similar.” His oblique answer failed to get a reaction.

“How has a man like you reach such a wise old age without attempting it? Marriage, I mean.”

“Oh. I’m not that old…”

“41. It’s on your Heartfelt profile.”

Garrick wondered if putting his age on the dating app had been a good idea. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Are we talking a deep tragedy here? Just so we can avoid it. After all, you are the strong brooding type.”

“I am?”

“Clearly.” She sipped her drink and peered into the middle-distance. “Or are their children in some far-flung city that you’ve never got to know because you married to your job?” She gave a playful smile, but her words were serious. “Were they a series of ships passing in the night, or are we talking about hitting a few icebergs here?”

“I’ve had two long relationships, both without children, both without incident.” He hated himself for such a placid confession; especially as it wasn’t completely true. “I suppose I never made the steps to make the relationships anymore more than they were… and as a result they just fizzled out.”

“Fizzled?”

He tried to convince himself that she was satisfied with the answer. “What about your dark history?”

She laughed. “Oh, icebergs the entire way!” They both laughed. She took another sip, then put down her glass and smiled. “So how much do you think you’ll hate the show tonight? On a scale of one to ten?”

He held up both hands defensively. “Whoa. I could love it.”

“It’s about a bumbling detective who sings.”

“And how do you know I don’t sing when I’m on a case?”

She feigned a look of injury. “Ow! Haven’t your poor victims suffered enough?”

“I can hold a note.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Karaoke style?” She must have seen the colour drain from his face because she burst out laughing again; a long genuine snort, which she became self-conscious of but couldn’t stop. “Sorry. So sorry, but the horror on your face…”

“I have to draw some lines in the sand.”

“Well, now I know.” She giggled, then shifted in her seat. “I had an idea.” Garrick just gave a little uh-huh under his breath, not wanting to see what other punishment she was planning to mete out. “I’m going on a ramble this Sunday. An organised group of about twelve of us across the Downs. I just wondered…”

“Exercise?” gasped Garrick.

Wendy shrugged. “I mean, either that or karaoke.”

He watched the mischief twinkle in her eyes. The corner of her mouth was resisting a playful smile. She cocked her head, demanding an answer.

“Or am I to take it that that you lofty television celebs don’t mingle with us commoners?”

Garrick leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine, hoping that he was giving off an air of nonchalance, when the very idea of a ramble in the countryside appealed to him.

“Naturally.” He pretended to reluctantly consider it. “Although I suppose my presence there would lift proceedings accordingly.”

She clasped both hands together in a mocking plea, accompanied by one of the worst West Country accents Garrick had heard. “That’s just what I was hoping, sir. Just a little time with us working class peasants.”

They both cackled at the innocent absurdity of their actions. It felt as if a wave of relief suddenly flowed through Garrick, expunging the pent-up tension and anger he had been harbouring for months. Perhaps longer. For a moment there was a flash of unrestrained child-like behaviour, an opportunity to ignore the distractions of adult life.

Wendy finished her wine and pointedly placed the glass down. “I shall take that as a yes.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m going to the bathroom to give you a last chance to bail before we go in.” She cocked a finger towards the theatre.

Garrick watched her go to the back of the bar, disappearing behind a throng of noisy revellers. And just then, it didn’t feel such an ordeal to go to the theatre. Not that he’d enjoy the show.

“I heard you humming along,” accused Wendy as she put up her compact umbrella to fend off the increasing rain.

“You’re hearing things,” Garrick replied guiltily.

“David Garrick, you’re a terrible liar.” She put the umbrella up and hooked his arm, pulling him close so they could both benefit from the shelter as they walked to the multi-story car park on Station Road West.

“Okay, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. That bloke from the telly was a surprisingly good singer.”

“He’s a comedian. Quite famous too.”

“I don’t watch a lot of television.”

“And was the killer obvious to your police detection powers?”

“Actually no, because I’m off duty.” In fact, he had been completely wrong in the rather simplistic whodunnit. He was about to comment further when he did a double take at the young Asian woman walking towards them. “Fanta?”

Fanta Liu froze mid-stride, alarm plastered across her face. She was linking the arm of Sean Wilkes, both under a sensible large red golfing umbrella.

“David… um, DCI… sir,” she stuttered, immediately shucking off Wilkes’s arm. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Evening, sir,” Wilkes managed.

Garrick felt a sudden pressure to relieve the tension. He looked at Wendy and gestured to his two juniors.

“This is Sean Wilkes and Fanta Liu. Two of my team. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Pleased to meet you,” beamed Wendy, enjoying every moment of their combined awkwardness.

Fanta and Wilkes exchanged a look. “Funny, because we bumped into each other too.”

“Really?” said Garrick in a tone made it clear the world knew that was a lie.

“We went to see a magician,” said Wilkes, his cheeks flushing.

Fanta nodded. “He was very good.” She waved one hand, then opened the other. “You really didn’t know where to look.” She winced under Garrick’s gaze. “I didn’t peg you for a musical fan, sir.”

Garrick frowned and then realised that Wendy was clutching a programme from the show.

“Ordinarily,