The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

saw himself in the glass and heard his mother saying from long ago, Hand in front of mouth, Keith, and he did, even there, place his palm across his lips. How glad he was to have rid himself of everything to do with Keith, yet even as he thought of that, he knew he never would, not completely.

She was a fab woman, Jennifer, now wallowing in the bath next door, singing a Sinatra number, pretty well as it happened, and she was just what he had needed after that soul-destroying episode with Ellie.

Cancer is such a complete and utter bastard!

There is no other word to describe it, set on this earth to destroy flesh, people, loved ones, human beings, yours and mine, before their time was due. What’s that all about? If there was such a thing as a devil, mused Kit, he must have released cancer among us, for it surely was the devil’s work. Maybe cancer IS the devil, maybe we are missing something. She, Jennifer, had been the manageress for a small middling hotel in Leamington Spa.

It was just as Future Growth was really getting going, and Kit knew it was ready to take off, aided by a big loan he had taken on, yet all that business with Ellie had really knocked him back, and who wouldn’t have been jolted by the loss of the love of his life? Seventeen years they had been married, and without question they were the happiest and most exciting years of their entire lives.

Kit had asked Jennifer for a double scotch, back in that hotel, and she knew the signs of a lonely man, and she’d also noted that he was decent looking, and possessed the biggest wad of cash in his wallet that she had ever seen on any punter in that hotel in years, not that that would have influenced her, of course, but it sure as hell did no harm.

‘Mind if I join you?’ she asked.

‘Be my guest,’ he said, and they sank three doubles each over the next couple of hours, talking and laughing and joking and sharing stories of their lives to date, and successes and failures, and they both possessed many of those to parade.

At the end of the night, they made an arrangement to meet again in the morning, as lonely people often do when they stay up late gossiping, and taking alcohol, and in the morning Kit had forgotten all about it, initially, but it gradually came back to him over the poached eggs and bacon, and by the time he was back upstairs, he’d remembered everything there was to remember.

He’d agreed to take her into Leamington in his old Mercedes, shopping, it was her day off, and she had to buy a frock for a nephew’s wedding, something like that, they had actually discussed frocks for quite some time, he remembered that, and a birthday present too for her mother. He had suggested a silver necklace, he remembered that now, and that hadn’t been laughed out of court. He even remembered they had agreed to meet at the front of the hotel at 10.30 sharp, though he was sure she would have forgotten all about it.

Nevertheless, he got himself ready, trimmed his beard, swigged extra strong mouthwash, just in case, slipped on a clean white shirt, found a new lilac tie, quickly brushed his shoes, set on his KN cufflinks, they were the first ones he had ever had made, and then he’d sauntered as nonchalantly as he could muster, down to the front of the hotel, with some story ready that he was just out on his morning stroll, still certain that he would be travelling alone.

But blow me, there she was, bright as a button, standing in the sunshine, looking fab, grinning and smiling and teasing and saying, ‘You don’t suffer from hangovers?’

‘Not often. You?’

‘Never! I thought you might have forgotten.’

‘Course not! I never forget a beautiful woman,’ and it was when he’d said that: I never forget a beautiful woman, that she thought, aye aye, what have we got here? This guy really could be a bit special, and though she would never have admitted it even to Saint Peter himself, she had been on the lookout for a good husband, she’d had her fill of losers, and setbacks, and chancers and creeps, and disappointment. And she was too, a beautiful woman, that is, very neat and tidy, quite girly, which Kit kind of liked, painted nails, lipstick, lots of jewellery, regular trips to the hairdressers to preen her strawberry blonde hair, but she wasn’t his Ellie, and never would be, and that was unfair, because no one could ever be that, for no one could ever come close to matching Ellie Napoleon.

Sitting in front of the mirror in a five star hotel reminiscing to himself brought a tear to his eye, and that was a weak spot he didn’t wish the singing Jennifer to witness. This time next week, he pondered, the fabulous Ellie Napoleon Center would be open for business, and he was looking forward to that so much.

It had cost a monumental fortune of course, truth was it hadn’t yet been fully paid for, but it would be, before the year was out, lock stock and barrel, and that was no mean achievement, and thinking about capital expenditure, there was the recently purchased house too, that Jennifer had fallen in love with the moment they drove up the drive.

In the quaint Cheshire village of Wrenbury, it was, overlooking the Shropshire Union Canal, where, between April and October, colourful narrowboats cruised left to right, and right to left, at the end of the lawn, a moving view from the drawing room windows, carrying laughing and joking holidaymakers, even in the rain, seemed to make no difference to them, and beyond that narrow murky strip of water, the view extended to open countryside, where black and white Friesian cows worked round the clock, 24/7, producing milk in