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

The business had grown steadily, he’d moved to larger premises just the once, and though he would moan and groan that he was working long hours for the benefit of the taxman and the landlord, the business would pay him a decent wage, and show a reasonable return at the year end, profits he would plough into penny shares, a dangerous world full of sharks that would often bite his ankles, and drain his assets.

The business had grown steadily for one solid reason. Attention to detail, and Fred Ross was as good an attention to detail man as you could find. All growing businesses need an attention to detail person, and Fred quickly realised that, and never once took his eye off the ball.

So it wasn’t surprising that on Monday morning he noticed Dorothy Wright wasn’t quite on top of her game. She’d tried to make at least four calls from her mobile, and they were only the ones he was aware of. It annoyed him for two reasons. Firstly, calls from mobiles were not permitted during work hours, and two, when she was staring at that damned thing she was neglecting the customers, and neglected customers had a frequent habit of seeking pastures new.

It simply wouldn’t do. Competition in the small café world in Chester, just like every developed city on the planet in the twenty-first century, was fierce.

He cornered his manageress, a tall slim well made-up woman named Shirley, who just happened to be his second wife.

‘What the hell’s wrong with Dot today?’

Shirley glanced across at Dot who was serving and gossiping with a regular, and back at Fred. Shirley possessed many talents, but attention to detail was not one of them, a skill lack that occasionally annoyed Fred.

‘Nowt that I know of, why?’

‘She’s been fiddling with that bloody mobile all morning.’

Shirley giggled and said, ‘Maybe she’s got a new boyfriend,’ for Shirley was well aware that Dot was in the market for one.

Fred glanced at Dot’s ample figure and somehow doubted that.

‘Have a word with her, will you. She’s doing my head in!’

Shirley realised that Fred was annoyed about something major and muttered, ‘Okay love, leave it with me.’

Fred disappeared into the back rooms to see if the next batch of steak pies were ready, as Shirley moved close to Dot and in a quiet moment whispered, ‘Is everything all right, Dot?’

Dorothy pursed her lips and glanced into Shirley’s blue eyes.

‘Tell you the truth, Shirl, no.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s my Eleanor.’

‘What about her?’

‘She’s fallen in with a bad crowd.’

‘In what way?’

‘I’d be too embarrassed to tell you, but it’s not looking good.’

‘Have you spoken to her?’

‘I’ve been trying since Saturday morning. There’s no answer, and that’s not like our Ellie at all. She always leaves her mobile on for the clients.... her customers, like.’

‘Where does she live now?’

‘She has a small caravan down by the river. Horrible it is, old and smelly; I’ve been trying to get her into a decent flat. I can’t help thinking she might have fallen over.... or something.’

‘Well, you are no good to us like this, Fred’s noticed something’s wrong. Do you want to go and check?’

‘Oh, could I? That would be great! You’re fab, Shirl, anyone ever tell you that?’ and not waiting a second in case Shirley changed her mind, or Fred came back, she took off her overall, grabbed her grubby raincoat from the hooks, and headed for the door, calling out over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be back just as soon as I can.’

A minute later Fred returned and immediately saw that Dorothy was missing.

‘Where is she?’

‘She has a problem with her daughter. I told her to go and sort it out and get back as soon as she can.’

‘Brilliant! Just as the lunchtime rush is about to start!’

‘Don’t fret so. We can manage, Fred!’

‘We’ll bloody well have to now! I’m stopping her wages!’

‘Oh, stop being an old grumblebum, Freddy.’

‘I’ll grumblebum you in a minute!’

Shirley smirked at Fred and rippled her eyes and muttered, ‘Promises promises!’ Just as six new customers came in together, and began inspecting the day’s food offerings in the Cuppa Cha Café.

DOROTHY WRIGHT OWNED the same small modern Ford hatchback car as her daughter, except hers was red and Eleanor’s blue. They’d bought them in a BOGOF deal from the local Ford dealer, buy one get one free, who couldn’t believe his luck when he shifted two old part exchange jalopies in one afternoon.

Dorothy was gunning hers round the Chester inner ring road, though in truth the little car was not really a gunning kind of car. It was almost half an hour later when Dot pulled off the main road and onto the unmade up twisty lane that led down to the river. It must have been at least a mile from the turnoff to the caravan down by the water, but that last mile seemed like ten.

Horrendous thoughts crashed through Dot’s head. Had Ellie been attacked and injured? Or maybe fallen into the deep river after one vodka cocktail too many. The last twist in the lane revealed Ellie’s little car, parked away to the right on a small piece of hard standing, so at least she must be in, and that was something.

Earlier, Dot had had a premonition that Ellie might have simply packed her few precious belongings into that car, and headed off to Cornwall or Oban or Wells-next-the-Sea, wherever that was, as she often talked of doing, after a particularly hard week, as far away as possible, she said, as if running away could ever really solve deep-seated problems.

Ten more yards and reality hit home.

Dot slammed on the brakes, almost banged her forehead on the hard steering wheel. Ellie’s caravan was no more. Just a blackened heap of wreckage sitting on the red brick base that was designed to keep the caravan above the winter floods that the Dee produced most years.

Dot’s hand went to her mouth and she exhaled loudly.

‘Oh, God!’

‘Oh, fucking