Free Fatal Liaison by Vicki Tyley Page B

keeping unwelcome outsiders at bay. He wasn’t
good with dogs.
    Lawson Green’s exit from the bar caught him off guard. In the split
second their gazes met, Greg glimpsed sheer panic in Lawson’s face. Before Greg
could stop him, Lawson fled across the road, dodging traffic, deaf to Greg’s
shouts. Greg stared open-mouthed as Lawson reached the footpath on the other
side and promptly disappeared down a side alley.

CHAPTER 10
     
    Megan couldn’t
believe it. Gentleman Joe as she’d nicknamed him, had asked her out to dinner and
she’d accepted. To say she was feeling nervous was an understatement. She
hadn’t been on a proper date since Darryl, the two-timing bastard, had
unceremoniously dumped her. She was due to meet Joe Renmark at the restaurant
in less than three hours. There was still time to back out. She felt a headache
coming on. But what if Joe is the one to restore your faith in the male
species, a voice inside her head admonished.
    Shaking her head, she hooked the hanger over the rail, rejecting yet
another shirt. Even though her wardrobe was crammed with clothes, she struggled
to find something to wear. Yet another excuse to cancel dinner? After much
consideration, she settled on black slimline trousers and a hip-skimming
crossover black top. Even her shoes were black. The one redeeming feature was
the top’s intricate silver buckle, lifting the look from bland to elegant.
    Next was the handbag. She upended the shoulder bag she’d taken with
her to the bar the previous night on her bed. As she transferred a few of the
bag’s contents to a clutch bag more in keeping with her outfit, she came across
Gregory Jenkins’s business card. An image of his anxious face flashed through
her mind. What had happened to his sister? What had the agency to do with it,
if anything? Why was Pauline so anti the police? Was she merely protecting her
business interests or was there more to it?
    Megan tucked the card under the edge of the telephone on her bedside
table, thinking she would give him a call in a day or two. Perhaps his sister
would have surfaced by then. She hoped so.
    She’d just turned back to the clutter on the bed when the phone rang.
Reaching for it, she continued to sort her bag’s contents as she answered.
    At first there was only a breathless squeak followed by a loud gulp.
“Oh my God, Megan! Oh my God!”
    Megan froze. “Brenda, calm down. Take a deep breath. What’s
happened?”
    “Oh my God, you’re not going to believe this. It’s… the police…”
Brenda’s voice trailed off. Hysterical sobbing followed.
    Megan dropped down onto the bed, bulldozing aside her wallet,
hairbrush and sunglasses with the back of her free hand. It must’ve taken her a
good five minutes to calm Brenda enough to get any sense out of her.
    “Take a deep breath,” Megan said, “and start from the beginning.”
    “Linda Nichols is dead.” Brenda paused, gasping for air. “Raped and
strangled in her own bed.”
    “Are you sure?” Megan clamped the phone to her ear, struggling to
absorb the news. It wasn’t possible. How could it be? They’d seen her in her
full glory a week ago. Now Brenda was telling her that Linda Nichols, the woman
she’d christened Mata Hari, was dead.
    Raped.
    Strangled.
    Murdered.
    The words echoed in Megan’s head.
    “Of course, I’m bloody sure,” Brenda said, the pitch of her voice
rising. “I’ve just been interviewed by the police.”
    Megan listened without interruption, having to remind herself every
few moments to breathe. From what Brenda was saying, Linda’s decomposing body
had been found at home in her bed. Strangled with a plastic cable tie. The sort
of news you read about in the papers, not about someone you actually knew.
Someone you could put a face to. They hardly knew the woman, but…
    The police. If the police had spoken to Brenda then most certainly
they would be contacting her. A barb of guilt suddenly pricked at her
conscience. Even though she’d