Free False Money by Veronica Heley Page B

everything.
    Please, tell me what to say and do, Lord.
    Why was it that some people seemed to have been born without common sense? But perhaps if Chris had been more evenly endowed with talent, he wouldn’t have the imagination to make films?
    He was crouched on a stool in the kitchen, fingers in his mouth. Hadn’t shaved, of course. He started up when he saw Bea.
    â€˜Mrs Abbot, I need to borrow your car. It’s really important. I don’t know who else to ask.’
    Bea exchanged glances with Maggie, who was dressed in a heavy duty jumper and cords. No make-up. Maggie looked worried. Bea supposed she did, too. She tried not to let Chris’s anxiety infect her. ‘What do you want to borrow it for?’
    â€˜I can’t tell you, but it’s really important. Please?’ He made an immense effort to calm himself and to speak quietly. ‘I don’t know who else to ask. Dad said he’d k–kill me if I . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘If I took his car without permission.’
    Bea took orange juice out of the fridge and poured three glasses full. He shook his head, tried to smile and failed. ‘Do you have any aspirin? I’ve a terrible headache.’
    His eyelids were at half mast, and his skin looked pasty. Were those the clothes he’d worn yesterday? No, the shirt was different. Bea got out a packet of aspirin and poured a glass of water for him.
    Maggie said, in a small voice, ‘Breakfast, anyone?’
    â€˜Yes, please,’ said Bea, needing sustenance.
    He shuddered. ‘No, thanks. Look, Mrs Abbot, I know I’m being unreasonable, and of course you can always say no, and I’d understand, because you don’t know what . . .’ He gagged, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. ‘Sorry. Not totally “with it” this morning. The thing is, a friend needs me to collect him . . . her . . . from somewhere in the country, and there’s no public transport that . . . Or perhaps you could lend me enough to take a minicab out there? No, that won’t do, because if she’s not there or . . . I can’t think straight.’
    He began to pace the kitchen. Maggie held up a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon for Bea to see. Bea nodded, getting out the muesli and cornflakes. Perhaps, if she stocked up internally, she’d feel strong enough to work out what was upsetting Chris.
    Oh! Something cold slithered up and down her spine. The country? Someone wanted collecting? Him or her?
    Tomi?
    But Tomi was dead, wasn’t she? Bea looked at Maggie, who looked back at her, registering alarm and surprise. Bea noticed that her own hands were trembling as she opened the pack of muesli and poured some out for herself and Maggie.
    â€˜You mean Tomi phoned you and asked her to collect her?’
    â€˜Yes. No. I mean. I can’t think straight.’ He clutched his head with both hands. ‘She texted me: COME AND GET ME. FULMER LANE. TOMI.’
    Fulmer Lane. CJ hadn’t mentioned Fulmer Lane when he’d reported that the police had found a body, had he? Calm down, Bea. Think this through, step by step. She poured milk on to her muesli.
    Winston, their furry black cat, appeared. Chris picked him up to stroke him, and then put him down again. ‘My head’s killing me.’
    Bea tried not to let her voice wobble. ‘A text message is not necessarily genuine.’
    â€˜I know that. I’m not stupid. At least, I know I’m not thinking clearly at the moment – this headache – but I can’t just ignore it, can I? Yesterday I was sure she was dead, but now . . . You must see that I’ve got to find out what’s going on.’
    Maggie looked very pale, but was making a good job of spooning muesli into her mouth while setting some bacon on to fry.
    Bea put the kettle on to boil and spooned coffee grounds into the