Free Classic Mistake by Amy Myers

right. That was possible. Because of her Spanish birth, Eva was an EU citizen, so she wouldn’t get far by heading for Europe, but returning to South America might be on the cards. Nevertheless, as for fleeing: ‘She couldn’t find her own way out of a paper bag, let alone this mess,’ I reassured Cara. ‘Where is she?’
    ‘Still with the police.’
    ‘If she gets bail—’ I couldn’t frame the words. They sounded too inadequate, so selfish in this situation.
    Cara understood anyway. ‘She won’t come here. Not suitable.’
    I realized she was right, thank heavens. With the kind of restrictions there were likely to be on her bail if granted, Frogs Hill would hardly be ideal. So next came the vital question: ‘Can you stay in Kent?’
    ‘As much as I can.’
    ‘At Frogs Hill?’
    ‘I’d love to, but someone has to look after Eva. I can’t inflict her on Harry, so I’ll sort out something to rent in the Maidstone area.’ She looked at me and grinned. ‘Your face, Jack. It’s a picture.’
    ‘A bleak one, I imagine. I’m not doing much to help.’
    ‘Wrong. You, Jack dear, are the one who is going to get us out of this mess. I don’t believe Eva shot him, but she is going to be one hell of her own worst enemy while you’re trying to prove it.’
    I had my orders and I was happy with them, but I looked at her face and saw that despite the assurance the other Cara was hovering very close. ‘Are you secretly afraid she
might
be guilty, sweetheart?’
    Her relief was obvious. ‘Yes.’
    ‘So am I. But the likelihood is that she isn’t. Which means I’ll turn every stone I can upside down to find the toads that might be hiding beneath.’
    She managed a giggle. ‘I like toads.’
    ‘So do I. But one of them might be in disguise.’
    Seeing Cara had heartened me, and driving out to see my first potential toad that afternoon, I was just in the mood for Jonathan Lamb. I’d already decided he was a smooth cuss and probably a murderer, and no amount of telling myself I was somewhat in advance of the facts did any good. I had little doubt that I was following in Brandon’s footsteps and that Lamb would probably slam the door in my face, but he’d find it a hard door to shut.
    When I drew up at the House of Lamb, which was on the outskirts of Canterbury, it was clear that it was nothing like Liz’s garden centre. Its declared aim, according to its website, was to consider interior and exterior as one, whether the inter-ior was house or flat and the exterior was garden or patio and window sills. The building in front of me, combined with the neat parking area and small garden, bore this out with colourful window boxes echoed by tubs and flower plantings. There were several cars in the parking area, and I had little doubt that the Bristol 411 was Jonathan’s, even if it didn’t seem to go with my idea of a murderer. But as I have never made a study of murderers’ cars, who was I to judge?
    I gave my name to the receptionist (trying not to look too bullish), fully expecting the answer that I could take a running jump and lose myself. I was somewhat surprised therefore when Jonathan Lamb himself emerged and, with a welcoming smile, ushered me into his sanctum. A wolf in toad’s clothing? I wasn’t sure. He was in his mid forties, I guessed, smartly dressed but not the oily operator I had expected. His curly hair and rugged looks suggested he would be as at home on a country walk as in a five-star restaurant. Nor did his office display the clinical decor I expected. There were photos everywhere of designer houses and gardens, but they were good ones: attractive, rather than fighting the landscapes that surrounded them. Even the chair he offered me looked solid enough to take my weight rather than being a sophisticated piece of moulded plastic.
    ‘I’m sorry to hear the news about Eva,’ he said.
    ‘You knew her?’ I was surprised. I had imagined Carlos had kept his affair with Eva low profile.