Free Mango Kisses by Elisabeth Rose Page A

hand. ‘I think she might be in tonight,’ he grunted.
    ‘We could get together again if she likes. If I’m still here.’
    ‘You booked the room for tonight,’ he admonished sharply and scowled.
    ‘I know. Although, I might leave today after all.’ Good grief! Maybe Kevin would lock her in. ‘It depends. I have some business to attend to but I’m not sure how long it will take.’
    ‘Checkout’s at ten if you’re leaving, otherwise you pay for another night whether you stay or not.’
    ‘I understand. I’m going right now to find Mr Frobisher. It’s only nine.’
    ‘Hmmph.’ Kevin turned his back on her.
    Tiffany set off. She had to face Boris whether she liked it or not. But this was business. She’d put on a slim fitting grey skirt, black pumps and a pale blue and white pinstripe blouse. She carried her briefcase.
    He wasn’t there. Instead a thin faced older man dropped a bundle of surfing magazines on the counter in a heap and said, ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’
    Surely this wasn’t Miles Frobisher? The pile slipped and slid and magazines spilled to the floor. He looked her up and down, warily, it seemed to Tiffany.
    ‘Good morning. Are you Mr Frobisher?’ Tiffany scooped up the magazines and placed them neatly and safely to one side.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Is Boris here? I think that’s his real name. It might not be.’
    A look of alarm flitted across his ravaged features and then a cagey expression replaced it.
    ‘Who wants to know?’
    ‘Tiffany Holland. I’d like to speak to him.’
    ‘Okay,’ he said hesitantly after a furtive glance around the shop.
    ‘He does work here, doesn’t he?’
    ‘Yes.’ His eyes fixed on the briefcase, which she’d rested on the counter. By his expression it might have had a bomb in it.
    ‘I really only want some information so perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for Miles Frobisher, do you know him?’
    A vastly relieved smile spread across the man’s face. ‘Sure do. He’s not here.’
    ‘I know,’ said Tiffany patiently. ‘Where can I find him?’
    ‘Probably at home.’ He frowned with the effort of sustained thought.
    ‘Where is that?’
    ‘Or at the beach.’
    ‘He swims?’ asked Tiffany in surprise.
    ‘Sure does.’
    ‘Is he well enough?’
    The face was a cartoon depiction of horror now. ‘What’s wrong with him? Has he had an accident? Is he sick? Oh man! Is Miles okay? He had the flu last week but I thought he was better.’
    Tiffany held her hand up, palm facing away, as if to ward off the verbal onslaught. ‘As far as I know he’s fine. I’m sorry. I don’t know him. I’ve never met him. I just thought he might be frail, being elderly.’
    The bark of laughter startled her. ‘Miles? Don’t let him hear you saying that? Elderly.’ He went into cackling, wheezing paroxysms of delight, which ended in a coughing fit.
    Tiffany waited, smiling politely as he coughed up his lungs. So Miles Frobisher wasn’t elderly and frail.
    ‘I need to see him,’ she said when he’d recovered enough to hear again.
    ‘Try the beach and if he’s not there go to his house.’
    ‘Where is his house?’
    ‘Look, you can’t miss it.’ He rushed around the end of counter and out on to the footpath. Tiffany followed. He pointed to a low white house surrounded by trees just on the rise where the beach ended to the south and the rocks began. ‘His car will be there because he never drives it. It’s white like his house.’
    He paused to contemplate the significance of this odd coincidence, which seemed to have only just struck him.
    ‘He’s not selling is he?’ the man demanded.
    ‘Selling what?’
    ‘The shop?’
    ‘This shop?’
    The man nodded, eyes glued to her face.
    ‘Not as far as I know.’
    ‘Great.’
    He stepped back inside.
    She said quickly, ‘Is Boris coming in today?’
    That sly look again.
    ‘Why do you ask?’
    ‘He was here when I came in last week. I just wanted to say hello, that’s all,’ she said,