Текст книги "An Easeful Death"
Автор книги: Felicity Young
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
18
The ability of the serial killer to manipulate friends, family and associates must never be underestimated.
De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil
With a strange feeling of liberation, Monty shed his best jeans and button-down shirt, exchanging them for some old clothes he’d not worn since Dot moved from the station.
He pulled himself into the torn, faded Levis and sucked in his stomach, pleased to see he could still do the button up, and even more pleased when it didn’t pop off when he breathed out. His polo shirt had faded to the same Kimberley red as his hair and the old army jacket could easily have belonged to a man down on his luck. But he shouldn’t have shaved this morning, he thought, as he rubbed his chin and stared into the full-length mirror. It had been a long time since he’d worked undercover and as he turned away from the mirror his heart thrummed in his chest, powered by the adrenaline rush that in the past had always accompanied the thrill of sanctioned deception.
Only this time, the deception wasn’t sanctioned.
He took the Great Eastern Highway out of the city, a right turn and then a left. Soon car dealerships and fancy offices gave way to small leafy holdings fortified with brick walls to muffle the traffic noise. The traffic thinned as the road wound its way into the blue eucalyptus haze he’d so often stared at with longing from the carbon-coated windows of Perth Central.
At last he found himself on the road he wanted. He slowed down so he could read the signs on the gates of the passing properties until he reached Pete and Gloria’s ‘Roses By Any Name’ nursery. Open seven days a week 9 to 5.
He drove through the open gateway and down the gentle gradient of a contoured valley. The road followed the path of a landscaped stream until it passed over a humpback bridge with wooden railings and an artificial pond where orange koi lolled.
Monty parked in the almost deserted car park beyond the pond, inhaling the damp earthy smells as he climbed out of his Land Rover. Above his head a cloud of black cockatoos whirled, squawking out the bushman’s herald of rain. He saw no sign of it in the azure sky, although the clouds looked as though they’d been whipped into frenzied slashes and streaks by a giant egg whisk. A cold wind made the sides of his army jacket flap and bit through the worn fabric of his jeans. He zipped up his jacket, plunged his hands into the pockets and began to explore.
Up ahead was a narrow rammed-earth building and a variety of squeaking advertising signs on frames, one of them saying ‘open.’ The verandah was crowded with terracotta pots and hanging baskets of early-blooming bulbs. A blackboard declaring today’s special of scones, jam and cream was nailed to one side of the front door. The lights were on inside, but Monty decided to try his luck at the nursery first.
Slippery wooden planks divided the strips of rose beds, each spiked with an identifying label. Soon he heard the sound of digging. He followed it, leaving the garden beds behind until he found himself standing among a collection of long tables holding pots of small roses with shivering price tags.
‘Can I help you, mate?’
Monty pivoted, looking for the person behind the voice. His gaze settled on a hole in the ground and the protruding head and shoulders of a man who appeared to be covered with mud.
‘I’ve been looking for the damned solenoid,’ the man in the hole said by way of explanation. ‘The reticulation plan of this place is cactus; it’s just as well we don’t need to water at the moment.’ His tone was friendly enough, but the lines that cut through his muddy face like erosion cracks suggested it wouldn’t take much for him to turn.
‘Um, I’m looking for a rose to take to a friend who’s in hospital. I can’t find any with flowers on ’em.’
The man chuckled and hauled himself out of his hole.
A fit-looking fifty, he was of average height and build, wearing a muddied windcheater, shorts and work boots. With his greying goatee beard and a receding V-shaped hairline, he looked as if he was emerging from the underworld.
‘This is the wrong time of the year to be buying roses in bloom, mate, though we do sell cut flowers in the gift shop. Maybe you should look there.’
Monty ran his tongue around the edge of his lip. ‘Yes, sure, thanks,’ but he didn’t move. His gaze dropped to his trainers. He’d taken the laces out before he’d left home and without socks they were beginning to feel scratchy and uncomfortable.
‘Is there anything else you need, then?’ the man asked.
Monty drew a breath, as if trying to summon up his courage. ‘I need to see a bloke called Peter Sbresni.’
He felt himself being looked up and down. After a beat the man said, ‘You after work, mate?’
Monty shuffled his feet from side to side on the wooden plank. ‘No. It’s personal stuff.’
The man hesitated before wiping his hand on his windcheater and putting it out to Monty. ‘I’m Sbresni. What can I do you for?’
Monty said, ‘My name’s Steven Dunn.’
Sbresni switched his gaze from Monty to a young couple heading towards a shade house. If he recognised the name, he showed no sign of it.
Monty moistened his lips and continued. ‘I’ve been inside, see. Just got out.’
Sbresni turned back to Monty, shrugged and said nothing as he waited for more. A gust of wind blew an empty plastic pot off the table and it turned like a tumbleweed down the path.
‘Lorna’s mum and me haven’t been in touch for years,’ Monty said, pushing the emotion through a crack in his voice. ‘The only thing I know about my little girl’s murder is what I read in the papers and heard on the news. I remember hearing how you was the lead copper on the case.’
‘The second Park Killer victim?’ Sbresni said, as if to himself; then, in a louder voice, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Dunn.’ His hand dropped to his side in a convincing show of sympathy. ‘But I really don’t think I can help you. You see I’ve been retired for several years. I might be able to give you some names in Central who could help with your queries, although it’s now a closed case. As you probably know, the killer died in a car accident.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Mr Sbresni, I’m not wanting to ask questions about the investigation, or out to get anyone over it. My daughter’s gone and so’s the prick who killed her. I just want to find some stuff out about my little girl, Lorna, that’s all. See, I never knew her. All I want to do is look up some of her old friends, find out what kind of a person she’d grown up into, what she liked, what she didn’t like. Hell, I don’t even know what her favourite flowers were. If I knew, then I could put them on her grave, couldn’t I?’
Sbresni rubbed his goatee and tried for a gentle tone. ‘It’s been several years now. I’m not sure if I can tell you much that would be of help.’
Monty drew a breath. ‘They said she worked on the streets. Is that true?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Sbresni paused for a moment. ‘I take it you didn’t know?’
‘Not till I read about the murder. I haven’t seen or heard of Lorna since she was five years old.’ Monty managed a disheartened shrug and fixed his gaze on the horizon. ‘I reckon she had good reason to be where she was, they always do. Maybe she needed the money for uni, an operation or something—there’s all sorts of reasons for a girl to take to the streets, aren’t there? I mean, who’s to judge?’
Sbresni shook his head and clucked his tongue. ‘Why don’t you try her mother? I’m sure she’ll know all the details.’
‘She won’t talk to me. Blames me for everything that went wrong.’
‘I see.’ Sbresni went thoughtful for a moment. Then as if deciding that it could do no harm, he said, ‘She and her friends used to walk the pubs and clubs district of Northbridge. My wife and I went out to a restaurant there the other night. There still seems to be a bunch of girls who walk that same patch. I recognised one who was interviewed over the murder. It surprised me to see a familiar face. Girls don’t tend to last too long in the job, if you know what I’m saying.’
‘Name?’
Sbresni’s eyebrows shot up at the abrupt question. Monty reminded himself this was not a police interview and did some hasty backtracking.
‘A name would be really handy if it’s not too much trouble. Then I’ll let you get back to work. Hell, I’ll help if you like. I know something about reticulation.’
A muscle leaping around in Sbresni’s jaw suggested Monty was beginning to outstay his welcome.
‘Charmaine Carol’s her name, but she goes by the name of Champagne Charlie. Now, Mr Dunn, I really should be getting back to work. Why don’t you stop off at our tea and gift shop and pick up some long-stemmed roses? I’m sure your sick friend would really appreciate them.’
Inside, Monty was elated. He had a name, something with which to get his investigative ball rolling.
On the outside he twitched Sbresni a grateful smile and murmured some stumbling words of thanks. When he turned to leave he saw a woman with the figure of a butternut pumpkin coming down the planks towards them. In her hand she clutched a steaming mug. ‘I brought you some tea, Peter,’ she called out in a high singsong voice.
That voice.
Sbresni put his hand out for the tea and gave the woman a smile. Her bright eyes darted from Sbresni to Monty, waiting for an introduction. A nervous quiver ran through Monty’s stomach, along with a feeling that he should know this woman. But like an itch that moves out of reach when you try to scratch it, the memory shifted each time he came close to grasping it.
Unfortunately her memory was excellent. When he saw the light of recognition in her face he turned from her and nodded a curt goodbye to Sbresni. With his head down so she couldn’t catch his eye, he sidestepped through the mud to walk around her. Just as he thought he was getting away with it, she called out, ‘I knew it! Inspector McGuire, what a lovely surprise!’
Monty had no choice but to turn. He feigned a look of puzzlement, hoping she might think she was mistaken.
No such luck.
‘Long time no see. How’s everything at Central these days?’
Monty nodded and tried to smile but his cheeks felt as if they were being held down by weights. ‘Fine.’
She looked him up and down, an air of mischief about her. ‘You don’t remember me do you, Inspector?’
Monty glanced at Sbresni. He was standing with his mouth open, his eyes flitting between Monty and his wife. Monty mentally redrew the woman’s face, making it thinner and more careworn, taking about twenty kilos off her chubby frame.
Shit. It was the commissioner’s former wife, Gloria Summerfield. He remembered the wild rumours he’d heard about Sbresni having an affair with her. It must have been around the time of the Kings Park murders. The cases had come to a convenient close, evidence was manhandled, notes went missing. He’d decided earlier that the cock-ups were too grave to be bungles, and now, standing here before him was the proof he needed: Sbresni had been blackmailed. Well, what do you know?
Sbresni managed to pull himself together. Whatever his reasons, he was keeping quiet about Monty’s deception. Perhaps he didn’t want to make a scene in front of his wife. Monty was grateful for that.
‘You’d be the McGuire that took over the SCS after I left?’ The rapid clenching and unclenching of both his fists contradicted Sbresni’s expression of pleasant surprise.
‘That’s right. Good to meet you at last, Peter, and to see you again, Gloria. Now I really should be off.’
‘I forget to mention,’ Gloria said to her husband before Monty could turn away. ‘Monty’s ex-wife, Michelle, was here last week looking for you. I said you’d gone to the garden exhibition in town. She said she’d call back another time.’
Sbresni didn’t take his eyes off Monty when he said to his wife, ‘My my, what a coincidence.’
Monty matched his look of surprise with one of his own.
Sbresni continued, ‘I was shocked to read about her death in the papers this morning.’
Gloria’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Michelle? Dead? How awful. Monty, I’m so sorry.’ She looked to her husband, an unspoken ‘how’ on her lips.
‘I’ll show you the article later, love, I’m sure Monty doesn’t want to discuss it now.’ He put an unduly heavy hand on Monty’s shoulder. ‘I’ll come with you to the gift shop and show you those roses I was talking about. Gloria, I saw a young couple heading towards the shade house just a moment ago. Why don’t you go and see if they need a hand?’
Gloria gave Monty a sympathetic smile and said something about getting together sometime to talk about the old days, before heading towards a large covered structure. But when Monty turned to leave, Sbresni slammed his hand back on his shoulder, forcing him to turn. One of Monty’s feet missed the wooden plank and landed with a squelch in a muddy puddle.
The tea slopped over the mug in Sbresni’s hand as he jabbed it at Monty’s chest. ‘Just what kind of game do you think you’re playing at, Mister? Coming here with a cock-and-bull tear-jerking story, trying to wheedle names out of me?’
‘I got a lot more than a name, Sbresni.’ Monty jerked his chin in the direction Gloria Sbresni had taken. ‘I’ve suddenly got a plausible answer to some of the questions I’ve been asking myself about your very dodgy Park Killer investigation.’
‘You’re full of shit, McGuire.’
Monty now knew who it was who stayed silent about Sbresni’s affair with the commissioner’s wife in exchange for some favours—the conveniently contaminated body bag, Harper’s missing alibi, the missing details about the prostitute’s interview. But how to prove Baggly was behind all this?
‘Did you get paid cash, too?’ Monty gestured to the valuable property surrounding them. ‘I imagine this would have cost a bomb to set up. Hardly within the realms of an inspector’s retirement package.’
‘Get off my property.’
‘Here’s my card if you decide you need to get a few things off your conscience. It’s old news now. The commissioner’s remarried; you’re off the job. It’ll go no further than me. Your wife need never know how low you sank.’
Sbresni swiped the proffered card from Monty’s hand and ground it into the mud with the heel of his boot.
‘Anything you got from me today was obtained through deception. You’ve got nothing on me that’ll stand up in court.’
Monty prodded the man in the chest. ‘I don’t give a shit about what’s legal and what’s not right now. I just want the truth. The ends justify the means as far as I’m concerned.’
And with that, Monty pivoted on his heel and headed back to his car, his shoes spraying water, the mud squelching between his toes.
19
Often the killer will not harm the person who frightens or intimidates him the most, using substitute victims instead. He even give his biggest tormentor souvenirs from his victims in the guise of gifts. This will increase his sense of power and make him revel in the knowledge that the joke, if you will, is on them.
De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil
When De Vakey returned to the hospital later that afternoon, Stevie was in the middle of trying to persuade the doctor to discharge her. He smiled at the fight she was putting up, taking it upon himself to assure the flustered young registrar that he would keep a personal eye on the patient.
Monty had been incommunicado since his early morning visit and Stevie was relieved he wasn’t here now. Having Monty and De Vakey together in her hospital room had been nothing less than awkward. It had been clear from the look on Monty’s face when he saw De Vakey’s bouquet that he knew something had happened between them. She silently reaffirmed her resolution to resist any further advances from De Vakey until the case was over.
He pulled up at the curb outside her house and turned the engine off. The sky had turned grey and gloomy. The wind buffeted the car in the ensuing silence and leaked through the window seals, tickling her cheek with fingers of cold. She knew the only way she could continue working with this man in any kind of professional capacity was to be up front and honest. ‘James, about last night.’
Her phone rang. Shit. Even Barry’s phone-tampering skills can’t have got this good.
‘Stevie? It’s Malcolm,’ a voice chirped.
Stevie mouthed a stream of obscenities. What the hell was this guy’s problem? She thought he’d got the message weeks ago.
‘Heard you had a bit of bother. How’s the head?’ Malcolm said.
‘Much better, Mal. But look, I can’t talk, I’m working.’
‘Back on the job already? I figured you’d still be in hospital.’
‘No, I’m out, but I can’t talk now.’
‘Have you given my dinner invitation any more thought? I want to try this Italian joint in Collins Street—’
‘I’ll ring you back.’ She shut the phone and leaned her head back on the headrest, closing her eyes for a moment.
She opened them when she felt De Vakey’s hand on her cheek.
‘One of your admirers?’ he asked.
She pushed his hand away, endeavouring to keep him in the same faraway place she’d stored the memory of his kisses. ‘Listen, about last night,’ she said. ‘That was a one-off. The champagne made me reckless. I don’t usually let myself go with strange men quite so easily, especially with strange men I have to work with. Can we just forget it happened? I have to maintain my focus. It’s not fair to the victims or their families if I don’t give these cases one hundred percent.’
‘A few sips of champagne? No wonder you don’t drink it much,’ he teased.
She opened her mouth, trying to think up another excuse and failed.
His smile softened. ‘I understand; I feel the same. Although I have no wish to forget last night, I can put it to the back of my mind until the case is over, or my involvement in it anyway. Perhaps then you will consider having dinner with me and we can start again. You may not find me so strange then.’
He raised an eyebrow. God, he was sexy when he did that.
She nodded, feeling a load lift from her mind.
For reasons she knew she shouldn’t have, she didn’t want the profiler to see the inside of her shabby house and asked him to wait in the car. The wind tore at her clothing as she battled up the garden path. It whipped at the trees and made the window frames of her old house rattle, the loose gutter flap.
Angus had given Stevie and De Vakey the go-ahead for a thorough background check on Martin Sparrow. She would touch base with her mother and Izzy, warn them she wouldn’t be around much for the next few days, throw on some clean clothes, then head to Central with De Vakey.
She found her mother at the kitchen table with her rune stones spread out in front of her.
Dot looked up. The skin around her eyes was tight and drawn, the brackets on each side of her mouth having given up their supportive task, letting her mouth softly droop. For the first time Stevie could remember, her mother looked every one of her sixty-five years.
‘How’s the head? I wasn’t expecting you home so soon. I thought they wanted to keep you in for another night.’ Dot’s tone was as colourless as the grey stones she shuffled and clicked across the table’s surface.
Stevie’s hand went to her head in a reflex action, barely feeling the stitches under her ponytail. ‘My head’s fine.’ A beat. ‘Mum, what are you doing?’ She hadn’t seen her mother with the runes since her father was diagnosed with MS.
‘Three times; I drew Hagalaz three times,’ Dot said.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘The rune of elemental power, disruption and hail; it signifies events beyond our control.’
‘Has something happened to Izzy?’ Stevie asked in sudden panic.
‘No, she’s in her room.’
Needing to see for herself, she found Izzy curled up on top of her bed, sound asleep, a toy pony Stevie hadn’t seen before clutched to her chest. She gently pulled a corkscrew of blond hair from her daughter’s mouth and noticed with dismay the tarnish of tearstains on her cheeks.
When she returned to the kitchen and asked about the tears, Dot said, ‘We got home from kindy after the busy bee to find an unwelcome visitor on the front doorstep.’
Stevie knew the identity of the visitor before her mother came out with it and silently berated herself for not warning Dot. She was good at this, burying herself in her work in the hope that her personal problems would go away. Her hand crept to her neck where she felt her pulse flutter. She found herself bouncing from one foot to the other.
‘Stevie, it was Tye,’ Dot said, her voice sharp with accusation. ‘You must have known he was back in town. You should have warned me. I nearly had a coronary when I saw him there.’ The stones were swept from the table with one swift movement and fell into the pouch with a sharp crack.
Stevie turned to the task of tea making. The ticking of the kitchen clock sounded extra loud. She’d assembled it in high-school woodwork classes and for some inexplicable reason the second hand had always lagged behind the minute hand, making each tick sound like a heartbeat. She wrestled with the pros and cons of telling her mother. Best to get it over with she decided at last.
‘Tye’s seeking custody of Izzy.’
‘What? That’s absurd!’
‘He’s got legal advice. His lawyer rang me up the other day. He says Tye has a right to see her.’
‘Crikey Moses,’ Dot whispered. The angry line of her mouth slipped into worry. ‘I suppose I’d have to agree if he’d ever shown the slightest bit of interest in her. How many times has he seen her since she was born?’
‘Half a dozen, maybe, certainly not enough to have earned the right to be called Dad. I’ve never asked for a cent in child support and she carries my name. This is his way of getting back at me for ruining his career.’
‘Why now?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose he’s had time to brood.’
Dot clasped her hands into a tight knot. ‘What are you going to do?’
Stevie strengthened her voice. ‘I’m going to fight him, of course. I’ve enlisted the help of a Family Court lawyer who owes me big time.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this?’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with the Poser case and I needed some time to think. I wanted to work out how I felt about it before I shared the news with you. I guess I wanted to wait until I could tell you that everything would be all right.’ She reached into the cupboard for the good cups and saucers.
Dot bit at her bottom lip. ‘Does Monty know about this custody business?’ The question was voiced so softly Stevie had to stop clattering the crockery to hear it.
‘No.’
Dot gave her a strange look, opened her mouth to speak then seemed to think better of it. When Stevie sat down she had to consciously stop herself from squirming on her chair. She was twelve again. Her mother was going to tell her father about the stash of smokes she’d found in the cistern of the outside dunny.
‘What are you going to do?’ Dot asked again.
‘I’m not letting Tye have her alone, that’s for sure.’
‘What if the judge orders it?’
Stevie didn’t answer. What could she do? She turned the teapot three times on the table then lifted the lid. Watching the tea leaves swirl, she fought against the feelings of helplessness Tye always managed to stir up in her. ‘He doesn’t want his daughter. He’s only interested in getting at me.’
Dot leaned across the table and patted her hand, regarding her through worried eyes Stevie could not meet. ‘No one’s going to take Izzy away from us.’
Stevie waved Dot’s concern away with a toss of her hand. ‘I’m more prepared now. I can handle him.’
‘Of course you can.’ Dot paused. ‘He brought Izzy an armful of presents, charmed her, ignored me and left. She became quite hysterical.’
For the first time Stevie noticed the pile of empty boxes and shopping bags in the corner of the kitchen; the rubble of a ruined Lego castle, an unopened Monopoly game. The discarded Barbie doll, stiff and stripped, made her flinch.
‘She’s too young for these toys,’ she said.
‘She cried herself to sleep, wanting him to stay. Yes, she’s too young for these toys and she’s too young to cope with the yoyo of emotions he puts her through. For months he doesn’t ring her, forgets her birthday then suddenly turns up wanting to be her dad again.’
‘I thought he’d forgotten all about her, imagined he’d settled down into a new life, I hadn’t heard from him for so long.’ Stevie massaged her temples, her head pounding. ‘My lawyer thinks I should have no problems getting sole custody. Tye hasn’t got a chance and he knows it, but he’s going to make it an uphill battle for me all the same.’
The line between her mother’s eyebrows deepened. ‘And expensive.’
Stevie nodded. The wind rattled the windowpanes and it crossed her mind that the old leadlight wouldn’t take much more. She pressed her fists into her eyes. ‘I really don’t know what to do,’ she admitted.
Dot took a breath. ‘It wouldn’t be the case if...’ She hesitated, then started again. ‘About Monty. Are you sure...’
‘Am I sure what?’ Stevie snapped.
Dot shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
Stevie stared at her and took a sip of tea. After a moment she decided she didn’t want to know what was on her mother’s mind.
The silence lasted longer than was comfortable. Stevie lifted her gaze to the ceiling and saw a patch of damp she hadn’t noticed before.
‘As soon as the weather improves I’ll get a ladder and check out the roof. It looks like we’re about to spring a leak.’
‘Why you won’t let me pay for someone to do it, I don’t...’
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Shit, she’d forgotten De Vakey. She hadn’t wanted him inside but after Dot’s revelations about Tye, she welcomed the sight of him. As in Monty’s flat, she found his unflappable presence calming. She tapped on the window and beckoned him in.
‘I’m going to check on Izzy,’ Dot said the moment De Vakey stepped into the kitchen. When they’d met in the hospital, she had kept her opinions to herself for a change. Her silence on the subject was more disquieting to Stevie than any expression of outright hostility.
‘Before you go, Mum, I’m going to be flat out for the next few days. Do you mind moving in for a while?’ It should have been no trouble. Her mother stayed over so often they had converted the spare bedroom into a home away from home for her.
For once, Dot hesitated. Her eyes flitted over to De Vakey and back to Stevie. ‘I was thinking about joining the new bingo group at the church hall. They have their first session tomorrow night.’
Stevie’s heart sank. As far as she knew, Dot had never shown any interest in bingo. Was this some ploy to keep her away from De Vakey?
‘I suppose I can see if Justin Baggly’s free tomorrow night,’ Stevie said.
At the mention of Justin’s name, De Vakey, who’d been trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, straightened. He frowned when Dot said, ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you. You might change your mind when you see this.’
Dot disappeared into the lounge room just long enough for Stevie and De Vakey to exchange puzzled looks, and returned with an unlabelled video cassette.
‘What’s this?’ Stevie asked
‘I found it in the VCR. I think Justin must have left it the last time he babysat. I turned it on to see what it was.’ Dot shuddered. ‘It’s disgusting.’
Stevie knew that her mother’s definition of disgusting and her own were a generation apart, but still, she was not happy with the idea of Justin Baggly watching porn movies, no matter how soft, when he babysat her daughter.
‘Imagine if Izzy had switched this on,’ Dot said.
‘It’s just as well she knows she’s not to touch the VCR.’
De Vakey’s slender hand reached for the cassette, his expression thoughtful. ‘I had a brief chat with Justin Baggly this morning. He wants me to sign some more books for him, but I have a feeling there’s more to it than that. I think something’s troubling him. I may be able to broach the topic of this video then—do you mind if I take it?’
Dot’s eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth. Stevie preempted whatever scathing remark her mother was going to come out with before she could begin it. ‘This is James’s area of expertise, Mum. He’ll let us know if the video is cause for concern. In the meantime, I’d better try to find someone for tomorrow night. I’ll ring the girl over the road.’
Stevie moved to the phone and picked up her telephone book.
Dot let out a martyr’s sigh. ‘Julie’s too young to cope with Tye if he comes back. I suppose I’ll just have to miss bingo this week.’
Stevie kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
