My luck was in
because the Club Secretary, on his way from the bar to, presumably, his office,
recognised me.
Kenneth Sibley Johnson approached me with a frown. "Aren't you the woman who masqueraded as
a police officer?"
"No. I came here with DCI
Kettle."
"Which gave everyone the impression that you were a police
officer."
"I'm not responsible for people's thoughts, Mr. Johnson. Impersonating a police officer is a criminal
offence," I informed him.
"No matter." He
flapped his hand as if brushing away a long cobweb. "You'd better come to my office. You can't sit here. You're not a member."
I resisted the bait and followed him into his office and went to
look out of the window.
"What are you doing here, Mrs - er - . Sorry, I've forgotten
your name."
Whether he had or not was a moot point. I suspected he probably did remember and was
trying a put-down. That don't work with
me. I've been insulted by better than
'im.
"Miss
Marjoribanks. I'm neither married nor
have I been neutered." I do hate being called Ms. Like calling the chairman or woman a
chair. A chair is a chair is a
chair. An inanimate object. Wait a minute. Hey, some chair people could be called that!
"Right, Miss
Marjoribanks. What are you doing
here?"
"Waiting for someone who is playing golf."
"And who might that be?"
Snooty bugger.
"That Mr. Johnson is my business."
"No, Miss Marjoribanks it is my business. Club members
are entitled to privacy and to be protected from anyone who might have the
intention of pestering them."
"I assume from that that you mean the press. Which I'm not, as
I think you know. The other inference is
that I'm a whore and you think I'm here to pick up a man." Bingo!
Was his face red. "The only
thing I will tell you is that I am here to meet a woman and, no, I'm not a
lesbian." His face flushed
again. "You could, of course, call
DCI Kettle and tell him I'm here."
Now that really would be embarrassing for him. You 'n' I know that David isn't slow on the
uptake.
While he had been trying to insult me (and I've been insulted by the
best) I'd been keeping an eye out for Stella.
Sure enough she hove into view with three other ladies. Must have been a good game as they were
chatting and laughing.
"Right, I'm off," and I left the office. I had no intention of letting him know which
of the four was my friend so I stood outside the front door until Stella
spotted me. She was about to leave the
group but I waved her back and put a finger to my lips. She got the message and I went round to the
car park to wait. Then my mobile
rang. "What's up with the secrecy,
Cleo?"
"Club Secretary. Tell
you later. I was going to chat with you
here but p'raps we'd better meet somewhere else."
She named a nearby pub so I went there and waited for her.
Dirty Deeds in Downdene (as are all of my books) is available for Amazon Kindle
W.H. Smith's Kobo, Barnes & Noble Nook, Sony, Apple I-Pad
There are other formats and computer version on www.smashwords.com
