The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9 Part 42

"So it seems."

"What else is in the file?"

"You expect a lot for a coffee," Dorothy Simbals said.

"Is there anything else I can do to encourage you to feel helpful?" Salvatore flashed the big smile.

"You can understand that I'm only here because your father helped my mother when she was being badly treated by the printing company she worked for. It was years ago and your dad sorted it all out. She still mentions his name sometimes."

"He's one of the good guys."

She returned to her papers. "Do you have Jonathan Aloysius's home address?"

"Yes. But I'd be grateful for anything else you have in there."

"References, health reports, evaluations. Nothing unusual, apart from the unanimity of people's appreciation of him. Usually somebody finds something to complain about. Otherwise ... He's got a parking permit for his ... oh, it's a BMW."

"Nice ..."

"Not new. The registration number makes it ... five years old."

"Nevertheless ..." Salvatore raised his eyebrows.

"Posh for a nurse?"

"Maybe his grandmother left him some money."

"Sorry. Our records don't include copies of the wills from near relatives."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing unusual. Except ..."

"What?" "Well, he's unlucky to be as young as he is and be a widower."

"He was married?"

"You didn't know about that?"

"No. Do you have any information about who his wife was, when they were married, what she died of?"

She shook her head.

OK. "And do you have a personal impression of Jonathan Aloysius?"

"Never met him. But you could make up a story and go to Maternity and have a look for yourself."

"Or you could take me there on the pretext of showing me around. After your s.h.i.+ft, say?" Salvatore said.

"After my s.h.i.+ft I'll be heading home with my husband," Dorothy said with a smile. "But it's been very nice to meet you." She stood up.

Salvatore stood too. "You have my number."

"Oh, I think I do."

Salvatore watched her until she was out of sight. He liked her, for all the good it did him. If it wasn't baggage in the form of children then it was the baggage in the form of husbands. Ah well.

"Rose can feed herself," the Old Man said.

"But if she's in the office, she won't eat good," Mama said. "She'll just eat easy."

"So let her eat easy."

"When I can make her wholesome?"

"Stop fussing."

"You don't mind my fuss when I feed you just because the clock says you're hungry and not your stomach."

"To feed me you have five steps into our very own kitchen. Or six. Or seven. Maybe you don't stride out like you used to."

"Why don't you make lunch for us? Save me all those steps."

"I could do that." What could he make if he had to? An egg? Boiled? Two eggs, in water? How hard could it be? "Huh!"

"Or would you prefer me to make it?"

There was no escaping this. "You."

"Well, I'll make lunch for us, the two."

"Good."

"It will be served downstairs. In their kitchen, or in the office if Rosetta insists. It will be ready in twenty-five minutes."

Salvatore decided against visiting the RUH's maternity department. As things stood, Jonathan Aloysius Appleby didn't know him. If something came up that required surveillance, there was no point making it easy for Jack to think, I've seen that guy somewhere.

Better to follow up the widower thing. But before he went home he took a detour, to the staff parking lot.

Jack's BMW was red. A convertible. Nice car ...

Rosetta's feet were on the desk. A cup of tea with feet up was her reward for bringing the agency's invoices up to date. One reward, but she planned another. She had decided to join an online dating agency.

It was time to be proactive. If she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in her parents' house, she was going to do something about it.

Lots of couples met online these days. Not always for ever but she was coming around to thinking of "for ever" as an outdated ideal in the modern world.

It was fine for old people, like her parents. And for old-fas.h.i.+oned couples, like Angelo and Gina. But it needn't be the template for a modern relations.h.i.+p. And a modern relations.h.i.+p would do her nicely now, ta very much. And where better than the internet to find one?

Or even two.

With that saucy thought Rosetta smiled to herself.

And then the telephone rang.

She gave some care to her tone of voice. "Lunghi Detective Agency. Rosetta Lunghi speaking."

"You sound about as businesslike as a ma.s.sage parlour, Sis. No offence." It was Salvatore.

"Offence taken," Rosetta said. "Did you ring for anything more than to give me a hard time?"

"Is it easy to get marital records online? It turns out that my client's fiance was married before, but his wife died. Before I speak to Polly I'd like to find out something about the dead wife."

"What's the wife's name?"

"Beyond Mrs Appleby I don't know."

"Birth date? Date of the marriage? Date of the death? Location of any of the above?"

"The only thing I do have is the full name of the husband. Jonathan Aloysius Appleby."

"Aloysius ... A slim thread. You care to spell that?"

He did. "Once I've driven past Jonathan Aloysius' house, I'll come back home. Maybe fifteen minutes?" He hung up.

Oh well, Rosetta thought. The dating website would wait. The important thing was her decision to do it.

Mama carried a tray to the office. She was surprised to find Salvatore there as well as Rose. "Why are you here?"

"h.e.l.lo to you too, Mama."

"You know I don't mean it like that," Mama said. "But you were out, working your case."

"And now I'm in, working my case."

Mama put the tray down on the desk.

Rosetta said, "I can't eat all that, Mama."

"It's not so much."

"It's enough for six people."

"Your brother should eat too, if he's case-working."

"None for me, thanks," Salvatore said.

Rosetta said, "Sally's learned something about his client's fiance. We were just talking about the cost of searching for more information. There's no easy way to get it online for free."

"Ah, my little girl and her computer." Mama knew how proud Rose was to be the family's IT expert. Even more than David. "Well, computers have to eat too."

"I'm not really hungry," Rosetta said.

"Your father gets hungry with the clock," Mama said. "But this will wait for your stomach. Except the hot soup that you should have now. And I'll go get something else for Salvatore since what I already made isn't good enough for him."

"Nothing for me," Salvatore said.

"Nothing?" Mama looked at her first-born. "You are not so fat you need to diet. A man should have substance. With substance you can find a nice girl to make children."

"Mama ..." Salvatore began.

"I know, I know. Shut up. Make food that n.o.body eats. I know my place."

"I'm going out to lunch."

This news transformed Salvatore's mother. "A date you have? Who with? A young lady? She's single?"

"A fat, ugly, married man. I'm getting too old to be choosy."

All three heard noises from the kitchen. "Your father, he too mocks me." Mama left the office.

Salvatore turned to his sister. "Am I getting fat?"

It wasn't a long walk from Walcot Street to the Circus. The eighteenth-century circular street was rimmed by tall, elegant buildings but these days the Georgian homes had been converted into flats and offices, including Baum and Carteret's.

Polly Mainwaring was already putting on her jacket as Salvatore entered. "You're on time. Thank you. I don't have long."

"I do my best."

"And you have something to report?"

"As well as questions to ask."

"Good. I can't tell you how upsetting all this uncertainty is."

You can tell me, Salvatore thought, but he just followed as Polly led the way to the nearby a.s.sembly Rooms, site of countless social gatherings in Bath's Georgian heyday and countless dance scenes in films about Georgian Bath's heyday. The building had a large cafe and tearoom.

Polly picked a table well away from other customers. She sat and put her bag on the floor. "Do you know what you want?"