Expose! (23 page)

I practically hurled my moped into the carport and hurried indoors.

Mrs. Evans was covering a small box with brown paper. “You’re late. We were just getting worried,” she said. “This is for Sadie and—”

“Where’s Annabel?”

“She wanted to wait in your room.”

Even though my laptop was password protected and I always made sure I hid anything distinctly incriminating,

I still felt consumed with an irrational fear. Would Annabel find the photographs of my parents and their postcards in a shoebox under the floorboards?

There was only one way to find out.

Heart in mouth, I raced upstairs.

24

Annabel was lying on my bed with her eyes shut. She was wearing low-rider jeans, a black tube top, and high-spiked strappy sandals. Gold chains and heavy bangles completed her ensemble.

She threw her arms over her head, yawned, and gave a seductive wriggle. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, got held up.” I looked anxiously around the bedroom for any signs of disturbance.

Dad used to play “Trenchers” with me after dinner. He’d place a dozen small objects—thimble, matchbox, trinket, and etcetera—on a wooden tray for me to study. Then, whisking it away for a few moments, he’d return it and demand to know what was different. Sometimes, items were missing. Sometimes, he just rearranged the order.

Tonight, my room was different. One wardrobe door was ajar; my nightstand drawer wasn’t closed properly. My laptop lay open, too.

Annabel had been snooping.

“I’m afraid I was a bad girl,” she said, getting to her feet and went straight to my wardrobe. “I had a look through and honestly, you’ve got no clothes at all.”

“I’m not great at shopping.” I said heaving a sigh of relief.

“We’ll go soon, I promise. But right now”—she checked her watch. “We need to leave in ten minutes. No time to shower.”

“I’ll just change.”

Annabel pulled out a cornflower blue shirt from my wardrobe. “Put this on. It brings out the color of your eyes and while you are doing that, what’s the password to your computer? I need to check my e-mails.”

“I don’t have the Internet here.” This was true. It meant that if I needed to work in the evening, I had to go back to the office.

“Why do you keep it password protected anyway?” she said with a laugh.

“Don’t you?”

“Of course not.” She cocked her head. “You’re such a funny thing. I often wonder what’s going on in that little head of yours.”

“Well, while you are wondering away, I’ll change.” I refused to let her wind me up.

“Oh, where’s my black dress?”

“At the dry cleaners,” I lied, glad that Annabel’s snooping can’t have spread to delving under the duvet at the bottom of my bed.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Evans followed us out to the BMW clutching a heavily taped, brown-paper parcel. “Sadie’s expecting you,” she beamed. “You have to go to the stage door and ask for Sadie Sparkles. You are such kind girls, thank you.”

“We’re happy to do it,” Annabel said, taking the credit. “Any other message for her?”

Mrs. Evans’s eyes watered a tad. “Just tell her I love her.”

As the BMW left Factory Terrace behind, Annabel scoffed. “Sadie
Sparkles
! God! What a pain. How did you manage to get talked into that? We’ll have to park twice now and it’s expensive.”

“It makes Mrs. Evans happy and will only take a few minutes.”

“You’re right,” Annabel said. “Don’t you wish you had a mum that gave you care parcels?”

“What you haven’t had, you’ll never miss,” I said lightly, though inside I felt wretched pretending my parents were dead.

“Gosh. I wish I could be like you,” said Annabel. “I think about my mum all the time. I was eight when she left. How old were you when your parents had that car crash. Spain, wasn’t it?”

“No. It was in Africa.” I refused to tell the parents-eaten-by-lions story again. “Actually, I’d rather not talk about it. It makes me sad.”

“I thought you said what you haven’t had you’ll never miss?”

“That’s because I don’t think about it to miss it,” I said quickly.

“You
have
to think about it—especially on your birthday and at Christmas. You’ve got no brothers or sisters. No one to buy you presents apart from your godparents in Spain.” She gave a peculiar laugh. “Marie and Derek?”

“I told you, they don’t live in Spain,” I said.

“Am I upsetting you?” Annabel reached out and patted my knee. “We’re friends. We should be able to tell each other everything.”

“I will,” I lied. “But not today. To be honest, I’m far more worried about
you
. You’ve seemed so unhappy recently. Is everything all right with Dr. Frost?”

“Oh, what do you know about relationships?” said Annabel.

“Probably not as much as you, but I’m a good listener.”
Bravo Vicky! Get her to talk about herself.
“He’ll regret it if he lets you go.”

“I know!” Annabel cried. “That’s just it! He doesn’t realize what a catch I am. All he does is work, and one day he’ll come home and I won’t be there, and then he’ll be sorry.”

“Perhaps you need to spice up your relationship a little bit?” I suggested. Mum always maintained it was important for a woman to be unpredictable. That way, a man never got bored—though in Mum’s case, Dad couldn’t handle her volatile moods and sought solace in the arms of Pamela Dingles.

“I do! I try to make him as jealous as possible,” said Annabel. “But he doesn’t seem to notice.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you anymore so he’s pulling back?” Into another woman’s arms and I couldn’t say I’d blame him! Annabel must be a handful.

“I’m very trustworthy.” Annabel sounded hurt. “I’ve been one hundred percent faithful to Jack.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “What about Steve Burrows? I know you spent the night with him a few weeks ago.”

“It was business and besides, I never go all the way, so it doesn’t count. Wait. . . . What the hell?” She leaned forward, peering closely into the rearview mirror. “I
knew
it! We’re being followed.”

I swiveled around to look out the rear window and, to my dismay, recognized the Mark III Capri practically riding our bumper.
Blast!
It was Topaz and she was in disguise! I know it sounded childish but I felt really guilty. Hadn’t I sworn that Annabel was no longer my friend? Topaz had caught me red-handed.

“Omigod! I think it’s a farmer!” said Annabel.

Topaz was wearing a flat, tweed farmer’s cap, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a false mustache. “Looks like it,” I said. “But why do you think she—he’s following us?”

“There is only one way to find out!” Annabel slammed her foot down on the accelerator. The BMW surged forward. We tore along the dual carriageway, reaching seventy miles an hour in seconds.

“Omigod!” said Annabel as her eyes flicked back and forth from the road to the rearview mirror. “He’s really keeping up.”

I held on to the sides of my seat. “Don’t get caught for dangerous driving,” I said as we cut between two slow-moving trucks and swerved onto an exit ramp. Annabel hit the brakes. “I think we’ve lost him. No!
Blast!
”

I turned around again. Topaz waved and flashed her headlamps. We sped off once more along an old highway that ran parallel to the dual carriageway. “Omigod,” cried Annabel for the third time. “We’re really being chased!”

Suddenly it occurred to me that Topaz would not want her cover blown. I began to relax.

“I hope you know where you’re going.”

“It’s the back road to Plymouth. Watch this.” She started slamming on the brakes, then flooring the accelerator.

I was beginning to feel carsick. “If he’d wanted to run us off the road, he would have done so by now.”

“Good point, but this is fun.”

“
Please
, let’s just ignore him,” I begged, after nearly being thrown through the windshield for the umpteenth time. “We’ll get caught for speeding. Oh! There’s a police car!” There wasn’t, but it had the desired effect. Annabel instantly slowed down.

We passed the WELCOME TO PLYMOUTH sign and merged into the Saturday-evening traffic. The Capri sat firmly on our tail, until we turned into Plymouth Hoe itself—a natural cul-de-sac since it ended at the edge of a cliff overlooking the English Channel.

“Looks like we’ve lost him,” said Annabel. “What a weirdo.”

I had to agree with her there. “The Banana Club is at the end of the Hoe.”

Annabel sniggered. “Don’t you mean the
Hoe
is at the end of the Banana Club?”

“Sadie is an exotic dancer.” Annabel could be so unkind. “And anyway, the word
hoe
derives its name from Anglo-Saxon times and actually means a sloping ridge shaped like a foot.”

“Okay, Ms. Prim,” Annabel said. “It was just a joke.”

The Banana Club was easy to find. The former lockup, built literally into the cliff face, was painted in browns and greens to simulate jungle foliage. Devon is one of the few counties in England with a climate mild enough to grow palm trees. A pair of genuine Torbay palms flanked the main entrance—although the bananas that nestled in the fronds were clearly plastic.

Despite the relatively early hour, cars lined the streets. Parking was going to be a problem. People were strolling along the bluff enjoying a sunny May evening. In the distance I saw several gunmetal gray ships anchored in the port and knew one would be HMS
Dauntless
.

My thoughts turned to Robin. How strange that only twenty-four hours earlier I had been fantasizing about spending the rest of my life with him, but now I prayed we wouldn’t run into him. He was bound to ask if I’d picked up Eunice’s statement and probably order me back to Dairy Cottage “on the double” to do so.

Annabel zipped into a parking space with a large blue handicapped sign.

“We can’t park here,” I said. “It’s for disabled motorists. The fine is huge.”

“Stop worrying.” Annabel opened the dashboard, pulled out a disabled placard, and stuck it on her rearview mirror. “When I broke my ankle, Jack gave me one of these and I kept it.” She laughed. “Why? Surely
you
, of all people, aren’t going to report me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

Annabel didn’t answer, merely smirked. Taking out a compact mirror, she reapplied her lipstick, then handed both to me. “Here. Use mine.”

“I’m fine without it.”

“Nonsense. We’re going out clubbing. Here, I’ll do it.” Annabel cupped my chin in her hands and deftly applied the lipstick. “Very pretty. Come on. Let’s go.”

Outside, the air was brisk. We walked the few yards to the Banana Club. A smoked glass booth was located to the right of the main entrance. Alongside a placard—LADIES, THIS COULD BE YOU—were posters of scantily clad girls in animal skins clinging to vines and poles in extremely ambitious positions.

“Some of these look impossible,” Annabel said, peering closely at a young girl executing a vertical inversion.

“Now,
that
would spice up your sex life,” I said. “You should try it.”

Annabel turned to me, “Omigod. You’re right! I should!”

“Can I help you?” Came a disembodied female voice from behind the smoked-glass window.

I leaned down to speak into the small microphone at the base of the screen. “We’re here to see Sadie Sparkles.”

“Stage door is down the alley on your right.”

Since the Banana Club was the last building on the Hoe, the stage door was easy to find. Tucked down a side alley that reeked of sea salt and urine, a neon light marked STAGE ENTRANCE flashed above a yellow door that was several steps below street level.

“It’s disgusting down here,” said Annabel as she kicked what looked like an empty packet of condoms out of our path. “There’s more than dancing going on if you ask me.”

I had to admit the thought had crossed my mind, too. I hammered on the stage door. It opened instantly, revealing a heavy-set man with oily, slicked-back hair dressed in a tattered navy blue sweater and jeans. He held a clipboard under his arm and was eating a hamburger.

“We’ve got a package for Sadie Evans . . . Sparkles, I mean,” I said holding up the box. “She’s expecting us.”

He consulted his clipboard. “Vicky Hill and Annabel Lake?”

We nodded. He stepped aside and waved us in.

“I’m Bert,” he said through a mouthful of burger. “Follow me.”

“God!” Annabel whispered as we entered a narrow corridor lit with red-tinted lightbulbs. “It feels like a brothel.”

“I didn’t know you’d been in one.”

“I haven’t.” We both began to giggle. It felt as if we were doing something illegal.

A door marked MANAGER opened and a man in his early sixties stood before us. He had a pencil mustache and wore his gray hair in a neat ponytail. “Are you girls auditioning?”

“No. Visiting Sadie Sparkles,” I said, brandishing Sadie’s parcel once again.