She has lifted it of course—there were no rules against that—and it was heavy. But then paint is heavy, isn’t it? What could it be? A new color launch? “Princess Purple”? Perhaps body paint? Or tile paint? That would actually be useful.
The possibilities are endless. Bonnie shuts her eyes. She can’t wait to open the bag and find out.
76
Even with an illegal number of team members they finished second in the quiz. By one point.
Jeff and Henk pretty much canceled each other out, and the only question Rosie got right all evening was about Diane Keaton. She told Steve that they’d “shared an orthodontist,” and then winked at him.
Steve is still hurting, but he supposes there are more important matters at hand this evening, and, when he turned his phone back on, Steve received the message he’d been waiting for. Now he has two pieces of information for everyone. It’s so nice to be home.
The whole gang has decamped to Steve’s living room. Felicity and Tony have also joined the crew. Steve notes they have not let go of each other’s hand at any point. Good for Tony—there really is someone for everyone. He is still keeping a close eye on Felicity.
Losing by one point, though. So close.
Jyoti and John had wanted to join this little chat, but were finally dissuaded when Amy told them that an awful lot of people were being murdered, and Rosie agreed to give John an autograph.
Jeff Nolan is in Steve’s favorite armchair, and an audience now sits around him. Trouble settles on Jeff’s lap. Curls himself around Jeff’s laptop.
“Seems I have a fan,” says Jeff, very happy with himself.
“That’s because of the laptop,” says Steve, annoyed at Trouble’s lack of loyalty. “He can’t resist them.”
“So this is from two days ago,” says Jeff. “Encrypted, as always.”
He reads from the screen.
Dear Mr. Nolan,
They say you are dead, but people say an awful lot of things, don’t they? I’m afraid I don’t believe them. They say you cannot pull the wool over the eyes of someone who wishes to pull the wool over your own eyes!
Your lesson has been learned, I hope? You wanted to interfere in my business, so I had to interfere in yours. But with those three strikes, I am out, and you will hear nothing more from me so long as I hear nothing more from you.
I wish you no malice, but I must protect my own interests, in the same way I understand you must protect yours. So I shall look elsewhere for my helpers, and leave Maximum Impact in peace.
Should you decide to interfere in my business again, I shall return to interfere in yours. But, for now, this is farewell.
Again, I was sorry to hear about the attempt on your life. You must have made an enemy somewhere!
I suspect that if you are more careful in future you will be quite safe.
I regret that the same cannot be said of Amy Wheeler. I hear there is a mountain of evidence piling up against her? Poor Amy.
Please pass on my fondest wishes to Joe Blow.
With warmest regards,
François
Jeff closes his laptop. “You see why I think this is Henk? Overwritten. Obvious.”
“Excuse me,” says Henk, on a kitchen chair, “if I don’t take a lecture on what is obvious from a man who couldn’t name England’s leading goalscorer in the Sport round.”
“You’re going to have to let that go,” says Steve. Steve can’t help but blame himself too. He’d known it was Kane, not Rooney. With that extra point they’d have been in a tiebreak.
“Henk, it could only be one of us,” says Jeff. “Our client list is confidential. No one else could have known that Bella Sanchez, Mark Gooch, and Andrew Fairbanks were all clients of Maximum Impact.”
“I agree,” says Henk. “Which is how I know it is you.”
“I’ll go and make some tea,” says Felicity, getting off the sofa. “Sorry, Steve, I don’t mean to take over your house!”
“I don’t think there is any tea,” says Steve.
“Well, there wasn’t, but I bought some,” says Felicity, and disappears into the kitchen.
Henk shoos Trouble away, which only makes Trouble more determined to be stroked by him.
“For example,” says Henk, “I couldn’t have been involved in booking your Navy SEAL, Kevin, in South Carolina, unlike Jeff.”
“I liked him,” says Rosie. “Did he ever get out?”
“I had someone let him out yesterday,” says Jeff. “I think five days in your panic room had been quite enough.”
“So that’s who’s been using my Netflix account,” says Rosie. “I wondered who was watching all the Guy Ritchie films and that Formula 1 documentary.”
“He died of a bullet to the head within eight hours of our letting him out,” says Jeff. “So that’s what we’re dealing with. And he had no idea who’d hired him to kill Amy.”
“Oh, I have the answer to that,” says Steve, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket. “A man named Rob Kenna, based in Dubai, which is where it seems all roads lead.”
