Page 74 of The Killer’s Mark

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Poe said. ‘What happened, Tilly?’

‘Well, even though I was bursting, he stopped me. I tried to walk past him, but he started to cry.’

‘He looks like a crier,’ Poe said. ‘What was bothering him this time?’

‘He was very scared, Poe.’

‘You’re very scary, Tilly. Especially when you need a pi … wee.’

‘He wasn’t scared of me, silly. He was scared of something in the loft.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He thinks we have a ghost.’

Poe sighed. ‘Of course he does.’

Chapter 61

Nigel Flowers’s long, thin beard made him look like a goat. Every time Poe was forced into a social interaction with him, the desire to stick a carrot in his mouth was overwhelming. Poe thought he was a harmless idiot. That he’d soon pack up and leave. Cumbria was a practical county; it wasn’t big on spiritualism. In the six months they’d been in Cowie House, Poe had never seen Flowers with a client. He thought he’d be better off in London or Brighton. One of those cities that thought having a ‘thriving arts scene’ was something to brag about.

When they’d moved into Cowie House, Poe had advised Bradshaw to ignore Flowers. Had immediately recognised that they’d rub each other up the wrong way. He’d meant that she shouldn’t allow him to get under her skin. That people were allowed to believe in whatever whack-a-doodle things they wanted to. Instead, she’d taken it literally. Each time Flowers tried to engage her in conversation, she blanked him like he wasn’t there. Walked straight past him.

Flowers hadn’t liked that. Hadn’t liked that one bit. It was as if he thought that as well as having a right to speak – which he did – he also had the right to be heard. That someone would dare breeze past him mid-sentence offended him more than Arthur Conan Doyle had offended Harry Houdini.

He’d brought it up with Poe once.

‘I want to complain to Miss Bradshaw’s superior,’ he’d said.

Poe had been tucking into a Cranstons pork and apple pie. Brown sauce on the side. He looked around. Nope, he was the only one there. Nigel had been talking to him. ‘What’s she done this time?’

‘I wanted to show her a new study supporting palmistry. Miss Bradshaw can no longer ignore it; the scientific evidence is empirical.’

‘OK.’

‘OK what?’

‘Go for it. Complain to her superior,’ Poe had said. He’d gone back to his newspaper and his pie. When he glanced up, Flowers was still there. ‘Was there something else?’

‘Who is her superior?’ Flowers had asked. ‘Is it you?’

‘In the very literal sense, it’s possible no one in the world is her superior. But in the gumshoe business sense, Tilly’s the managing director, company secretary and majority shareholder all rolled into one. In other words, she wears command gold, not me.’

‘I don’t know what “command gold” means.’

‘I don’t either. I think it has something to do with Harry Potter.’ Poe had picked up his pie. Dipped it in the brown sauce. ‘You could complain to her, I suppose.’ He’d taken a bite. ‘But she’ll only ignore you.’

Flowers had stomped out, muttering threats about taking it up with Monica Costelloe, and Poe had finished his pie in peace.

In the present, Poe said to Flowers, ‘Tell me again.’

‘We have a ghost. It’s in the loft. I heard it twice yesterday and once this afternoon.’

‘A ghost?’

‘Who you gonna call?’ Esmerée said, laughing.

‘I don’t know,’ Poe replied.