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She was silent, as if weighing it up. As if she was very reluctant to help them.
“You killed my father and his apprentice. You kidnapped me. Why would I want to help you with anything?” She kept her voice soft.
Robby looked at her, and she could see he was trying to hide a wince. He didn’t like her listing everything they’d done since Monday. The sheer insanity of it.
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to hurt the man you dragged into this with your little escape attempt, and it will be on you.” Robby narrowed his eyes, as if he needed to make himself look tough. “Boohoo, you’ve been dealt a bad hand. Either you tell us, or we get to work on your would-be hero.”
She had been holding back the grief at her father’s death, pushing it down, but now she thought of him and let the tears flow down her cheeks. “You’re a real bastard, Robby.”
“Yeah, yeah. What do the notes say?”
“They’re probably a list of the jobs Stephen and my father were lining up for when they found the right crew.” She used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears.
“Now we’re talking,” Pete crowed.
He and Robby shared a look.
Sarah turned away from them, and her gaze was ensnared by the old man in the corner.
He gave her the tiniest of smiles before he closed his eyes again.
chapter
ten
Gabriella got back to the house in the dark.
The time in the hospital had delayed her, and it was properly night by the time she reached Notting Hill.
As she approached the back gate, because the front door was still stuck, she caught sight of Mr. Rodney and Jerome walking down the alleyway, and she called out and ran to join them.
“Are you going to the club for dinner?” she asked.
“We are,” Mr. Rodney said. “You want to join us?”
“I do.” She grinned and linked arms with him. “I didn’t even bother to try it, but I’m assuming the front door is still jammed if you’re going out the back.”
“Still jammed, and Mrs. Besson says water’s coming through the side wall where that gutter detached from the roof.” Jerome shook his head. “Her daughter woke up to water running down the inside of the wall and soaking into her bedding.”
“I’ve got a leak,” Gabriella admitted. “It’s coming through into the kitchen. I had to put a pot below it to catch the drips.”
“If Mrs. Besson’s got water running down the walls, it won’t be long before it comes through my ceiling,” Mr. Rodney said. “I’m directly below her.”
“Has Solomon had any luck with Mr. Sutcliffe?” she asked.
“No one’s come round, if that’s what you mean,” Mr. Rodney said. “I’ve been keeping an eye out seeing as I’m home most of the day.”
They walked the rest of the way to the Calypso Club talking about their options and whether to go ahead and fix the house themselves, and then the aroma of what was for dinner floated through the open doors of the club, and they forgot about their maintenance woes.
Solomon came by their table just as they were getting their coats on to leave.
“No sign of anyone from Sutcliffe’s?” he asked.
“Not a glimpse,” Mr. Rodney said.
He sighed, and as he turned with them toward the door, he went very still.
There was a man standing in the doorway. He was as tall as Solomon, but older by a decade or so. He wore teal velvet trousers, a black shirt, and a jacket with a teal background and massive pink and white flowers all over it.
