Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Klempner

Over the next day or so, I visit a dozen establishments, all chosen for having been header addresses on invoices received, and apparently paid, by Finchby.

I find myself calling by two more bar-restaurants, a ladies’ shoe shop, a bookseller, a cut-price budget outlet, two fruit and veg stalls and a liquor store.

None of them seems even remotely likely as an export outlet for organised criminals. The only even slightly illegal behaviour I encounter comes from my last call: a jeweller.

By now, my doubts are sprouting. I’m almost out of options and I’ve found nothing that takes me any closer to tracking psycho-Juliana.

WTF’s going on here?

In the jewellery store, the proprietor skulks at the back. Then, seeing me browsing his stock, thinking I might find something for Mitch, he tries to pass off a locket, gold-plated but base metal, as the genuine article.

He cringes satisfactorily as my fingers grip his neck, squeezing just enough to cut off his air for a few seconds. I’m not serious about doing him any real harm, but I leave his store of over-priced crap whistling.

But still, my disquiet crawls…

What am I missing?

I arrived in Sao Paulo believing I had plenty of leads to track, as I first thought, Baxter, then his blood-besotted paramour, Juliana. But I’ve used up my leads and I’m rapidly running out of ideas.

Juliana’s still out there, shrieking for my blood. And she’s as likely as not to go looking for her own peculiar brand of vindictive entertainment with someone else connected if it’s not actually with me.

Mitch…

Jenny…

Think…

A quick check of my messages: a confirmation from Hickman that all’s well over there...

Wearing the ring?

A warm glow, having nothing to do with the weather, floods my chest and face.

What to do?

That’s how I

strolling out, running on autopilot, letting the mind roam at

on the problem in hand. Instead, letting my thoughts drift,

one woman in

But nothing suggests itself.

outside Antonio’s. The old man cracks a smile and hastily wipes down a tabletop before

the beer clears my thinking, but nothing else is working for me. I might as

I make my way to the table, then scuttles off, returning in under a minute with a glass jug, dripping condensation, and a plate

tossing the skin to a nearby

miss

That mountain…

The clean

Be honest…

I’m missing Mitch.

of it. My daughter… My granddaughter… The casual camaraderie of

Three husbands?

Haswell fit

?

hell do I judge

Mitch…

you doing

with

tap open the mobile, into my images, download

files of this kind. I enjoy travelling, playing the tourist, but seldom bother with the camera. I prefer taking the time to see the places I visit: capture them in my head. The few times I’ve bothered taking snaps, the result never does justice

this one is

photo. Indeed, I made a show of simply fiddling with my phone, looking up some file or other.

any gem I could give

myself

a basket of bread on the table. His eyes crease, if it

his words warm me inside. “… My

“Lady here? Sao Paulo?”

here. Far

home to lady