LITMIR.BIZ

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and teacups across Britain, had come up with a plan. He’d persuaded Mum and Suky to clear the top floor of the café – a little-used attic space with incredible light – whitewash the walls, sand the floorboards and turn it into a gallery. Claddach was brimming with artists, writers, poets, musicians – it was that sort of place – so there was no shortage of interest.

      He started with an exhibition of his own work, had quickly found other artists to feature and now ran poetry readings, concerts and all sorts in the room upstairs. In fact, that’s what he’d called it – The Room Upstairs. Cute, huh? He was in the process of drawing up plans for an extension out the back, which would allow the gallery and the café to grow. I’d helped him out with business plans and accounts and the like and been pleasantly surprised by his financial acumen. He was a dark horse, Allan, I’d decided. But he was making a massive success of the gallery and it was, without a doubt, the most perfect place for Esme and Jamie’s wedding. I clapped my hands in a very girly way – apparently talk of brides and flowers can do that even to a cynic like me.

      “What an amazing idea,” I said. “Have you asked your mum?”

      “I have,” she said. “She was thrilled. Your mum was in the background shouting out ideas. We’ll have to go up and have a look and make some lists.”

      “Oh that’ll be nice,” I said. “You guys can tell me what the gallery’s like.”

      “Not Jamie,” Esme said. “He’s too busy to come up. I meant you and me.” She looked shifty for a second. “Actually, H, I’ve got something to ask you.”

      “What?” I said warily.

      “I rang Chloe,” she said. “I asked her to be bridesmaid.”

      I nodded. Chloe was the obvious choice – she’d been Esme’s best friend forever and knew all about our family and its quirks.

      “She said no,” Esme said.

      “What? Why?”

      Ez screwed her face up.

      “She’s pregnant.”

      “Again?” I said in horror. “She’s got about four kids already.”

      “She’s got two,” Esme said, in a tone that suggested she thought I was less intelligent than either of Chloe’s sprogs. “I think this one was a bit of a surprise and she’s only just found out.”

      “So why can’t she be bridesmaid?”

      “Because her baby is due in August,” Esme said. “And we’re getting married in September. She says she’ll do a reading, or be a witness, or whatever. She just doesn’t want to be bridesmaid and have to squeeze into a fancy frock while she’s sore and lumpy and breastfeeding.”

      I shuddered.

      “You’re not selling it, Ez,” I said. “So what has Chloe’s fertility got to do with me?” Realisation dawned.

      “No,” I said. “I’m not the bridesmaid type.”

      “Please?”

      “No.”

      “Mum would love it. Your mum would love it.”

      Esme looked at me, her blue eyes twinkling.

      “Will I have to organise a hen night?” I said.

      Esme shook her head.

      “What about the dress? Can I choose it?”

      “You can even choose mine,” she said. “You’re much better at clothes than I am.”

      I knew when I was beaten.

      “Okay,” I said. “But you are not to call me anything vile like matron of honour.”

      Esme grinned.

      “Maid of honour,” she said. “Because you’re not married.”

      I whacked her with a wedding magazine and she chuckled.

      I left her and Jamie to their plans, ran myself a bath, and sank into the bubbles, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. It was just what I needed after such a stressful few days.

      I didn’t think about Star, or the power cut and our lost files, or Xander’s pursuit of Esme, or even the fact that I’d just agreed to be a bridesmaid. It was bliss.

      Maybe it was all coincidence, I thought. This wasn’t the Wild West. No one had a grudge against me, no one would have targeted Star deliberately. It was just bad luck. I got out of the bath, and into bed feeling much better about everything. And then, the next day, it all went wrong again.

       Chapter 10

      The first thing that went wrong the next day was that Louise rang. Not that it was wrong that she rang exactly, it was more what she said.

      “I looked at those pictures,” she said. “Do you think Star was in some kind of trouble?”

      “It looks like it,” I admitted. “She must have thought so – otherwise why would she take those photos?”

      I was sitting at my desk in my office. I twirled round on my chair, and stared out of the window.

      “I was worried that she might have been protecting me,” I said. “That someone was targeting me and she got in the way.”

      There was a pause.

      “Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt you?” she said.

      “No,” I said. “There’s no one. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with and I sometimes rub people up the wrong way, but there’s no one I can think of who hates me.”

      “That’s good to hear,” she said.

      “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. “Just a bit of bad luck.”

      “Do you really think that?” She spoke in a soft voice.

      I paused.

      “Not really,” I said. “It’s too much all at once.”

      Louise agreed. “Listen,” she said. “I can’t officially reopen the investigation at this stage but I will do some digging. Off the record. Let’s meet up and talk everything through.”

      I felt a small glimmer of excitement that I’d see her again, then stopped myself. She was just doing her job, I told myself sternly. This wasn’t a date, or even a social meeting. It was business.

      We arranged to meet the next day.

      “See you tomorrow,” I said.

      “Looking forward to it,” Louise said. Did she mean it? “And Harry?”

      “Yes?”

      “Please be careful. If you’re worried about anything, just ring me.”

      I allowed myself a very small smile, then put Louise out of my head and got back to work. I had decided to send our regular clients each a special offer tailored just for them, in an attempt to get some professionalism back, and I was trawling through the list, trying to decide who to send for an aura-cleansing session and who to offer Reiki, when Xander breezed in without knocking.

      “Morning!” he sang.

      “You’re very late,” I said. It was nearly lunchtime. “But also very cheerful, “I added. Xander was a lot of fun when he was happy and I didn’t want to dampen his good mood.

      “I’ve got an idea,” he said. He pulled up a chair and looked at what I was doing. “In fact, it fits right in with all this.”

      “Go on,” I said, feeling a tiny spark of excitement. Xander was a genius when it came to business ideas.

      “Let me do some spiritual counselling,” he

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