Stone Cold Red Hot - страница 10

“Looks like chaos doesn’t it,” she joked, “you can see the finished results over there.”

The far wall was smothered with an array of fancy picture frames and mirrors, everything from tiny, stylish mosaic-edged mirrors to padded, frilled and be-ribboned portrait frames. There were plaques too, painted with house names and numbers and, at waist height, a long shelf held vases and jars decorated with vibrant glass mosaics.

“They’re great,” I pointed to the vases, “I love the mosaics.”

“They’re selling like hot cakes at the moment,” she admitted. She edged her way past the table and picked up a small urn-shaped vase. “Here,” she held it out, “do you like this one?”

“Oh, no,” I protested, “I can’t.”

“It’s good PR,” she insisted, “when your friends admire it you can tell them where you got it. Word gets round, it all helps the business.”

“Thank you, it’s lovely. You manage to make a living out of it?”

I thought of my friend Diane, a textile artist and printer whose income went up and down like a yoyo.

“Now, I do. I’ll just wrap this.” She pushed back her long, grey hair and rummaged in a carrier bag for some bubble wrap. “The first few years were very hard. I made a loss for the first three. But I’ve a couple of big contracts with gift shops – that gives me a fairly regular return and the craft fairs and commissions top it up.” She tore some sellotape from a dispenser and stuck it round the bubble wrap. “There.”

“Thank you, it’s lovely.”

“And I’ll give you one of these,” she took a business card from a box on the table. “I do orders to design, too.”

“Swap you,” I fished one of my cards from my pocket.

She helped me to manoeuvre my bike out of the door and down the steps to the path. She wished me luck with my search for Jennifer. “I do hope you find her,” she said, “I’d love to know how she’s turned out, I always thought she’d make something of herself, you know.”

I couldn’t make up my mind whether to keep the mosaic vase at the office or take it home where I’d see more of it. I dithered for a while. It looked great on the filing cabinet next to the cactus and the yucca, the tiny deep blue, turquoise and orange tiles complemented the colours in the room but not many of Mrs Clerkenwell’s potential customers would see it there. I would leave it at work until I’d finished the job for Roger Pickering, a sort of talisman for the case. Then, whatever the outcome, I’d take it home and show it off.

I rang the number for Frances Delaney but there was no reply. I glanced at the clock. She’d probably be doing the school run. It was that time already.

Lisa MacNeice rang me that evening. She sounded very cautious. Probably thought I was trying to flog her a new kitchen or a conservatory.

“I’m a private detective,” I explained, “I’m trying to trace Jennifer Pickering on behalf of her family and I’d like to come and talk to you if I may.”

“Jennifer! Is this a wind-up? What’s your name again?”

I told her. “You can check with Roger Pickering if you like,” I said, “he’s still living at home.”

She reeled off the Heaton Mersey number. “I can remember it after all this time. It’s OK,” she continued, “the private detective lark sounded a bit weird and I had some unwelcome attention from the press last year, dishing the dirt, you know. I thought it might be more of the same.”

“No, it’s not.” I was intrigued; what dirt had been dished? I was dying to ask but I bit my tongue. “In fact Roger’s been to see your parents. That’s how I got your number in the first place – you can confirm it with them if that would help.”

“No, it’s OK,” she said, “if you had been the press I’d be able to hear you squirming by now, spinning some yarn, either that or you’d have hung up. So you’re looking for Jenny, I haven’t seen her since I left home, I’ve no idea where she is now.”

Oh no. I was disappointed. I’d been hoping for a break, wanting to hear that Jennifer had kept in touch with her friend and that Lisa could give me her phone number and address. Just like that.

“I realise it’s a long time ago,” I said, “but as yet I’ve no recent sightings to follow up. I’m having to go way back. When is the best time for you, if I were to come over?”