Annie’s head was pounding and her mouth was dry. Sure signs of a hangover. She spotted the glass of water on the bedside table and downed half of it in one. That felt better. Then she fumbled in her handbag for the handy pack of Panadol Extra Advance she always carried with her, took three and washed them down with the rest of the water. She then rested her head back on the pillow and took stock.
At least she was alone. That was a good start. She didn’t think she had done anything terrible or outrageous last night, though she did remember a bloke chatting her up until his wife saw what was going on and intervened. Rather rudely, Annie thought. Then there was the handsome crime writer. She might even have kissed him and given him her phone number, but that was all. Afterwards, it was slim pickings as most of the partygoers drifted off home. In the end there was just Annie and her friends talking about old times. Hence the hangover. Still, she thought, stirring and throwing off the duvet, she’d had a good girly time with her friends Carrie, Pat, Natalie and Fran, none of whom she’d seen for a while. It was Carrie’s party, and she and Don had shipped the kids off to Grandma’s for the night. Most of the guests had been connected with local bookshops — The Little Ripon Bookshop, and White Rose, in nearby Thirsk — hence the sprinkling of local writers. The men had simply provided a brief distraction from discussions of Jane Austen and Sara Paretsky.
There had been no police presence other than Annie herself. Carrie had left the force five years ago for a more stress-free life of running a second-hand bookshop. Annie had taken one or two well-meant jibes about police incompetence, corruption and so on, but in general people had either given her a wide berth or accepted her as one of the gang. Which she was. She had known Fran and Natalie, Carrie’s best friends for years, even if the booksellers were relatively new to her. It was good to live a part of her life outside the police, she felt.
At least she had been able to put the dysfunctional or deceased Hadfield family out of her mind for the evening. Poppy would probably be proud of her for getting so pissed. And maybe also for that little dance she and Fran and Carrie had done around the Ripon market square at midnight, until the local police constable had told them politely to go home. For a moment, Annie had considered telling him who she was and pulling her rank, but she hadn’t. She can’t have been that pissed, then, after all, except dancing on cobbles in high heels was hardly the act of a sober person. The last she had heard from Gerry before she left for the party was that both Poppy’s alibis held up. She was where she said she was on the weekend of Laurence Hadfield’s disappearance. The previous evening, before leaving for Ripon, and after some difficulty and a lot of swearing, along with a bribe of a bottle of VSOP cognac, Annie had stashed Poppy away in a discreet little boutique hotel in Eastvale until she could figure out her next move.
It was freezing in Tabitha’s room, so Annie pulled on her last night’s clothes as quickly as she could, grabbed her bag, stopped by the bathroom for a quick wash and a spot of make-up, then headed downstairs. She heard voices and found Fran and Natalie leaning on the island in the kitchen, where the coffee-maker was gurgling and emitting its seductive aroma.
Fran smiled. ‘Well, look who’s up at last.’
Annie pulled a face and glanced at her watch. Only 9.30. ‘It’s not that late,’ she said. ‘Them bloody bells would wake up Sleeping Beauty. I didn’t do anything really out of line last night, did I? Please tell me I didn’t.’
Fran and Natalie laughed. ‘Apart from that striptease and the lap dance you gave Steve, you mean? Not at all.’
‘Bastards,’ said Annie, smiling. ‘I think I might remember something like that.’ She picked up a mug from the counter, noticing it had a picture of Elvis Presley on it, pulled the coffee pot towards her and poured. The automatic machine hadn’t finished its business, and a thin stream of coffee dripped from its basket and sizzled on the hotplate. ‘Shit!’ Annie quickly put the pot back.
Fran and Natalie laughed again. ‘Oh, Annie,’ Natalie said. ‘What can we do with you?’
‘A nice fry-up wouldn’t go amiss right now,’ Annie answered.
‘Thought you were a veggie,’ Natalie said.
Annie scowled. ‘Yeah, well, but... you ever tasted a veggie sausage?’
‘You mean the ones without meat? Isn’t that what they always used to be like here?’
Fran laughed and pointed. ‘There’s the bread and there’s the toaster. The marmalade’s in the top cupboard. And we’re back on butter. Apparently it’s better for you. Margarine is full of carcinogens or something.’
Annie sipped some coffee then went and put two slices of white bread in the toaster.
‘The brown’s healthier,’ said Fran.
‘But how can you tell when it’s done?’
They both laughed at that. ‘It was a fun night,’ Natalie said. ‘We mustn’t leave it so long again.’
‘How’s the birthday girl?’ Annie asked.
‘Carrie? Still asleep,’ said Fran. ‘Probably enjoying the first lie-in she’s had in ages without the kids to wake her.’
‘You know she loves them to death.’ Annie did, too. She was even godmother to one of them — Melissa, age nine — and when she thought of Carrie’s life there were times that she felt she had lost so much by deciding not to have children herself. Not that it was entirely too late — not physically, at any rate, perhaps — but in many ways it was. For a start, she would need a suitable man. Or maybe just an anonymous donor. She scrapped that thought.
The toast popped up. Annie reached for the knife and butter on the side and started spreading. ‘Hope Carrie had a good time last night.’
‘Oh, she did,’ said Fran.
Annie was enjoying her coffee and toast when her mobile made its sixties police car sound. ‘Shit!’
‘Just leave it,’ said Natalie.
‘Can’t. It might be work.’
‘Big case on?’
‘Big enough.’ Annie found her mobile before it stopped and went into the living room for some privacy. She saw the caller was PC Dave Kingsley, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on Poppy’s hotel.
‘DI Cabbot?’
‘Speaking.’ Annie could hear a hubbub in the background. The loud voice sounded like Poppy’s, and she guessed the calmer conciliatory one belonged to the desk clerk or manager. She let out a long sigh. ‘OK, constable, what’s going on there?’
‘There’s a bit of a fracas, to be honest, ma’am.’
‘I can hear that for myself. What sort of a fracas?’
‘It’s Miss Hadfield, ma’am. She’s creating an awful fuss. Refusing to pay her bill. She was down in the middle of the night shouting the odds, too, but the night manager and the desk clerk sorted things out.’
Annie raised her eyes skywards. ‘So what do you want me to do about it now?’
‘I think you’d better get over here as soon as you can, ma’am. This time I think she’s going to—’
Just then Annie heard a scream of rage and frustration followed by what sounded like a large vase smashing against a wall. The shock waves reverberated through her hungover brain like a kick in the head. The Panadol clearly hadn’t taken effect yet, no matter how fast the packet said it acted.
‘I’m in Ripon right now,’ Annie said. ‘Keep a lid on things as best you can. Don’t let anyone leave. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’