Read Online Death Dues by Geraldine Evans - Free Book Online Page B

to express what seemed to be his fast fading hopes of saving some money on the nuptials.
    ‘What’s the point of our big day being so small and insignificant? I want to feel married with the good wishes of everyone I know. I want it to be a real celebration of our love.’
    Sneaky, bringing emotions into it when he was trying to concentrate on practicalities. But he was sensible enough to recognise that this was one argument he wasn’t going to win, so he gave in gracefully. ‘Did you manage to get anything else sorted today?’
    Abra nodded. ‘I beat the caterer’s price down and I found a photographer a friend used for her wedding who did a great job for less than the others quoted.’ She pulled a face. ‘Though he wouldn’t commit to a firm booking. Said he was provisionally booked throughout next summer.’
    Rafferty, still hoping to be able to put aside the ‘wedding’ conversation for what remained of the evening, picked up the plates and said, ‘Don’t worry Abracadabra. We’ll find someone. It’s early days yet. I’ll bring the food through if you get the cutlery and do the honours on the drinks front.’
    ‘Changing the subject, Joe? There’s still loads more to sort out.’
    ‘Not at all. Just feeding the inner man. The groom can wait awhile.’
    ‘OK. I can take a hint. We’ll leave any more decisions till later in the week. I’ll get those drinks.’
    Rafferty smiled to himself as he made for the living room, pleased the trials of wedding arrangements would take a back seat for the rest of  the night.
     
     
    Rafferty had several times had dealings with Malcolm Forbes. He’d been warned on a couple of occasions about intimidating debtors who failed to pay their debts on time. The debtors, of course, always refused to press charges when the neighbours called the police, for fear that worse would follow. With the astronomical interest rates that Forbes charged, Rafferty was amazed that any of his clients managed to keep up their payments.
    The weather had changed for the better; gone was the heavy rain and wind of yesterday. The pawnshop behind which Forbes operated his loan company was in Elmhurst High Street sandwiched between a charity shop and the independent butchers that Ma patronised. It looked reasonably smart with the morning sun glinting off its black paintwork and the three golden coloured balls that were the pawnbrokers’ trademark.
    ‘A grubby business, pawn broking,’ Rafferty remarked as they crossed the road to the shop, having parked down a side street.
    ‘It’s not as grubby as it once was,’ Llewellyn commented. ‘I understand a lot of them are moving upmarket and trying to appeal to the cash-poor middle classes. Quite successfully I believe.’
    ‘Me, I’ve always wondered about the three balls. Why do all pawnbrokers use them? Why not two balls? Or none at all?’ Rafferty mused as he gazed in the window. The display was full of watches and jewellery; mostly cheap stuff, though one or two of the engagement rings appeared more expensive as if they had been bought in happier times when money wasn’t a problem.
    Needless to say, Llewellyn had an answer for his musing.
    ‘They’re a relic from fifteenth century Florence when the Medici family of bankers had the image as their coat of arms. Did you know that pawn broking goes back three thousand years to the Chinese?’
    Rafferty didn’t. And to forestall the longer lecture that he sensed was about to be delivered, he opened the door to the shop. A bell attached to the frame rang out a loud warning as Rafferty entered. The single member of staff sat caged behind a protective grille. His assessing glance showed he had got their measure, but Rafferty brought out his warrant card just the same. He introduced himself and Llewellyn and asked, ‘Is Mr Forbes in? We’d like a word.’
    The assistant, a thin man of around fifty, with a long, hang-dog face, abandoned the racing pages of his newspaper, hopped down from