watching and whispering—and sniggering. Campanelli’s face flushed beetroot red. The whole town would soon know that he’d been made to look ineffective.
‘By Christ, I’ll get you, you bastard,’ he muttered under his breath, so that only Baxter could hear, as he got up and staggered towards his shiny blue Mercedes. He slid in and backed out of the courtyard without showing a skerrick of concern for Skeeter.
As the Mercedes sped off, a white police car skidded to a stop in the courtyard. A tall, middle-aged officer got out and came across to where Baxter was standing over the fallen thug.
‘What’s going on here?’ the officer asked. ‘Why was Mr Campanelli on the ground? And that other man, what’s wrong with him?’
Baxter looked the policeman up and down before answering. ‘Who are you? Just so I know who I’m talking to.’
‘Sergeant Ron Cross.’ He held up his identification.
CHAPTER TEN
Alarm bells rang in Baxter’s head.
‘And your name, sir?’ Cross asked, his blue eyes cold and hard.
‘Greg Baxter.’
Cross took out a notepad and pen, writing it down. ‘Well, Mr Baxter, you can either explain yourself here or down at the station.’
Baxter called out to Liz, who was sitting in the car with the door open. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Drew? This officer needs to talk to both of us.’
‘No worries,’ Liz called back, and gestured for the two men to walk over.
She gave Cross a wary half-smile as he nodded a curt greeting and asked for her statement. Once she’d laid out the facts, an amused twinkle appeared in her good eye. ‘This man also kicked Mr Campanelli in the backside, Sergeant.’
‘I see,’ Cross said, staring at Baxter with respect, but also a challenge. ‘Do you have anything to add?’
When Baxter shook his head, Cross asked how he could be contacted. Baxter provided his phone number and said, ‘I’m out at the old Carpenter place, working away at a novel, so you can reach me there pretty much anytime.’
If Cross was on the take, the whole drug ring would now be aware of exactly the kind of man who’d bought their coveted property. They weren’t likely to approach Baxter now—well, not in a friendly way.
•
As he pulled his car out of the courtyard, Baxter smiled across at Liz Drew. ‘Well, now, the fat is well and truly in the fire. And by the way, I’m Greg Baxter.’
‘Liz Drew,’ she said. ‘But you seem to know that already.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘What have you heard, Mr Baxter?’
‘Greg, please. What have I heard?’ He didn’t want to bring up Jack. ‘Mostly that you’re a great-looking woman. But they haven’t done you justice.’
She smiled and winced, pressing the half-melted ice against her face.
They were driving down Moondilla’s main street. ‘Where do I take you?’ Baxter asked, and she gave him some directions.
‘It really is very sweet of you to go to this bother,’ she added.
‘It’s no bother. None at all.’
‘I meant intervening with Jack.’
‘That was no bother either,’ Baxter said, and then couldn’t help asking, ‘How did you get mixed up with a boozy husband like that?’
‘It’s too long a story to tell now.’
He’d thought she might say that. ‘That’s fine. Ah, here we are.’ He pulled up outside a well-presented timber home.
‘Would you like to come in for lunch or a cup of coffee?’ Liz asked.
‘No thanks, I’ve got to get back to my writing.’ The truth was, he didn’t feel comfortable being alone with a married woman in her house, even though her husband was a creep. Baxter had very strict rules about that sort of thing. He also didn’t want Liz to act the hostess when she needed some peace.
‘Fair enough.’ Liz started to get out of the car, then turned back to him. She seemed flustered. ‘Look, again, thanks very much for taking my part. Nobody in town has ever opposed Jack.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Well, that’s not exactly true. Jack and Campanelli
‘By Christ, I’ll get you, you bastard,’ he muttered under his breath, so that only Baxter could hear, as he got up and staggered towards his shiny blue Mercedes. He slid in and backed out of the courtyard without showing a skerrick of concern for Skeeter.
As the Mercedes sped off, a white police car skidded to a stop in the courtyard. A tall, middle-aged officer got out and came across to where Baxter was standing over the fallen thug.
‘What’s going on here?’ the officer asked. ‘Why was Mr Campanelli on the ground? And that other man, what’s wrong with him?’
Baxter looked the policeman up and down before answering. ‘Who are you? Just so I know who I’m talking to.’
‘Sergeant Ron Cross.’ He held up his identification.
CHAPTER TEN
Alarm bells rang in Baxter’s head.
‘And your name, sir?’ Cross asked, his blue eyes cold and hard.
‘Greg Baxter.’
Cross took out a notepad and pen, writing it down. ‘Well, Mr Baxter, you can either explain yourself here or down at the station.’
Baxter called out to Liz, who was sitting in the car with the door open. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Drew? This officer needs to talk to both of us.’
‘No worries,’ Liz called back, and gestured for the two men to walk over.
She gave Cross a wary half-smile as he nodded a curt greeting and asked for her statement. Once she’d laid out the facts, an amused twinkle appeared in her good eye. ‘This man also kicked Mr Campanelli in the backside, Sergeant.’
‘I see,’ Cross said, staring at Baxter with respect, but also a challenge. ‘Do you have anything to add?’
When Baxter shook his head, Cross asked how he could be contacted. Baxter provided his phone number and said, ‘I’m out at the old Carpenter place, working away at a novel, so you can reach me there pretty much anytime.’
If Cross was on the take, the whole drug ring would now be aware of exactly the kind of man who’d bought their coveted property. They weren’t likely to approach Baxter now—well, not in a friendly way.
•
As he pulled his car out of the courtyard, Baxter smiled across at Liz Drew. ‘Well, now, the fat is well and truly in the fire. And by the way, I’m Greg Baxter.’
‘Liz Drew,’ she said. ‘But you seem to know that already.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘What have you heard, Mr Baxter?’
‘Greg, please. What have I heard?’ He didn’t want to bring up Jack. ‘Mostly that you’re a great-looking woman. But they haven’t done you justice.’
She smiled and winced, pressing the half-melted ice against her face.
They were driving down Moondilla’s main street. ‘Where do I take you?’ Baxter asked, and she gave him some directions.
‘It really is very sweet of you to go to this bother,’ she added.
‘It’s no bother. None at all.’
‘I meant intervening with Jack.’
‘That was no bother either,’ Baxter said, and then couldn’t help asking, ‘How did you get mixed up with a boozy husband like that?’
‘It’s too long a story to tell now.’
He’d thought she might say that. ‘That’s fine. Ah, here we are.’ He pulled up outside a well-presented timber home.
‘Would you like to come in for lunch or a cup of coffee?’ Liz asked.
‘No thanks, I’ve got to get back to my writing.’ The truth was, he didn’t feel comfortable being alone with a married woman in her house, even though her husband was a creep. Baxter had very strict rules about that sort of thing. He also didn’t want Liz to act the hostess when she needed some peace.
‘Fair enough.’ Liz started to get out of the car, then turned back to him. She seemed flustered. ‘Look, again, thanks very much for taking my part. Nobody in town has ever opposed Jack.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Well, that’s not exactly true. Jack and Campanelli
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