Read Online The Manhattan Puzzle by Laurence O’Bryan - Free Book Online

leaned back, looked at her appraisingly. She made an exasperated noise.
    ‘You know, I’m glad you came over. I do hate sitting here. You know they’ve gone too far this time.’ She sounded angry.
    ‘Who’s gone too far?’
    Mrs Vaughann picked up a copy of the
Evening Standard
lying on the floor near her feet. It was folded open at an inside page. She pushed it towards Isabel as if it had a bad smell. Her hand was gripping the paper so hard her knuckles were white. Then she uncurled them, as if she didn’t want Isabel to see how anxious she was.
    ‘A few BXH people were at some horrible place last night.’
    Near the top of the page there was a picture of police tape cordoning off the front of what looked like a crummy restaurant. On a canopy above the door was part of a word – Magnol. Isabel’s pulse was beating on both sides of her forehead.
    The headline above the picture read: ‘Lap Dancer Murdered.’
    A prickling sensation ran up her neck. ‘BXH people went there?’
    Mrs Vaughann looked at her as if Isabel was a slow learner.
    ‘They were there when that poor girl was murdered.’
    Sean couldn’t have anything to do with this, could he? He’d been working late last night.
    Please, God, make it so that he isn’t involved in this.
    ‘What is it you wanted to ask me, Isabel?’
    She swallowed. ‘Sean’s missing.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I wanted to find out if you knew where they were last night.’
    Mrs Vaughann’s eyebrow arched. ‘Since when is he missing?’ She sounded almost happy at the news.
    ‘He should have come back at two, maybe three this morning. He hasn’t turned up.’
    Mrs Vaughann sucked air in through her pursed lips. ‘Paul didn’t come back either,’ she said quickly. ‘We’re in the same boat, my dear.’
    She put a hand on Isabel’s thigh. It was a sisterly gesture, she knew, but Isabel was tempted to say her husband wasn’t like Mr Vaughann. Sean had told her that Vaughann liked to be friends with lots of women in the bank. Friends with benefits was the rumour.
    Sean wasn’t like that.
    ‘You should know,’ said Mrs Vaughann, ‘that if I find out there’s another woman involved or if he’s got anything to do with what happened to that dancer, I’ll cut his equipment off myself. He won’t be a big swinging dick if I do that.’ She sounded like she meant it.
    Mrs Vaughann pressed her hand to her pale forehead. She looked the picture of a wronged corporate wife in her Jimmy Choo shoes and steel-grey Agnès B dress. She’d probably just come back from one of her charity coffee mornings, which she was famous for.
    ‘What about your husband? Do you have any idea why he …?’ Mrs Vaughann’s voice trailed off. Her pencil eyebrows were raised even more now.
    Isabel imagined what she was going to say next. Was Sean cheating on her? She’d been pushing the thought away all morning. But she couldn’t do that forever.
    Her standard reply to any girlfriend, who suggested he might stray, was to say that he never stayed out late. But she couldn’t even say that now. She plucked at her sleeve, as if there were fluff there. There wasn’t.
    ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She knew she sounded uncertain.
    Mrs Vaughann looked at her and smiled. Her teeth were perfect. Most of the wives of the bank’s top executives had tight-lipped superior expressions. Most of them still had a personal masseuse, trainer and a holistic therapist pampering them every day or two. They usually tried to hide how superior they felt to the rest of humanity, but not very successfully.
    Smugness oozed from them like the rotting smell from a carcass. But Mrs Vaughann was different. Her smile was genuine.
    ‘All men are bastards,’ she said.
    ‘I trust Sean,’ said Isabel. But there was a hollowness in her tone, as if she didn’t believe what she was saying. Her mouth was dry too.
    She shook her head, glared out the window at some people leaving the bank.
    ‘I’m sure you’re right