Chapter Seven
Whoever the proverbial Larry was, his happiness had nothing on Claire’s. She was sitting on the edge of her desk looking down onto the patch of grass below her where some pigeons were fighting over a mottled green and grey slice of mouldy bread, presumably the avian equivalent of a nice piece of stilton. She should have been doing important police work but her mind was elsewhere, reflecting on how brilliantly perfect the last couple of days had been. She had hooked her girl and was already reeling her in.
The party at Beth’s had been incredibly successful and would live in her memory as probably the most exciting and gratifying day of her life. The weather held, allowing her to keep the action to the garden—the one place she knew Vine would have no hidden cameras. She didn’
