counteracts the other,' Dominic frowned.
'I walk fast so I can earn that martini. What have you two love birds got planned?'
'Tonight is good sex and beer night,' Dominic looked hopeful.
'Is it?' I played him. 'I thought it was Sav Blanc and Dom cooks night!'
****
Ren's restaurant was in the main precinct of the west end. It was huddled among shops and cafés with similar dark timber facades that spoke of hard work and eccentric characters. Further up the street progress had moved in: a brightly-coloured contemporary cement block of units and a row of glass boutiques offering permanent clothing and shoe sales encroached on the village feel. The area frequently featured in the newspapers as locals had declared battle against developers.
Sitting at the front of the restaurant were three senior Italian men. Their faces were worn, they puffed on small stubs of cigarettes and waved their hands as they spoke. I loved the character of the area but I stood out like an alien.
I pushed open the door to Ren's restaurant and entered. It had a rich ambience, with warm brown and burgundy walls, plush booths, dark timber tables and elegant lamps. On a beautiful sunny day it might have felt claustrophobic but the wind chill and grey skies outside made it inviting. My eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and I spotted Ren behind the bar. He wore jeans and another black shirt. I guessed his wardrobe was predominantly black.
We slipped into a booth and he beckoned one of his staff. I asked for English Breakfast Tea.
'I rang the cops this morning,' he frowned. 'They're clueless.'
I shrugged.
'They've got a stack of work on and I imagine the fire has ruined any evidence that may have been in the car.' I got the contact details of the officer he had been dealing with before continuing.
'Do you think someone was trying to kill me or were they just trying to scare me?' he asked.
'I don't know. You're still alive - that's a positive sign,' I assured him.
'So how are you going to solve it?'
'Good question.' I tried to conceal my panic. The words "how the hell do I know" threatened to slip out. 'I'll start by asking questions, find some facts and see if it directs us somewhere.'
'Okay, shoot.' He leaned forward across the table and glared at me as though preparing for a round of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.
'I'll be asking other people questions too, not just you.'
'Oh, sure,' he relaxed and his expression changed. 'Like who?'
'It'll depend where each of the leads - uh - leads me. I may need to talk to the cops, your insurance company, your mechanic, witnesses at the coffee shop, that kind of thing.'
'Fine. Just make sure they know you're working for me. I don't want them to think I'm being investigated.'
'I understand,' I assured him. 'So, do you have any natural enemies?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, you know, sharks are natural enemies for seals. That kind of thing…?' He looked lost. I had to simplify. 'Do you know anyone who would want to blow up your car?'
'Shit yeah. Who wouldn't want to blow it up? If you saw a guy driving a sleek Mercedes convertible wouldn't you want to rough him?'
'No.'
He shrugged.
'I would. It's like the haves and have-nots. People check me out and think "How did that guy get that? What kind of business is he in? Let's get him".'
I nodded. I was going to need a stronger drink than tea.
'So?'
'What?' He asked. I reiterated the question.
'Not off the top of my head,' he answered, 'like, I don't have any enemies, if that's what you mean.'
'That's what I mean.' Rich and stupid, I thought. I made a mental note to ask short and direct questions.
'Tell me exactly what you did that morning from the time you got up until your car exploded,' I instructed. I opened my pad and waited, pen at the ready. I thought that looked professional; my publicity clients liked to see me taking notes.
He thought for a few seconds.
'I got up, had a shave and a dump…'
I winced - my fault for saying "exactly".
'… got in the shower then got dressed. I checked on Vince - he's my best friend, he's staying with me for a while - but he was out of it, so I got in the car and went to get a coffee. I parked, went straight to the front counter and ordered. I was drinking it when the phone rang so I answered it, but I couldn't hear who it was, so I went outside to see if reception was better. As I walked towards my car, it blew up. Jeez, if I hadn't taken that call, I could be history now.'
He looked at me. I hadn't made any notes. I sighed and started from the beginning, breaking down each thing he did and working him through it in detail. Fifty minutes later, he looked glazed over so I let him go. The publicity business was starting to look good again.
CHAPTER THREE
'Have you heard of Elizabeth J. Rowan?' Ed accosted me as I walked back into the office. The windows were open and the air conditioning was off. Ed liked to breathe fresh air.
'Did she write the Harry Potter books?' I asked.
'No, that's J.K. Rowling. Not even close.'
'Okay, I give up, who's Elizabeth J. Rowan?'
'Our new publicity client!' Ed announced. 'She came by while you were out. I told her I would have to check with you, but I was fairly confident we could handle her work.'
'We're finishing up the film and the play this week, aren't we?' I asked.
'Yes, and we have two more weeks on the water conservation campaign. We can handle it.'
'I'm happy for you to make those decisions, Ed. You don't have to consult me. We've worked together long enough to know if it's right for the agency.'
'I'm touched,' he placed his hand on his heart. 'Anyway, she's an artist.'
'Really?'
'Well, she thinks she is. Her exhibition, Memories of Summer, opens the first week of autumn at the High Lane Gallery. She wants us to handle the publicity.'
'Charming.' I boiled the kettle and raised a cup to Ed. He nodded. 'Memories of Summer. I still remember summer clearly.'
'That's because it's still summer,' Ed reminded me. 'But it won't be when the exhibition opens.'
'Oh, right, makes sense … no need to see the exhibition now then, just look out the window! Is she reasonably talented?' I asked.
'She
