35
Mrs. Greyson looked like a storm had come clattering through and left its impression on her face.
‘I don’t appreciate my guesthouse being used as a drop-in centre,’ she snapped. ‘If you have cause to just come and go as you please then I suggest you find somewhere else for the remainder of your stay.’
‘I called you … I left you a message.’
‘No, Mr. Hardy, you didn’t call me.’ A stern finger pointed at the phone on the table in the hall. ‘Do you see a flashing light? No, neither do I. No messages. Had you not been a full grown man I might have called the police.’
Slim frowned, trying to order his thoughts through a blistering hangover. He was sure he had called her. He fumbled with his phone in his pocket, determined to check, but succeeded only in dropping it on the doormat, among
