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  Angelo tried to find the link he was missing. Walter was Rosetta’s long-standing, though married, ‘boy’ friend. But … ‘I thought Walter was away,’ Angelo said. He couldn’t remember what he had been told. ‘Business?’

  ‘It’s been more than three weeks.’

  ‘Business can be three weeks.’

  ‘Rosetta is obviously very upset,’ Gina said.

  ‘Is she?’ Angelo asked. He searched his memory again, but found nothing. ‘What, has Walter gone back to that wife or something?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gina said. ‘She doesn’t talk about it.’

  Gina and Angelo looked at one another. Each knew that Rosetta normally talked to Gina about Walter a lot. But Angelo’s face wrinkled. ‘I still don’t see what Walter’s got to do with new computers.’

  ‘You tried to compromise with her,’ Gina said. ‘You said of course she could have a new computer for herself if she needed it.’

  ‘No thanks I got,’ Angelo said. But he was beginning to see where this was going. It was not going to be about computers at all. He began to feel better.

  ‘But,’ Gina said, ‘for some reason getting this equipment is very important for her. I mean, to pound on the table!’

  ‘What reason?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gina said. ‘But that’s why I said she should have it.’

  ‘Because you don’t know why she wants it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And even if the new terminal’s on your desk, we can still talk to people by the plants like we always do.’

  Angelo looked across to the comfortable seating in front of the window which overlooked the street.

  ‘And maybe new computers will save money in the long run, like she says,’ Gina said.

  Angelo shrugged, assuaged but not convinced.

  At that moment they both heard the outside door open at the foot of the office stairs. Gina said, ‘Fortune, maybe, knocking at our door?’

  They both heard footsteps, climbing. The sounds were not loud. Angelo said, ‘A woman. Seven and a half stone. Size four shoes. Left-handed. Recently returned from Copenhagen. What do you think?’

  Although normally she would only have smiled, Gina laughed aloud.

  Angelo located the pencil and notebook on the surface of his desk. Then he tried to visualize a computer sitting on it, a dominating, winking screen. He shook his head and rose to fill the kettle with water for tea.

  The new client was indeed small and a woman. But Sherlock Lunghi had not predicted her prominent brown eyes or that she was in her mid-thirties or that her name was Eileen Shayler.

  ‘Sugar?’ Angelo asked.

  ‘No, ta very much, Mr Lunghi,’ she said.

  Angelo carried three mugs of tea to the low table by the window with the plants. ‘Biscuit?’ he asked.

  ‘No, ta very much,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘Can we get down to business?’

  ‘Of course.’ Angelo sat next to Gina on the settee.

  ‘It’s my husband,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘Jack.’ She leaned forward to watch Gina add the name to the details she’d already recorded in her own notebook. ‘He’s in trouble. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Angelo asked.

  ‘The washing-up liquid,’ Mrs Shayler said.

  ‘The washing-up liquid,’ Angelo repeated. Gina wrote nothing.

  ‘You see, this morning the bottle was by the sink where I left it.’

  ‘Could you explain the significance of that for us?’ Gina said.

  ‘After I washed the dishes last night I left the bottle of washing-up liquid on the surface to the right of the sink. It’s only a small surface, the one on the right. It’s between the sink and the cooker.’

  ‘I see,’ Angelo said.

  ‘What with the both of Jack and I being right-handed we always use the small surface whenever we make something to eat.’ Mrs Shayler paused before adding with emphasis, ‘Or something to drink.’

  ‘Right,’ Angelo said.

  ‘I went to bed about ten,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘That’s my normal time, unless there’s snooker on the television. If there’s snooker then I may stay up until eleven or even later.’

  ‘But last night you went to bed at ten,’ Angelo said.

  ‘Jack came to bed at ten forty-five.’

  ‘Is that his usual time?’ Gina asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘He watches the news, you see, but me, I read. Of course when there’s the snooker then I don’t read, because with Jack already in bed it wouldn’t be fair to him. Oh, Jack will take a look at one of his magazines when he’s in bed, but only for a few minutes. It’s not a proper read. It’s not like a book. I read books.’ Mrs Shayler leaned forward again. ‘Have you got that? Am I going too fast?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Gina said.

  ‘But the other thing about Jack,’ Mrs Shayler said, ‘is that before he comes to bed he always makes himself a hot drink, always.’

  ‘So,’ Angelo said, ‘if you went to bed at ten last night, there was no snooker on television, right?’

  ‘No, no snooker. Last night was a normal night. But …’ Mrs Shayler said, raising a finger, ‘this morning there was something that was definitely not as per normal.’

  ‘What was unusual about this morning?’ Gina asked.

  ‘Now, you have to understand,’ Mrs Shayler said, ‘in the morning I get up before Jack. He wakes up at the same time as me, but he has a few minutes’ lie-in. He says it helps him to think through what he’s got to do later in the day. So me, I get up first. And I make a pot of tea.’

  ‘And this morning?’ Angelo said.

  ‘I went in to make the tea as per normal,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘And what do I find, sitting there on the right-hand work surface, just where I left it last night? The bottle of washing-up liquid.’ She leaned back in her chair and raised her mug of tea to her lips. But before she sipped, she nodded rhetorically, to underline the significance of her morning discovery.

  Angelo and Gina took the opportunity to drink from their mugs too. Angelo even took a biscuit.

  ‘That’s a good cup of tea, Mr Lunghi,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘Very nice, ta very much.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Angelo said.

  ‘I think I will have a biscuit after all.’

  ‘Please do,’ Angelo said.

  Mrs Shayler took a digestive.

  CHAPTER TWO

  That night, Tuesday, was one of three times in the week when a main meal was routinely prepared for the larger Lunghi household. Members of all three generations assembled for these occasions, which also took place Thursday evenings and Sunday lunchtimes. Among the diners this Tuesday was Salvatore, Angelo and Rosetta’s older brother.

  Salvatore was a painter and the only member of the family who did not live in one of the two connecting properties on Walcot Street. Salvatore was also the only one who did not live primarily on the income generated by the family detective agency. However, when he needed cash or the agency needed him, Salvatore too worked as a private detective.

  The three big meals each week were occasions at which guests were welcomed. Salvatore’s guests were always female though they rarely ate enfamille more than a few times. Salvatore met a lot of women, but none, to date, had proved durable. This night his guest was an American who asked to be called Muffin.

  ‘Muffin?’ the Old Man said. ‘What kind of name is a “Muffin”?’

  ‘Why, an American name,’ Muffin said sweetly. Her charming smile did its work.

  ‘Nice,’ the Old Man said. ‘I didn’t say it wasn’t nice.’

  ‘Don’t badger the poor woman, Papa,’ Salvatore said.

  ‘Badger?’ the Old Man said. ‘What am I? Furry with a stripe?’ He turned to Mama. ‘He calls me an animal, this son of yours.’ Salvatore’s early decision to heed an artistic rather than an investigative calling left a residue of edginess between father and eldest child.

  Mama’s con
cerns about Salvatore were directed elsewhere. She wanted to see him married. Or at least paired. These were modern times, with things not like they used to be. Mama would settle for paired. But either way with Salvatore nearly forty he was definitely overdue. Mama ignored her husband and faced Muffin directly. ‘So, dear,’ she said, ‘do you model for my Salvatore?’ Most of them did.

  But Muffin said, ‘Oh my no, Mrs Lunghi. I couldn’t possibly take off my clothes and then lie there without doing anything. I’m much, much too active for that. Aren’t I, Sally?’

  Salvatore smiled as Mama twisted uncomfortably in her chair.

  Muffin said, ‘Sally says I’m a natural human dynamo, but I wonder if the way I am isn’t just one of those national things. Because just about all the American girls I know have given up on being passive. In fact, when I was sitting in that bar, that pub, what do they call it, Sally? The Green Tree? We were both in there having a drink and we didn’t know each other from Adam but it was me that got up and came over and introduced myself.’

  ‘Was it?’ Mama said.

  ‘Which maybe wasn’t the way things were in your day, Mrs Lunghi, but it’s the way all the girls I know at home are now. And I think it’s great. So relaxed. So empowering.’

  For a moment Mama gazed at her elder son, wondering how he would take to an empowered wife. Or ‘partner’. ‘Partner’ would do.

  Salvatore, however, had nothing to say to his mother on the subjects of Muffin or partnership. He addressed his younger brother. ‘So what’s new on the business front, bubba?’

  ‘“Bubba”?’ the Old Man said. ‘Did I hear “bubba”?’

  ‘We’re getting new computers, Uncle Sal,’ David said.

  ‘Are you, now?’

  ‘A whole network, aren’t we, Auntie Rose?’ David continued, speaking with enthusiasm of the brand of hardware and some of the new system’s more salient qualities.

  ‘Oh,’ Salvatore said.

  But Muffin was much more responsive. ‘Why, those are just great, Davey. I wrote my thesis on one and it was about all I could do to keep my mind on the job and not use the other applications. You know what was neatest?’

  ‘What?’ David asked happily.

  ‘It has the most fabulous graphics capability, just out of this world. I think my thesis was the only one that had little cartoons and designs on about every page. I wasn’t supposed to put them in, but I couldn’t restrain myself.’

  ‘I think computers are yukky,’ Marie said.

  ‘Oh no, honey. They’re just tools, like a sewing machine, or … or …’ Muffin studied Marie to guess what she might be interested in. ‘Or a CD player. They’re all machines, but they can do wonderful things. I could show you if you like.’

  ‘They haven’t been delivered yet,’ Marie said. She turned to her brother. ‘Have they, slug-bait?’

  ‘When will they come, Auntie Rose?’ David asked.

  ‘Day after tomorrow,’ Rosetta said.

  ‘So soon?’ Angelo said.

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ Rosetta said.

  Angelo had not expected his remark to be jumped on. ‘No no. I just wondered.’

  ‘I should think not,’ Rosetta said and then suddenly she rose from her seat. ‘Excuse me,’ she said and left the room.

  ‘Is your little sister all right, Sally?’ Muffin said in a whisper which everybody heard.

  ‘Is she, Gina?’ Salvatore asked.

  ‘I’ll go and see.’ Gina rose and followed Rosetta.

  ‘Anyhow, Davey,’ Muffin said, ‘when the hardware’s installed I’d sure be happy to come over and take you through the software.’

  ‘That would be great!’ David said, immediately swamped by an image of himself at the keyboard and Muffin standing behind him, her arms around his, showing him applications … David found Muffin’s lush mahogany hair and fresh complexion extremely attractive. Life was suddenly so rich as to be almost unbearable.

  ‘And you too, Marie,’ Muffin said. ‘I’m sure you’ll like it if you give it a chance.’

  ‘Mega-yuk,’ Marie said.

  ‘Marie!’ Mama said. ‘Be polite.’

  ‘Sorry, Grandma,’ Marie said.

  ‘Why, I’d bet ten of your pounds that if you give me an afternoon you’ll end up saying, “I’d like to do more on this computer,”’ Muffin said.

  Marie opened her eyes and looked at Salvatore’s non-model. ‘Ten pounds? As in money?’

  ‘Coin of the realm,’ Muffin said. ‘Or paper of the realm. Whichever you prefer. If you win. It’s a bet, remember.’ Muffin turned to the adults at the table. ‘Is that all right? To bet with Marie?’

  It was. Angelo said, ‘The way to Marie’s heart, offer her money.’

  ‘It’s not an offer, exactly,’ Muffin said.

  The Old Man laughed. ‘Our Marie knows her own mind, young woman.’

  ‘That’s what I’m counting on, sir,’ Muffin said.

  Nobody understood what she meant. ‘What does she mean?’ the Old Man asked Mama. Mama’s interest in Muffin had steadily increased, but she didn’t know the answer.

  Muffin said, ‘I mean if Marie does enjoy the computer graphics I’m sure she’ll be self-aware enough to say so.’

  Marie had had a moment to consider. ‘Is this a trick?’

  ‘No trick,’ said Muffin. ‘You either like working on the computer and lose or you hate working on the computer and you win.’

  ‘What happens if I lose?’ Marie said.

  Muffin smiled. ‘So now you think it’s possible that you might?’ But she didn’t push the point. ‘If I win you will do two hours’ work for me on the computer.’

  ‘And if you lose you pay me ten pounds?’

  Muffin extended her hand. Easy money was Marie’s idea of heaven. They shook.

  Mama felt it was her opportunity to ask, ‘What kind of thesis?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Muffin said.

  ‘You said you did a thesis.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, it was essentially a project on the mechanisms by which micro-organisms attach themselves to gut mucosa. Is that what you wanted to know?’

  ‘I meant was it, say, for a teaching certificate?’

  ‘A Ph.D., but that’s pretty much the same thing.’ Muffin smiled.

  Mama said, ‘You’re Dr Muffin?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Muffin said. ‘But just the scientific kind.’

  Mama looked from Muffin to Salvatore and back. This was not at all what she had expected from the early conversation. Indeed, Muffin was spreading much joy amongst the Lunghis.

  ‘So do you have a paying job, Miss Dr Muffin?’ the Old Man asked.

  ‘Not at the moment, sir. I do have some offers in America that I’m considering, but now I’ve seen just how beautiful Bath is maybe I should look for something here.’

  ‘Built on seven hills,’ the Old Man said. ‘Like Rome.’

  ‘Have you seen many of the sights?’ Angelo asked.

  ‘Not in person, but I rode the open deck on one of the tour buses, and it was wonderful. The guide told us about the beautiful architecture, and how you had your own Master of Ceremonies from 1704 to 1761. An emcee for a whole city!’

  ‘We had what?’ the Old Man said.

  ‘Beau Nash, Grandad,’ Marie said.

  ‘And the only hot springs in Britain, and all those Romans. I was going to check them out, but that’s when I met Sally.’

  ‘Fate,’ Salvatore said.

  ‘So maybe,’ Muffin said, ‘I’ll go and ask for a job at your Bath University—they do teach something besides plumbing up there, don’t they?’

  Mama smiled at Muffin’s joke.

  ‘So you don’t have a job?’ the Old Man said.

  ‘I’ve been working so hard for so many years that I decided to treat myself with a real fun trip. And so far, believe me, it’s been just that.’ She squeezed Salvatore’s hand where it rested on the table. ‘But I tell you, sir, I nearly wet myself when Sally told me that his dad
dy was a private detective. I mean, mine is a boring old rocket scientist, but to be a private eye! Well, wow! And that you have this whole business, with everybody a part of it. That’s just a wonderful accomplishment to have.’

  ‘You think that?’ the Old Man said.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Muffin said. ‘So, do you get called in to solve murders and stuff like that?’

  To Muffin’s surprise an immediate groan rose from around the table. She looked from person to person for an explanation.

  ‘Well, since you ask,’ the Old Man said, ‘I did once work on a murder case.’

  ‘Wow!’ Muffin said.

  ‘Norman Stiles was the victim’s name.’ The Old Man hesitated. David, who worked at his wit, laid his head on the table and covered his ears with his hands. Even Marie refused to meet her grandfather’s eyes. ‘But I’ve told it before and they don’t like me to tell it again.’ The Old Man leaned toward Muffin. ‘Too gory,’ he confided.

  ‘Perhaps after dinner,’ Mama said. ‘You and the young woman can go to the library while I have a nice long talk with my Salvatore who I never see.’

  Salvatore could see only too well what sort of nice long talk his mother was planning. He turned to his younger brother for relief. ‘So what have you guys been working on lately?’

  ‘There’s been a lot of the usual,’ Angelo said.

  ‘So long as it pays,’ the Old Man said. ‘What’s the complaint?’

  ‘But,’ Angelo said, ‘this morning we got hired to work on the case of the un-missing bottle of washing-up liquid.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The point which Mrs Shayler made about the washing-up liquid was that her husband Jack had not moved the bottle back to where it belonged.

  ‘Every night I wash the dishes,’ Mrs Shayler said. ‘Normally I put the bottle in the cupboard beneath the sink. But sometimes, sometimes I forget. Well, we all do that, don’t we? We’re only human.’

  ‘Of course,’ Gina said.

  ‘Ta very much. But because Jack and I have only the small work surface on the right-hand side between the sink and the cooker, if something’s been left out it gets in the way for whoever wants to use the surface next.’

  ‘So you’re saying that when your husband went to make his hot drink before going to bed …’ Gina began.