From the kitchen wafted the heavenly aroma of lemon chicken. Nanoparticles of olive oil, rosemary and roasting bird rose from the oven, shook hands and found their way into the living room. From there, they wafted into Gary's nose. It twitched once in response, but his mind was not on food. A shame really, Lorna was an excellent cook. Aline—and Gary—suffered the consequences. But instead of squeezing herself into waist-nipping jeans, Lorna's partner wore her surplus kilos with a smile and flashed them at the world in a riot of patterns and daring colours.

Gary blinked at the swirls in puce and lime that seemed to dance on her tunic. He shook himself and swiped at his smartphone again. Still no smoke signals from Rome. No messages from Ike, no updates from Brigitte.

Crap!

He leaned his head against the backrest of the sofa and addressed the ceiling. "That's trademark Ike. Fires off an enigmatic statement and with a bang drops from the radar."

Above him, cobwebs clung to the chandelier, a wedding present from the in-laws neither Emma nor he had dared to hide in the attic.

Gary sighed and faced Aline again, sitting in the middle of the sofa, a purring cat at her side. She looked up from the magazine she was leafing through. "There might well be a reason. Last time she had one."

"That's what I fear. What does Ike mean by 'a dead body'? Did they find one? Did the whole tour stumble over it? Or only Ike? She makes for a great corpse spotter that woman. Or has somebody dropped dead? Questions galore, and I haven't got an answer. That Brigitte doesn't either makes me worried. Very worried."

Aline put her magazine aside and folded hands that seemed oddly small when compared to her body. "You worry too much. Agreed—after that spot of bother in Germany bodies is not what we need. But I'm sure she would have told us if something was really off—"

Aline was interrupted by a scream coming from Gary's kitchen.

"Lorna?" Gary pushed himself out of his ratty wing chair and reached for his crutches.

Aline had already shot from the sofa and disappeared.

Gary followed her into the kitchen where he found the two ladies staring at the small telly Emma had insisted on keeping on top of the Welsh dresser. Cookery shows inspired her, she claimed.

Lorna swung around, wielding a dripping spoon. "Gary, you won't believe this."

"Won't believe what?" He pushed past her, craned his neck at the screen and beheld—a commercial for air freshener. Not a bad idea but not something to get into a tizzy about.

Lorna must have read his expression correctly and pointed her spoon at the screen. Something viscous and glistening flew off and landed on the plate rack with a splat.

"Oops, sorry. I'll clean up later. You're too late. Rome was in the news."

Despite the savoury smells filling the kitchen Gary suddenly felt nauseous. "Yes?"

"The footage showed Ike and two men. The anchorwoman called them archaeologists."

Hope dawned. "The body is historical?"

"One of them," Lorna said with ghoulish satisfaction. "The other one is modern. A tourist. Not one of ours, apparently. They mentioned an outfit called Serious Study Tours."

Gary groaned. "That's the group I told you about. The one whose transport Ike commandeered because of the coach trouble."

"Dearie me. Let's hope somebody didn't get their victims mixed up. Did Ike find the body? Bodies, I mean," Aline asked.

"Search me. The anchorwoman didn't go into great detail. Just said the tourists were visiting the excavations at the Colline Gate, one died in suspicious circumstances, and historical relics were discovered."

"An accident, perhaps?" Aline said. "It started with an accident last time, didn't it? The poor professor in the waterworks . . ."

"Well, no." Lorna swung her spoon as if it were a conductor's baton. "Ike and the two gentlemen got taken away in a police car. Doesn't bode well, I dare say. At least, it explains why Ike hasn't been able to brief us. And they didn't mention LiteraTours, which is a good thing."

Aline nodded sagely and popped a green olive into her mouth.

Gary, who felt the urge to kick a cupboard, an impossible manoeuvre as it would force him to put all weight on his injured foot, straight-jacketed his voice into a smooth tone.

"They will, eventually. We need to act."

Lorna turned towards the oven and peeped at the bird. "Not much longer, and we can eat."

"I wasn't talking about food," Gary said, frustrated.

"No, dear. It's rather unfortunate, but all is not lost yet."

Aline's soothing tone set his teeth on edge, which triggered a twinge from the ill-fitting crown he still hadn't got sorted.

"Say, don't you have this friend in the Met?" Aline asked. "The one who kindly helped us last time?"

"Adrian? Yes, I was planning to meet him at the pub. Later."

Lorna, who had been prodding the bird, shut the oven and shot him a foggy look. Her rhinestone-studded glasses were all steamed up. "Why don't you give him a bell and see if he wants to come over. There's plenty of chicken to go around."

"You mean to come here instead of the Nag's Head? Eh, I'm not sure." The two ladies and the no-nonsense copper would be a personality clash and a half.

Aline fished three more olives from the bowl. "Why not? Policemen never have the time to eat anything but doughnuts, correct? It would be lovely to say hello to your friend. I'm sure he would enjoy home-cooked food."

Gary tried to visualise Adrian, all six foot two of him, complete with pale skin, white hair and albino eyes making polite conversation over a plate of lemon chicken.

It didn't work.

"He isn't really into chit-chat. He might not even be back yet. Or he could be too tired. Better, if I call him later."

Aline wiped her fingers, chewing, before busying herself with the crockery. She swallowed. "Ah, come on. Try it. I'd love to hear what he has to say. So useful if one knows the right people."

A soulful look from Lorna's chocolate-brown eyes framed by her twinkling spectacles. A cheerful smile from Aline while her fingers crept up on the olives.

Gary was outnumbered and outmatched. If one included the cat, he was surrounded by females. So he did what any reasonable male would have done in his situation.

He capitulated.

###

Despite Gary's secret hope for the opposite, Adrian not only had returned from London but also was willing to join the impromptu dinner party. When Gary told him the reason for the invitation, he laughed.

"Trust you, mate, to end up with another corpse on your hands. Okay, sold. I'm coming and never mind the old dears. I can handle them. No need to bother with buying beer. I'll bring my own. I know what you think of the stuff."

"He'll join us." Gary observed the two "old dears" whizzing about to get dinner ready. The ladies were in their sixties, which wasn't exactly old these days. Still, they shouldn't be doing all the work.

"Let me give you a hand," he said, feeling guilty.

"How?" Lorna said, pouring a lemon, herbs and olive oil mixture into the sauceboat. "You're on crutches. We're fine. Sit down and pour yourself a sherry."

Sherry?

Gary shuddered.

Twenty minutes later, just as Lorna started clucking over her roast chicken, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it." Gary peg-legged into the corridor and threw open the front door to the chill drizzle of a drab November evening. Gone were the last remnants of sunnier days, leaving behind nothing but the odours of the browning apples in his backyard and the leaves rotting in the gutter.

In the bright light of the lamp over the porch, Adrian's eyes glittered like rubies.

"Evening, mate." He fumbled around in a plastic carrier bag and fished out a bottle of white wine. "Some plonk to go with the chicken. Thought you might fancy that. I'll carry it in for you."

Gary appreciated the thought but not the vineyard.

He ushered his friend inside and led him towards the glass-topped dining table that occupied half the living room.

Adrian dumped his booze bag, blew on his hands and drew a deep breath. "Man, smells good in here. Makes a pleasant change to the pub grub. Actually, I'm glad I didn't have to drive there today. Been in meetings all day and am totally knackered. Sometimes I wish I were back on the beat." His voice sounded gravelly, but then it always did.

"Not in weather like this."

Lorna breezed in with the bird on a serving platter. "Oh hello there, so you're the famous Adrian."

Adrian's mouth twitched in amusement. "Famous, am I now? Unless I'm very mistaken, you guys and gals did all the work last time. Even some of the stuff that should have been left to the police. Here, let me help you with that." He grabbed the overloaded tray from Aline and arranged the plates with roast potatoes, onions and grilled feta next to the bird.

Adrian in full housewife mode? Wonders never ceased.

They sat down. Accompanied by noises of appreciation from Adrian and protests from Gary, Lorna heaped food on their plates. "Men must eat. Enjoy your dinner."

"I'm not a Neanderthal out to bludgeon mammoths!"

Adrian swigged beer before picking up his cutlery. "Methinks he doth protest too much. Let's eat first and discuss your corpse problem later. I need to take a commercial break from crime."

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.

Photo by Florencia Potter from Unsplash