Joker in the Pack (Romantic Suspense, Completed, Watty Winner)

Chapter 15

A knock at my newly patched-up front door woke me early the next morning. At least, it felt early because I'd barely got any sleep, but when I checked the clock, it had gone eight.

"Warren? What are you doing here?" I pulled my dressing gown tightly around me as the chilly morning air drifted inside.

"I heard you'd had a break-in, and I wanted to check you were okay."

He did? But I hadn't told anyone except Yvonne, Tate, and the police. "Where did you find that out?"

"One of my passengers mentioned it. She said the burglar smashed everything up."

"Which passenger?"

"Edna Curry."

"But I don't even know her."

"Doesn't matter in a place like this. Gossip spreads faster than a winter cold. If one of the ladies in the village knows, they all know."

Marvellous. With the number of committees Yvonne was on, she must have told someone about my bad luck. Mental note: watch my words around the neighbours. Otherwise, I'd have no secrets.

"Well, the person who broke in made a huge mess, but I'm getting it cleared up."

"I wish I could stay and lend a hand, but Tuesdays are always busy with pre-booked rides. Do you want me to pick anything up for you in town?"

"I'm still working out what's usable and what isn't. Maybe tomorrow?"

"No problem. You've got my number—just call me if you think of anything."

Not ten minutes after Warren pulled out of the driveway, Tate turned up with a horsebox.

"Do you have the wrong place? I haven't sat on a pony in years."

Not since Mother made me take riding lessons as a child because all young ladies should know their fetlock from their forelock.

Tate gave me that handsome smile of his. "I thought we could use it to take the unsalvageable items to the rubbish dump. Better than making a dozen trips in my car."

"Don't you have to work today?"

"Sometimes, there are more important things in life than work."

Did he mean me? My skin tingled as he met my gaze.

"Besides," he continued, "my godfather's a senior partner at the firm, and when he heard what happened to you, he told me to take the day off and help."

"Is there anybody left in southern England who doesn't know about the break-in?"

Tate's smile turned sheepish. "Probably not. The Women's Institute holds its weekly meeting on a Sunday afternoon, so you can guarantee that the only people in the three villages who didn't know by Monday morning are either too young to speak or dead."

My every move being common knowledge made me squirm a little inside. I'd lived in my London flat for over three years, and I'd only known the name of one of my neighbours. And that was only because the postman kept getting number one confused with number seven and delivering me his post by accident.

But the close-knit community did have its good points. As Tate and I carted broken things out to the horsebox and put anything left intact back into its rightful place, people I'd never even met before stopped by to offer condolences or home-baked snacks. By the time the lorry was packed, I'd eaten so many cakes and quiches and sausage rolls I could barely move.

One lady had insisted on cleaning the kitchen, and another had done the windows. I felt particularly guilty over the latter because their filthy state was nothing to do with the burglary. Eleanor couldn't have touched them for years, and I'd barely been able to see out of the dining room in particular. Eleanor had worried as little about natural light as she had about salmonella.