The Lipstick Killers

choosing a gastro pub off the A3 where they could keep an eye on the car from the window of the restaurant. ‘What’s the plan?’ asked Roxie over the meal.
    ‘No plan,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll have to busk it. Soon as we get back to the house I’ll call Mahoney. See if he’s got any news.’
    ‘Would he tell you if he had?’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘My, my, he is a naughty boy – or he just wants to get in your knickers.’
    But when they arrived back at Sharon’s, things had gone from bad to worse.
    She and Frankie were waiting for them, huddled together, white faced on the sofa. There was no sign of the children.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Margaret.
    ‘I had a phone call,’ said Sharon, in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘A man. He wants money.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He said that Monty had stolen money. Lots of money. And if I don’t pay…’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Half an hour ago.’
    ‘Why didn’t you call me?’
    ‘I didn’t know what you were doing. I didn’t think.’
    ‘Well we’re here now. Have you told anyone else? The coppers outside?’ Margaret said anxiously.
    ‘No. I wanted to see both of you first.’
    ‘What else did this man say?’
    ‘If I didn’t pay he’d hurt the children. He knew all about us. Even knew their names,’ Roxie gasped.
    ‘Where are they?’
    ‘Upstairs in Susan’s room. I didn’t want them to get scared,’ said Frankie.
    ‘Do you know anything about this money?’ asked Margaret, softly.
    ‘You know Monty never talked about his business. Well, only to say if it was a good year or a bad one.’
    ‘And nothing about Antarctic Holdings or a bloke called Haywood?’
    Sharon looked mystified. ‘Who are they?’
    ‘Someone I think Monty was working for. Someone dodgy.’
    ‘Leave this to the police Mags, they know what they’re doing,’ interjected Frankie.
    ‘We could all be dead by the time they figure it out,’ Margaret retorted.
    ‘What am I going to do?’ wailed Sharon. ‘I’m scared for the kids.’
    ‘We’ll have to get you out of here, somewhere safe. You, and the kids,’ said Mags.
    ‘Monty’s mum’s?’
    ‘No. We don’t want anyone else in harm’s way. It’ll have to be a safe house somewhere.’
    ‘The man told me not to go to the police,’ said Sharon worriedly.
    ‘Course he did. But I am. I have to. I’m going upstairs to talk to that copper who came here. Roxie. You come as well. Bring the bags. If the phone goes again, come and get me immediately.’
    The two women went to Margaret’s room, leaving Frankie comforting a trembling Sharon. ‘This is getting out of hand,’ Mags said, her voice grim.
    ‘Tell me about it,’ said Roxie, unloading the bag of guns and bullets. ‘Lock and load,’ and she broke open a box of .45 ammunition, and started to fill one of the spare clips of the big Colt. ‘Whoever’s foolish enough to mess with the Doyles needs to back off. But this will help them get that message.’
    ‘Little sis, you bring a tear to my eye. Mum would have been so proud.’

47
     
     
     
    Margaret took out her mobile and dialled in the number Mahoney had given her. He answered at once. ‘There’s been a development,’ she said.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Someone’s threatened Sharon. They’re demanding money. Money she hasn’t got.’
    ‘Threatened her how?’
    ‘Someone called when I was out today.’
    ‘I’ll be right there.’
    Mahoney was as good as his word, and they opened the door to him ten minutes later. He and Margaret took Sharon into the living room. Sharon was still shaking and deathly white. ‘Have you used the phone since he called?’ he asked, to which Sharon shook her head.
    Mahoney called to the police station on his mobile to see if they could track the call. ‘What did this man say?’ he asked.
    ‘He said Monty had stolen money. He wanted it back. I told him I didn’t know anything about any money, and then he threatened my children.’
    ‘No. Just said that he’d hurt them – and me. He told me not to go to the police. They won’t hurt them, will they,’ she asked Mahoney, beseechingly.
    ‘No, don’t worry, you did the right thing. We’re going to look after you and the kids, but we need to get you somewhere safe.’
    ‘I don’t want to leave here,’ Sharon wailed. ‘There’s the funeral. Funerals, now Joyce is dead.’
    ‘We’ll handle all that,’ said Margaret.
    ‘And school…?’
    ‘I think school is out for the moment,’ said Mahoney. ‘I’ve