'OK, fair comment,' Danielle glanced across at him. 'Shall I try to find a vet?'

'Ha, ha, hilarious.' Oliver grinned. 'I've been trying to think, but it's hard just now. I should think about my parents… at least the people I thought were my parents. It all seems rather sad, doesn't it? All this plotting, all this greed, all the shit we bring into our lives.'

 

He looked at Danielle. Her eyes were again firmly on the road ahead. He turned and looked at the traffic they were passing. 'In the space of 24 hours, my life has become a complete mystery. It was bad enough that my wife opted for a guy in Denmark, someone she met while on a weekend break with me in Paris.

 

They were level with a woman driving on the inside lane. He looked at her. 'Can you believe that? And never suggest I go to Paris again. Never. No.' They moved alongside another car. The driver spotted an animated Oliver. 'And then to add insult to injury last month, I got a tax demand I didn't expect.

 

Six hundred sodding pounds.' Oliver banged his head against the door window as he spoke. 'Then I lost a regular contract on the very day my sons came asking for handouts. Handouts! I ask you.' They next drew alongside a car towing a caravan. 'A young girl in the car's back seat caught sight of Oliver's face pushed up against the window. 'Now I've got to deal with a divorce settlement with their mother. They should sponsor me.' He exhaled loudly. 'Hey, what the hell? It's only money.'

 

He smiled at the young girl as they drew away. 'That was last month.' Oliver was now looking down at a woman driving a sports car. She beamed up at him as they drew level. 'So, I thought this month might get better. After all, could it get any worse? Yes', he declared with an emphatic nod of the head, 'it could.'

 

The driver of a small white van stared back at Oliver and then was gone.

'A beautiful woman scares the nuts off me, simply by knocking on my door. Then my house explodes, and I'm launched into the air, land on my neighbour's tits and wreck her sunbed. It can't possibly get any worse, I hear everyone say. Can it?'

 

They were now alongside a couple in a motorhome. The driver smiled down at Oliver.

'Well, yes, folks, it could.' Oliver's tone was now almost manic. 'I then attract every gawker in the district, get the once over from the police, and I'm told someone's trying to kill me. Oh dear, oh dear, everyone mutters. Trying to kill you? Whatever is next? What else could go wrong? Well, it's like this. Your parents aren't your parents. What! Yes, and there's one more thing.' He was wagging a finger at the window.

 

'What? You must go to Scotland. When? Today, it must be today. But I have delayed shock. I deserve pampering and care, not a trip north. No, you must get over it. Grow up. You're a big boy now.' He paused for a moment. 'Well, at least what's left of you?'

 

They were now passed the motorhome; the driver and his wife were in earnest conversation about the troubled male passenger in the car up front.

Oliver looked across at Danielle, who, with pursed lips and flushed cheeks, was struggling to hold back her laughter.

 

'And what is so fucking funny?'

Danielle tried to compose herself. 'We'll have to stop at this next service area.'

'Why?' Oliver was curt.

 

'Because I can't stop laughing. We could do with fuel, and I'm going to wet myself if we don't,' spluttered Danielle. She steered the car across to the nearside lane as they passed the sign for the services.

 

Oliver sat, arms folded again, with a face like thunder. She glanced across at him. 'Is that mock or for real?'

He glanced across. 'Ugh. What do you mean?'

'What I mean is, is that face for real? Are you really that angry?'

 

'Might be,' he responded as the car slowed up along the slip road. Danielle pulled into a parking spot in the centre of the car park. 'Your driving doesn't help.' He smiled at her and unfolded his arms.

 

'My driving?'

'Yep… I think it's better than mine.'

'Thank you.'

'And another thing.'

'What's that?'

Oliver paused as he looked at her. 'You look good in that dress.'

 

'Thank you again,' said Danielle. 'Anything else?' Her eyes grew large as she raised her eyebrows. 'That's merely an enquiry based on the fact everything comes in threes.'

Oliver grinned. 'I used to tell my wife she looked good in certain dresses. It was a big mistake, because she then presumed – as only wives can - she looked crap in anything I didn't compliment. Then she was angry with me.' His face took on a rather crumpled, grumpy, even childish look. 'I could never win.'

 

'I should be thankful for a compliment at my age – well, at any age, really.'

'What age is that?'

'It's not good manners to ask.'

Oliver scowled. 'Sorry.' He put the palms of his hands together, as if in prayer. 'Am I forgiven?'

'I'm not sure. Come on, I'll go to the loo and then we can grab a coffee and sandwich. My treat.'

 

The scene inside instantly compounded Oliver's dislike of roadside service areas inside. The noisy and chaotic atmosphere, and virtually identical fast-food options at each location, confirmed his fears.

 

Danielle suggested a table in the seating area and then disappeared into the crowd, heading to the toilets. Oliver sat down and looked around. He did nothing but watch people passing by and it was just as Danielle headed back towards him on one side of the seating area that he spotted a woman on the other.

 

Oliver squinted slightly. She looked very much like his neighbour. In fact, he was sure it was her, and she was walking arm in arm with a man. He glanced across to where he'd last seen Danielle, but he couldn't see her.

 

His head went from side to side as he tried to watch both flanks. Then he spotted her, head bowed, lurking behind a newspaper stand.

After a moment, she moved towards him and sat down. 'Oliver,' she whispered as she leaned towards him, 'I think we should move.'

 

'But I'm sure I've just seen Mrs Scantily Clad with a bloke. Over there, heading to the sandwich place.' He pointed over her shoulder. 'She has a body double if it wasn't. And it's all very weird.'

 

Danielle nodded. 'I think we should move and move now.' She was more urgent. 'Come on, I'll explain in the car,' she said as he stood up. For a reason which wasn't clear to him, he understood her urgency and together they moved swiftly to the main door and out into the car park. Inside the car, she peered down at the fuel gauge. 'I think we can get going and find fuel somewhere else.'

 

Oliver sat quietly while they drove off the service area and rejoined the traffic flowing north. A couple of minutes later, they passed the couple in the motorhome again. Oliver smiled at the driver as they passed and then turned to Danielle. 'Are you OK?'

 

She looked relaxed as she drove. 'Yes, I'm OK.' She glanced at him. 'Sorry for the dash, but you were right. It was her. She'll have made sure you couldn't keep your eyes off her.'

Oliver nodded. 'All of those, I must agree. But back there, seeing her was weird. Who is she? And how come you seem to know her?'

 

'Why? Why was it weird?'

Oliver rested his elbow on the door, his head in his hand. 'Because I wasn't really that surprised to see her, and I can't work out why.' He repeated his question. 'How do you know her?'

 

'Because she is your mother's husband's great niece. She and her cousin – the man with her – are some of the last living relatives in a sparsely populated clan.'

'I take it they're not keen on children in this family.'

 

Danielle shook her head. 'That's a fact.' After a moment, she added. 'Your father's family wasn't either. There are a handful of procreating couples scattered down the ages, but many more childless couples, spinsters, and bachelors. It's a miracle the family survived.'

 

'Funny genes. Some families have funny genes.'

Danielle sighed. 'That too is a fact. But, also, they're so engrossed in power games, avarice, and lust, they lose sight of basic human values.'

 

'So, you're saying that she moved next door to me just to keep an eye on me?'

Danielle nodded slowly. 'Yep.'

'And she and her cousin are plotting to protect the money because they're worried that I might inherit?'

Danielle nodded again. 'Yep.'

 

'You couldn't make it up, could you? Did they try to do for me yesterday?'

'That's not proven, as they say, north of the border. My money is on a guilty verdict, though. Sadly, there's not enough evidence yet. There's even a chance they've plotted against your mother. She's had one or two occasions to worry.'

 

As she was speaking, she steered the car onto a slip road, leaving the A1 to join the A66, and headed across the Pennines towards the M6. Oliver presumed their destination was the west of Scotland. As they crossed the high moors in blazing sunshine, they chatted about his work, marriage, and family. Eventually, they reached the topic of the previous day's excitement.

 

'What I can't understand, now I've had time to think and the ringing in my head has finally subsided, is why a DI should turn up at the scene; I can understand a uniformed inspector, but a DI? It makes little sense.' He looked across at Danielle. 'Does it to you?'

'I think it does,' she replied without taking her eyes off the road ahead, 'because I think there's more to it all than we think. I have a theory.'

 

Oliver was about to ask her what she knew when he heard her mutter 'Shit' under her breath. She was looking down at the dashboard.

'What's up?'

She glanced at Oliver. 'You know, I said we'd make it for fuel.'

'I guess bad news is about to follow.'

'Well, we're now running low. I think the light will come at any moment.'

Oliver scanned the horizon. The landscape was beautiful, but increasingly remote. 'Nice place for it,' he mumbled.

 

Ten minutes later, Danielle was climbing back into the car. 'That was close. I've filled up completely. It must have been down to vapours in the tank.' She was holding a couple of sandwiches, cans of drink and chocolate bars. 'Here, you be mother,' she said, handing them to Oliver. She started the car and moved off the garage forecourt.

 

'I was never worried,' replied her companion as he sorted the food on his lap. 'Never once. I had nothing to worry about, did I? I mean, the worse thing would be that I'm stuck in a beautiful place with a beautiful woman.'

 

Danielle stifled a laugh as she moved back into the traffic. 'I'll be 50 next month,' she confessed. 'There, now you know, and you're a vulgar man to have asked.' She turned her head and smiled at Oliver, who smiled back.

'Stop grinning at me and watch the traffic. That's your job.'

​

'So, why think the police are interested in me?' He looked in the wing mirror and then ahead at the line of cars in front. He hadn't a clue what he was supposed to be looking out for, other than his suspicious neighbour and her companion.

 

'Because I think your mother has alerted them. I think they've been watching your neighbour ever since she moved in. I think DI Dixon is a friend you never knew you had.' She paused and then added: 'But I could be wrong and if I am wrong, he's up to his neck in it.'

​

'Wow. Big time drama.' Oliver mulled things over for a moment. 'No half measures for you, are there? OK. Questions I have are as follows. You can provide short, succinct answers if you prefer, but you must give an answer. Do you understand the rules?'

'Yes,' she smiled, I do.'

 

'Good. Your time starts now,' Oliver announced. 'Beep! What are the names of the great niece, aka Mrs Scantily Clad and her cousin?'

'Ingrid. She's 48 and single. Never married and no children. Never had a career to speak of, so we're not sure how she finances her life. She's had a bed load of long-term relationships we know about,' replied Danielle. 'With both men and women.'

 

'Oh,' said Oliver as he pulled a series of comical facial expressions. 'That threw me for a moment. And who's 'we', by the way?

'Your mother and me.'

 

OK,' he continued, 'how about the cousin?' He passed Danielle half a sandwich.

'Andrew. Also, aged 48. Shady career path, which includes small enterprises that failed under doubtful circumstances. A B&B that burned down; a pub – which also caught fire; and selling double glazing.'

 

'He should have made a fortune! They are cousins because?' Oliver's tone became more serious. He didn't wait for an answer. 'And who's my mother?'

Danielle had taken a bite of her sandwich and held her finger up to signal she needed a moment.

 

Then she said: 'OK. Here we go. 'Your mother's name is Hettie. She is a wonderfully vivacious, attractive, and amazingly positive woman – especially considering the man she married, Andrew Cunningham. He died years ago and would have been at least 105 by now. He had two sisters, Margaret and Elizabeth, the latter being a Gothic inspired spinster who has also died. Again, she'd be over 100 now. Margaret married George Allan, and they had a daughter, Louise.

 

Oliver nodded his head as he ate his sandwich.

'Louise married Gerald Anderson and they had a daughter. Gerald died in a car crash when he was about 50 and sadly Louise died last year, aged 80. I say sadly because Louise was your mother's only friend in the family, it seems. The daughter is Ingrid.'

 

'Bloody hell,' exclaimed Oliver. 'She told everyone her name was Theresa. Obviously, she wanted us to think she was a saint.' He took a bite of a fresh sandwich.

'They would find it difficult to canonise Ingrid,' his companion responded. 'Anyway, it seems they have no other interests in life other than the family fortune.'

 

'Amazing,' was all Oliver managed between mouthfuls. 'And a lot of "Andrews".'

'Well, he is Scotland's patron saint,' Danielle said as she passed three slower moving vehicles. Oliver watched the oncoming traffic getting closer and closer before they pulled back into their lane with yards to spare.

 

'I might need my own soon,' murmured Oliver, and then added a little louder. 'Do you always drive like that?'

'Yes, when people might follow closely,' said Danielle. 'Are you nervous?' She glanced at him and then turned back to the road ahead. 'We were talking about saints.'

'That we were,' agreed Oliver.

 

'Your cousin is no St Andrew. It's suspected that he's fonder of Ingrid than he should be, and she of him. He now lives with her – on and off - and her current partner, a woman called Megan.'

 

Oliver's expression changed to one of mock shock. 'Really? God, I am so boring,' he said, trying not to spill food all over his lap. 'Do people do that? It's a bohemian sort of artist thing, isn't it? I've heard and read stories, but this gets more interesting by the minute. Next question.'

 

'Give me a moment,' urged Danielle. 'I need to eat some more.'

She ate the rest of her sandwich and, as she chewed, Oliver handed her another, which she put on her lap. 'OK,' she said. 'Shoot.'

 

'Tell me more about my new mother and anything you can about my father.'

'Your mother is easier than your father, but I'll do my best.' She took a bite of her sandwich and then put the rest on her lap. 'She was Hettie Currie – it's short for Henrietta, by the way.'

 

Oliver nodded as he munched on a chocolate bar. Danielle steered the car as though she was about to move out and overtake a few more vehicles in front of them. She thought better of it and glanced across at Oliver. 'I'll try to behave.'

'Good. Now, about my mother's family?'

 

'Her parents were local doctors, local to Andrew Cunningham's place, which is a large country house with land, just north of Perth, about halfway to the Cairngorms.

'As doctors, her parents had a wide social circle, and that's how they met Cunningham. They doted on their daughter, but Daddy Currie also worshipped wealth and power.

 

Cunningham had both. He moved in high political circles and had inherited and grown considerably from the family's wealth through farming and food manufacture. They owned property throughout Scotland and the north of England. Daddy Currie, himself a shrewd investor and landowner, resolved that his daughter should meet Cunningham.

 

Mother Currie was dead against the idea, fought it and eventually lost. In fact, which was the case with most things in her life. He always had his own way.'

'Hold on, Danielle,' said Oliver as he picked crumbs off his lap, 'are we talking about an arranged marriage here?' asked Oliver. 'That's dreadful, if it is the case.'

 

'Well, perhaps engineered rather than arranged,' suggested Danielle. 'Hettie's mother never forgave her husband, apparently. Rumour has it there wasn't a wedding photograph in the Currie household. There certainly isn't one in Hettie's big house.

 

'And as soon as Hettie's married, she's encouraged to like her husband's friends. She loses contact with her own, despite trying desperately to keep in touch. She resists too much, and Andrew resorts to underhand tactics.'

'Such as?' interrupted Oliver.

 

'Ruling with a rod of iron, emotional and psychological bullying, threats and finally,' Danielle wipes a hand across a cheek, 'drugs.' She sniffled. 'He doped her.'

'Bastard,' was all Oliver said.

 

'She recalls, vividly, resisting all advances and then waking naked and in bed with a stranger. But that wasn't the scenario at the country house party when she met your father.

 

She quite liked him and thought he might be an escape route. But that was just a blind alley for her and after that - after you - she became the obedient wife. Eventually, Cunningham became ill, senile, and died at home.'

 

Danielle took one hand off the steering wheel and wiped both cheeks. 'Sorry, it upsets me when I think about how he wrecked her life, and how he's wrecked so many people. But despite all that, she nursed him to the end.'

'Perhaps she just wanted to make sure he went,' suggested Oliver.

 

Danielle nodded. 'I'm sure of that.'

'How did she find you?' asked the passenger.

The traffic flow slowed down. They were passing around Glasgow. 'Well, my father was a solicitor. He retired nearly 10 years ago and still lives in the area where he practiced.'

 

'Oh, where's that?' Oliver had now finished eating. He offered Danielle a chocolate bar, but she shook her head. 'No thanks. Well, Perth in fact. I grew up in middle England, but my parents moved home to Perth after I married.

 

Your mother was a client of my father for a while and when she was looking for a detective, found me on the internet. I use my family name, and she checked whether we were related.

 

'Sounds quite the detective herself.'

'Oh, you don't know the half. She is just quite the woman all round.'

'What I don't understand – apart from absolutely everything at the moment – is why Andrew stayed married to her and why she inherited.'

 

'That's easier to answer than you might think. In short, she blackmailed him.' The traffic moved a little quicker. 'She played the obedient wife for a while and then, as he grew older and a little dafter, she threatened to tell the world everything she knew.

 

She bluffed him, I suppose. As he lay in bed, extremely ill and near death, she read out a list of all things she knew, even those she just thought she knew. And some things she just guessed he'd done.

 

She accused him of everything from blackmail to corruption, embezzlement to tax evasion. She even suggested he'd had relations with victims – as she called them – that were underage. He bloody messed himself. Literally.' Danielle threw back her head, gave a short laugh, and swept a hand through her hair.' Ninety-nine per cent of it must have been true. God, she was brave.'

 

'OK,' said Oliver, nodding his head gently. 'So, here's the big one. If Andrew Cunningham fired blanks, what was my father's name?'

Danielle took a moment to answer. 'I'm going to leave that one to your mother.'

 

They moved slowly around Glasgow and then headed northeast on the motorway towards Perth. Oliver settled back in his seat and considered the last 24 hours of his life.

​

After a while, he broke the silence. 'Danielle, do you have any idea how this story ends?'

She shook her head slowly. 'Sorry, no. But hopefully we'll be around long enough to find out.'

 

Oliver looked across at Danielle, who was staring straight ahead. 'Hopefully,' he murmured.