Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 Read Online Free Page A

fiddling with the plateful of money. “None of my business, but you could do way better.”
    “Come again?”
    “That woman you were with. She didn’t look like your sort at all.”
    I sighed and pushed back my chair. “Don’t I know it. Cheers, love.”
    “You have a good afternoon.” She smiled at me again and wiggled her way back through the tables.
    I glanced at the receipt before shoving it in my pocket. It had a phone number scribbled on it in felt tip, and the name “Angie” with a little heart instead of the dot on the “i”. I smiled, and shook my head.
    On the way out, I passed one of the mummies turning a suitcase-size handbag out onto the table looking for something, so, being a helpful sort, I paused to listen in. There . I reached into the recesses of a nappy bag, hoping to God I wouldn’t come across any dirties, and pulled out a mobile phone. “Here you go, love,” I said, handing it to a baffled mum.
    “Oh my God! How the hell did it get in there? Georgie, did you put Mummy’s phone in your bag? He must have thought it was one of his toys,” she excused him, turning back to me. “Um, thanks,” she added.
    “No problem,” I said with a smile and a cheery wave at a pesto-smeared Georgie, who sent back a rabbit-in-the-headlights look. He knew he’d been caught bang to rights.
    Thought it was a toy, my arse. My thing , as Cherry put it, only works for stuff that’s been deliberately hidden. The only reason I’d been able to find that phone was because Georgie had known he was being a little sod when he put it there.
    On the way back to the van, I took a detour through the market to pick up a couple of bits for tea. Darren was there on his stall—well, technically, he was on a box behind his stall—and he greeted me with a cheery, “All right, shortarse?”
    I never know what to say when he brings out the short jokes. Him being all of four foot six himself. So I went with, “Can’t complain. How’s the fruit-and-veg business going? Making a killing on dodgy kumquats?”
    Before you ask, I do actually know what a kumquat is, and it’s not just from watching Masterchef . They sell all sorts in the greengrocers down my way, and they’re pretty good at telling you what to do with the weird stuff.
    In the cooking sense, I mean.
    Darren leered at me. “Nothing dodgy about my kumquats. Ask Gary. There you go, love, that’ll be a pahnd,” he added to the old dear he’d just handed a paper bag full of mixed veg. He waited patiently as she stowed it securely in one of those wheeled tartan trolley things, then counted out a pound’s worth of change. “You enjoy those parsnips, and if the old man don’t like ’em, you tell him to come talk to me about it.”
    “Oh, I will, dearie.” She dimpled and doddered off with a spring in her orthopaedically booted step.
    “I’m seeing Gary tomorrow—you coming along?” I tried not to make it sound like a loaded question. Ever since him and Gary got together, Darren’s had a habit of turning up when I meet Gary for a drink. Which, don’t get me wrong, he’s an all right bloke, but sometimes you just want a natter with your mate without significant others muscling in.
    “Nah. Thought I’d let you and him enjoy a girls’ night out without me.” He grinned. “Gary’s got something to tell you.”
    “Yeah?” If that was the case, I was surprised I didn’t know already. Not one for keeping secrets, Gary isn’t, even when they’re his own. “What’s that about, then?”
    Darren tapped the side of his nose. “Have to wait and see, won’t you? Right, you buying, or you going to shift your arse and let my customers through?”
    I grabbed some onions and red peppers. “Pahnd?” Everything’s a pahnd on Darren’s stall. Unless it’s the end of the day, when it’s two fer a pahnd.
    “On the ’ouse. Mind how you go, then.”
    “Cheers, Darren.”  

Chapter Three
    I met Gary in our usual place, Thursday night, the Devil’s