Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

1 Kerry Greenwood
‘Phryne, would you like to tell me what you are talking
about?’ asked Simon.
‘Not tonight. Bring the bottle. Come and lie down with me,’
she said faintly, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘What with one thing
and another, Simon, darling, I don’t want to sleep alone.’
999
Morning brought Greek coffee and Dot, looking rather severe.
‘There’s things all out of order,’ she reproved. ‘All the soaps
have been moved and someone’s dropped a bottle of them expensive
French bath salts. And the towels have all been unfolded and
bundled back anyhow. What were you looking for, Miss? I left
your things out on the dressing table like I always do.’
Phryne, sitting up reluctantly, shoved her hair out of her eyes
and shook the smooth shoulder of the sleeping boy.
‘Wake up, Simon, it’s morning. That wasn’t me, Dot dear, we
had a burglar. He didn’t take anything. Ring that nice carpenter,
I forget his name, and get him to put a lock with a key on my
windows, will you? Not bars. I don’t want to be kept imprisoned
by my own security. But a nice solid lock.’
‘A burglar?’ Dot put down the coffee and boggled. ‘What, a
burglar in the house, here, when we were all asleep?’
‘Dot, if you say “We might have all been murdered in our
beds”, I’ll scream,’ said Phryne, who had woken up cross. ‘We
weren’t touched and that’s fortunate for the burglar. Otherwise I’d
have his guts for garters. Curse the horrible little hoodlum.’
‘You might say, “May beets grow out of his stomach”,’
suggested Simon, sleepy with satiated desires, lapped in more
luxury than he had ever imagined. ‘That was one of zayde’s, my
grandfather. He was good at curses. His favourite was “May a
fire burn in his belly to boil his brains.” Wicked tongue, my
grandfather, alav ha-sholom.’
‘Amen,’ agreed Phryne. ‘It’s all right, Dot, don’t worry. If it
would make you feel better, why not ask Hugh to sleep in the spare
room for the next couple of nights? This should be over soon.’
‘Oh?’ asked Dot, uneasily.