Mr. Suit Read Online Free

until the whistle of the kettle blew. By then she’d checked the
wardrobe, the kitchen cupboards, beneath the shower tray, in the engine housing
and all the under-seat storage. The flower boxes were full of nothing but soil
and weeds and the containers for the gas bottles and the useful bits-and-bobs
only had what was supposed to be there.
    “Stupid,
bloody bitch,” she muttered to herself as she poured hot water into the mugs,
straight onto the teabags. Imagine trusting the memory of her husband after all
this time. She could have let Mr Suit’s brother deal with the whole thing.
Sorted Archie out with those injections and left like he’d done nothing more
than fix the taps.
    What’s
more she could have been shagging Charlie Suit and getting him to spend his
millions on some of the finer things in life. Like a little nip-and-tuck and a
holiday on the Riviera.
    The
thought of shagging snagged her attention again and she wondered what Charlie
Suit might have under his shirt.
    She
took a peak at Mandy and her partner. Watched as their tongues slid against
each other. When Mandy’s hand disappeared under the girl’s skirt, Liza felt her
knees buckle again. She needed to lean on the cooker to remain upright. Almost
knocked over the mugs in the process.
    Closing
the curtains helped her regain her composure and she shuddered as she glimpsed
herself in a new lesbian future. And then she remembered what she was actually
doing.
    Instead
of a millionaire’s life, she was about to do the slowest runner in the history
of getaways, just to end up under Spaghetti Junction somewhere and be
surrounded by Brummies. There’d be no money, no plastic surgery, no luxuries
and no way back.
    And
a life with a man who could only blink his way through a conversation, who
wouldn’t be able to get it up if she smeared herself in KY and danced around a
pole .
    “Are
you sure the money’s on the boat?” She squeezed out the liquid from the
tea-bags imagining she was draining the life out of her husband. “Think man.
Think.” She was being harsh and she knew it, but spending the early afternoon
dragging Willie Martin’s dead body from pillar to post until finally putting
him in the garden shed as a final resting place wasn’t her idea of the perfect
day. The effort had sapped most of her patience.
    Blink.
There was Archie, off again.
    2.
9. 12. 7. 5. 19.
    “The
bilges. You’re a bloody genius, you are.” If they were there.
    She
wheeled the chair through to the bedroom to clear the space. Filled his
drinking bottle with the tea and put the tube into Archie’s mouth. Went back
and lifted the carpet. Took a screwdriver from the box and prized up the first
section.
    There
was the usual smell of oil and the lapping of blackened rain water. There were
also grey plastic bags taped up tightly into bricks. Loads of them.
    She
picked one out and felt the weight of it, oblivious to the layer of filth that
clung to her hand. It was heavy enough.
    With
no obvious way in, she returned to the toolbox and picked out a Stanley knife.
Before returning to the package, she ran in to Archie and hugged him hard
enough to force his shoulders and ribs to click. “Who loves ya Baby?”
    Back
at the brick, she sliced carefully around the centre and pulled back the
packaging. Good old Queen Elizabeth herself smiled back, God bless her. There
were enough notes in just that one package to sort them out with a summer
holiday. Got her wondering if they should ignore the plan to hide out on the
canals and maybe head out to Mexico or Brazil or wherever it was that usually
worked instead. The only problem was that she hadn’t packed a bikini or any of
her beachwear.
    “I
could buy stuff when we got there. Silly moo.” Her chat to herself was
interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She went through and took it from her
handbag hanging from the wheelchair handle and took a look at the monitor.
    ‘Suits
Martin’ it said on the screen.
    She
threw the phone onto