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It was the young, gay, footballer who came up with the next suggestion. “Sorry to butt in, but if romance is involved, it usually involves going out together, so where would Jimmy take his old bird?”
Holms immediately perceived the flaw in this hypothesis. “We must remember that Jimmy would not want to be seen. No, this is getting us nowhere. All we have established is that this older woman is likely a sophisticated type.”
“It seems to me you're looking for the woman and not Jimmy,” MCCusker commented.
“We have explored every avenue where Jimmy is concerned. I believe that finding the woman will be easier,” Holms explained wearily.
“Janine starts with a J,” McCusker said, taking a delicate sip of his tea.
“Who's Janine?” I asked.
“She's on carbohydrates in the dining room at the training ground.”
“She serves chips and is, therefore, not sophisticated,” Holms added.
“My mother works in a chippie!” McCusker protested.
Holms ignored him and stood up. “Well, Mr MCusker, I fear we've taken enough of your time. Do you know of anyone else who might be able to help us?”
“The only one that would know him better than me is Cynthia.”
Holms looked glum. “Ah, unfortunately the last time we spoke we did not part on the best of terms. She seemed to think I had insulted her.”
McCusker put aside his tea, accepting that he’d been dismissed. “Not good, Cynthia holds a grudge tighter than her handbag.”
“Perhaps if you told her that I was on the verge of solving this mystery and it is vital that I speak to her if she wishes to see her Jimmy again?”
McCusker considered. “She might go for it. I'll see what I can do.”
He shook hands with McCusker and left and I cannot fail but confess that I felt admiration for the man.
“On the verge of solving the mystery?” I said finally to interrupt Holms’ pacing. “ It's not like you to tell lies, Holms.”
A mysterious smile played across the lips of my noble friend. “Ah, but am I lying, Wilson?”
Our encounter with the fragrant Miss la Crème occurred the following day as we were at dinner. Mrs Houston announced her arrival with, “The trollop has returned.”
Cynthia pushed by her and Ms Houston made a face and left. Cynthia looked after her and said, “She doesn't like me.”
We both rose, of course, and Holms asked, “Ah, Miss La Crème, thank you for coming. Will you join us for dinner?”
“What are you having?” she asked in her sweet, though common, voice.
“Haggis con carne,” I confessed.
“I'll not bother,” she answered, plopping herself down in my armchair. “You go ahead and suffer.”