Shadows At The Crown

When I saw this photo on Brian’s site,
Bushboys World, I knew I wanted to
write something. Here it is. Thanks to
Brian for the use of his wonderful photo.

The silhouettes never once glanced at each other. That was the first thing Inspector Evie Jenkins noticed when she reviewed the lobby footage. Trying too hard to appear casual, she thought. It just didn’t feel right.

In booth one, the woman had been on the line for eleven minutes. She’d arrived first, ordered a lemon squash at the bar, nursed it slowly, then drifted …. as if by idle whim …. toward the telephone alcove. Her silhouette curved elegantly against the frosted glass, one hand raised to her hair. To any observer, she was simply a woman chatting. Far too blasé.

In booth three, the man had followed four minutes later. Broad-shouldered, hat pulled low. He’d picked up the receiver before he’d even closed the door fully. Too cheeky..

They were, of course, talking to each other.

“The manager changes the safe combination every Sunday,” he murmured. “Tonight’s good; it’s still the old one.”

“And the night porter?” she queried, watching her own reflection in the glass.

“Fond of a Scotch. Very fond.”

She almost smiled. The Crown Hotel, Grafton …. timber and history and absolute trust in its own genteel reputation. Nobody robs a place this comfortable, this unhurried. That was precisely the point.

“Midnight, then,” she said.

“Midnight.”

They hung up within thirty seconds of each other. She returned to her lemon squash. He walked out through the front door without looking back.

The potted palm stood witness to everything.

It told nobody.

NAR© 2026

This is “Call Me” by Blondie

On the phone (at the Crown)

^{All text and graphics are copyright for Nancy Richy and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.}