Whoops! Our New Flatmate Is A Human (A Susan Hall Mystery Book 1)

by Adele Abbott

  “For now, but I’m not sure how long I’m going to stick around here, though.”

  “Where else would you go?”

  “Err—I don’t know.” Dorothy had to check herself. She’d almost said she might go back to Candlefield. “I might try my luck in London. There are plenty of jobs down there, aren’t there?”

  “Yeah, but everything is very expensive. Even the smallest apartment costs a fortune. You’d probably have to live a long way out and travel in. If you don’t mind a lengthy commute, it could be okay.”

  “I might do that.” Dorothy glanced at her watch. “Come on, let’s go to a club. I feel like dancing.”

  They moved on to a nightclub called Surrender. It cost an arm and a leg to get in, and was absolutely packed. The music was a bit loud for Susan’s taste, but Dorothy seemed to love it.

  “Let’s get some shots,” Dorothy said.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Come on. Let your hair down.” Dorothy bought shots for them both. Moments later, they were on the dance floor. Dorothy had lost all her inhibitions, and was really getting into the groove. Susan tried to keep pace. A few guys hovered around, but none of them made a move.

  When it was time to go home, Dorothy was definitely the worse for wear, and Susan wasn’t far behind her.

  “It’s been really good tonight.” Dorothy hiccupped. “You’re not so bad after all.”

  “Thanks. You’re okay yourself.”

  “We’d better get a taxi.”

  “Let me pay for it,” Susan insisted. “You bought most of the drinks.”

  As Susan lay in bed, the room began to spin a little. She’d been disappointed that the party had been cancelled, but at least it had given her the opportunity to bond with Dorothy. Maybe now, they would have a better relationship.

  ***

  The next morning when Susan emerged from her room, she spotted Dorothy disappearing out of the door. Susan gave chase because she wanted to thank her for the previous night.

  “How was your night out, Susan?” Charlie called after her.

  “Great, thanks,” she said, as she hurried out. “I’ve got a bit of a headache this morning, but it was worth it. I want to catch Dorothy.”

  When she stepped out onto the landing, she spotted Dorothy heading not downstairs, but up to the floor above. Susan was about to follow when she heard another voice. It was Dorothy’s friend, Tilly. “Dorothy, where were you last night? You missed a great party. Everybody was there. Craig was asking after you.”

  Susan couldn’t believe her ears. The party hadn’t been cancelled at all. Dorothy had lied to her. What was it with that woman?

  ***

  Susan’s phone rang; caller ID told her that it was her mother’s landline. Although her mother had a mobile phone, she rarely used it.

  “Hi, Mum.”

  “Hello, Susan.” Her father’s voice took her completely by surprise. It had never occurred to her for one minute it might be him calling.

  “Oh? Hello, Dad. How are you?”

  “I’m very well, thank you. I know you and I have had our differences, but your mother told me that you’re back in Washbridge. I wonder if we could meet for lunch, just the two of us, to see if we can clear the air?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’d like that.”

  “Can you make today?”

  “Yes, but there’s somewhere I need to be at three.”

  “How about one o’clock, then? Do you know The Sparrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you there at one.”

  “See you then.”

  Susan was still staring at the phone long after the call had ended. When she’d decided to return to Washbridge, she’d known that sooner or later she would have to face her father, but she had hoped it would be later. She’d expected their first conversation would be heated, but he’d seemed almost conciliatory. That wasn’t like him at all. She could only assume that her mother must have told him he had to get it sorted. Susan wanted that too. She didn’t want this atmosphere hanging over them.

  Chapter 22

  Susan and her father both arrived at The Sparrow at precisely one o’clock. He was full of smiles, and gave her a big hug. It seemed almost too good to be true.

  “I’ve booked a table over there in the corner.” He led the way inside, and once seated, he ordered the drinks. Susan had a soda water; he had a beer. The meal, although very simple, was perfectly acceptable. All through it, they made polite conversation. They talked about her brothers, her mother, and all manner of things, but neither of them mentioned the subject that had torn them apart. Just when Susan was beginning to relax, her father changed tack.

  “I was talking to an old acquaintance of mine, Bill Ruthers. I don’t think you know him.”

  Susan shook her head. Her father had so many friends, it was hard to keep track.

  “He now runs a lifestyle magazine called ‘The Bridge.’ You might have seen it?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s only available in Washbridge and the surrounding area, but it does quite well. It’s very well thought of.”

  “That’s nice.” The warning bells were starting to ring in Susan’s head.

  “Anyway, I was speaking to him over lunch the other day, and he told me that they were looking for a full-time editor. It’s a good opportunity, and very well-paid. I mentioned your name, and told him you were back in the area after working in London. He seemed very interested. I said you’d give him a call.”

  Susan could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she didn’t want to lose her temper. She had to stay calm. “I have no interest in working at a lifestyle magazine. I’d die of boredom. I’m an investigative reporter, Dad. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last three years.”

  Her father’s expression changed. The smile he’d worn all the way through lunch melted away, and she could sense the anger in him. “Don’t you realise what the press did to me, Susan? They tarnished my reputation.”

  “I know, and it was unforgivable. The story they ran was a complete fabrication—they admitted as much.”

  “Yes, but the damage was already done by then. Don’t you see that? That’s the problem. They can say what they like, attack who they like, and even if it’s proven to be a complete pack of lies, the mud still sticks. People always believe that there’s no smoke without fire.”

  “I know. But that was one bad apple. One bad journalist. That’s not what I’m about. The stories that I bring in will be based on hard work and investigation. I take pride in my work.”

  “And doesn’t it matter to you what the press did to me?”

  “Of course it does, but this is my career.”

  “I’ve had enough of this.” He stood up. “I promised your mother I would try. I even managed to find you an another job, but still you throw it in my face.” He took out his wallet, and put two twenty-pound notes on the table. “That should cover it.” And with that, he left.

  “That went well.” Susan sighed.

  ***

  Robert Marks was due to attend the opening of the new extension to the Washbridge Tennis Club at three o’clock.

  “Are you a member?” A fussy little woman put up a hand to halt Susan.

  “I’m press.” She flashed her card.

  “Oh? Okay.” The woman let her through.

  The room was surprisingly crowded. On the stage were two women, and one man who Susan immediately recognised as Robert Marks.

  “Quiet, please!” The tall woman on the stage clinked her glass with a spoon. “Everyone, please make sure you have a glass of champagne, and then take a seat.”

  Susan took a glass even though she had no intention of drinking.

  “We are honoured to have councillor Robert Marks with us today. As many of you will already know, Mr Marks is hoping to be elected as MP for Washbridge. Please give him a warm welcome.”

  The crowd duly obliged. Not to be too conspicuous, Susan mana
ged a rather half-hearted clap. What followed was a terminally boring speech by a man who was more interested in winning votes for his upcoming election campaign than in the new extension to the tennis club.

  “So, ladies and gentlemen.” Marks raised his glass. “Please join me in a toast to the new extension.”

  Everyone joined in the toast.

  Susan’s gaze never left the glass in Marks’ hand. Moments later he was in among the crowd, mingling and offering platitudes to the electorate. Susan was still watching him like a hawk. As soon as he put his glass down, she picked it up using a tissue, and placed it in a plastic bag, which she slid into her handbag.

  Once she was back at her car, she made a call to her brother, Ray, and asked him to meet her at Aroma the following day.

  She’d no sooner finished on the call to her brother than her phone rang. It was Yvonne, her old flatmate from London.

  “Yvonne?”

  “Susan, thank goodness.”

  “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Eddie came around here last night.”

  Susan’s heart sank. “What did he want?”

  “What do you think? He wanted to know where you were.”

  “It’s just as well I didn’t tell you, then. He didn’t do anything stupid, did he?”

  “No. He’d been drinking. I could smell it on him. He just shouted at me, and said I must know where you were.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth, that I don’t know.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “What do you think? He wants to talk to you. I don’t think he’s accepted it’s over yet.”

  “I’m sorry to have put you in this position, Yvonne.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not worried about Eddie, but I am worried about you. He was angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He said he would find you wherever you were. Will he be able to, Susan?”

  “No,” she said, with as much confidence as she could muster. But what would happen if Eddie did find her? She didn’t want to think about it.

  ***

  “Hey, Neil!” Charlie shouted. “Have you seen Pretty?”

  Neil shook his head. “No, can’t say I have.”

  “What about you, Dorothy?”

  “No, and I don’t want to.” Dorothy glared at him. “I’ve told you, Charlie, we can’t have that smelly cat in here. If Redman finds out, we’ll all get thrown out.”

  “Susan, have you seen the cat?”

  “Not since my first day here.”

  “I’m a bit worried.” Charlie frowned. “It’s been a few days since she’s been around. That’s not like Pretty. Are you sure you haven’t seen her, Dorothy?”

  “Why are you asking me again?”

  “Because I know you. If you had seen her, you would have chased her off.”

  “You’re right, I would, but I haven’t. Good riddance, anyway.”

  Pretty wasn’t Charlie’s cat, but that didn’t stop him worrying. What if she’d been hit by a car or something? What if she was lying injured somewhere? He couldn’t settle, so he went out and began to walk the streets.

  “Pretty, Pretty!” He earned himself a few strange looks from men and women alike. “Pretty, where are you, Pretty?”

  Charlie didn’t care about the looks he got; he was only interested in making sure that Pretty was all right. He would never forgive himself if anything had happened to her.

  An hour later, he was almost half a mile from the apartment. Surely, she wouldn’t have strayed so far? Charlie had no idea where Pretty actually lived. If he had known, he would have called on them just to make sure she was okay. She normally turned up at his door every day, but he hadn’t seen her for a few days now. He wondered if Dorothy had chased her away. Charlie liked Dorothy, but he hated the way she treated Pretty.

  He was on the verge of giving up when he just happened to glance down an alley between a chemist’s shop and a bookmaker. And there, sitting on top of a bin, was Pretty. She was looking up at something—maybe a bird.

  “Pretty!” The cat looked around, meowed, jumped off the bin, and came rushing towards him. Charlie scooped her up into his arms. “I’ve been worried about you.” He stroked her, and she purred loudly. “Come on, let’s go back to the apartment, and I’ll give you some food. I don’t care what the others say. Where have you been?” The cat kneaded his chest.

  When they were on the landing, outside the apartment, Charlie put Pretty onto the floor, and then opened the door. The cat shot inside. At that precise moment, Dorothy opened the door to the birdcage, and Bob, the canary, came flying out. Pretty saw it immediately, and went charging across the room. She leapt onto the sofa, and hurled herself at Bob. But the canary was too quick for the cat.

  “What have you done, Charlie?” Dorothy screamed. “Get that cat out of here before it kills Bob!”

  “Come here, Pretty!” Charlie rushed into the room.

  The cat was in no mood to listen; she was too focussed on her prey. She leapt from sofa to armchair and back again. She ran over to the lounge and then back to the kitchen. The bird seemed to be toying with the cat.

  Eventually, Charlie managed to grab Pretty, and Dorothy got hold of Bob, and put him back in his cage.

  “What were you thinking, Charlie?” Dorothy yelled.

  “I just brought her in to give her some food. She hasn’t been fed for several days.”

  “Of course she has. She probably gets fed at four or five different places. Look at her, she hasn’t gone short of food. She nearly killed Bob!”

  “You shouldn’t have let him out. You promised you’d keep him in his cage.”

  “I waited until everyone was out. I thought it would do him good to stretch his wings. Just get that smelly cat out of here!”

  “No. I’m going to feed her first.” He went to the cupboard, and brought out one of the tins of cat food.

  “Why are you keeping cat food in the apartment?”

  “If you can have a canary, I can have a cat.” He put the bowl of food on the floor for Pretty, and then went to the fridge to get her some milk.

  Thirty minutes later, Pretty had had her fill of food and milk, so Charlie took her back outside.

  “I see you found the cat.” Susan met Charlie on the street, and followed him back upstairs.

  “Yeah. Thank goodness.”

  “Dorothy, can I have a word, please?” Susan had been biding her time, but she knew she had to get this sorted once and for all.

  “Sure.”

  “Not here. Can we talk in my bedroom?”

  “I guess.” Dorothy followed her.

  “Why did you lie to me about the party?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I know it wasn’t cancelled. I heard you talking to your friend from upstairs. Why did you lie to me?”

  “I—err—I thought a night out would give us a chance to bond. It did, didn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lied, but that Craig is always hitting on me. You know how it is. I didn’t really want to go to the party. Do you forgive me?”

  “Err—yes, I suppose so.”

  “Thanks.” Dorothy made a quick exit.

  Susan was even more confused than ever. Dorothy was proving to be something of an enigma.

  Chapter 23

  Ray arrived at Aroma at nine o’clock on Monday morning, as arranged.

  “This had better be important, Susan.” He didn’t look happy.

  “I need a favour.”

  He laughed. “Why would I do you a favour after the way you’ve treated Dad?”

  “Can we leave Dad out of this? If my hunch is right, this will be a feather in your cap too.”

  “What hunch? What are you talking about?”

  She took out the plastic bag containing the champagne glass, and put it onto the table. “I need you to check the fingerprints on this against those you have on file for the Crab
Tattoo murder.”

  “The what?”

  “It was about ten years ago. A pharmacist was murdered, but before he died he managed to write ‘crab tattoo’ in his blood.”

  “What does that have to do with this glass?”

  “Just do as I ask. I’m sure you’ll find they’re a match.”

  “Whose fingerprints are on the glass?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Do you seriously expect me to do this without even telling me whose fingerprints they are?”

  “I’ll tell you if they match. If they do, and I’m confident they will, you’ll have a man guilty of not one, but possibly four murders.”

  “Four? Who are the other three victims?”

  “I’ll tell you when you confirm there’s a match.”

  Ray thought about it for a while. “Okay. I’ll do it, but if they’re not a match, and you’ve been messing me around—”

  “Just do it, Ray. You’ll thank me.”

  After her brother had left, she made a call to Mary Dole, the woman Greg had mentioned to her when she’d been at the PAW meeting. The woman who had told a similar story to that of Margie. She got through on the first attempt.

  “Hi. My name is Susan Hall. I’m a journalist with The Bugle.”

  “Sorry. I don’t want to speak to you.” The woman hung up—not a great start.

  Not to be deterred, Susan tried again. “Please don’t hang up. Can I just have a quick word?”

  “What about?”

  “I believe your husband disappeared.”

  “Yes, he did. What’s that got to do with The Bugle?”

  “Perhaps nothing, but I’d like to talk to you about the circumstances of his disappearance. I understand they were rather unusual.”

  “Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” The line went dead again.

  She was getting nowhere fast, so Susan decided to approach it from a different angle. She called Greg.

  “Greg, it’s Susan.”

  “Hello again. Still having problems with the ghost?”