by Adele Abbott
Neil wasn’t reacting in the way Dorothy had expected him to. He didn’t look amused or scared. He looked—sad, but then he could be putting on an act.
“How did you get in?” She demanded. “I could get the police onto you.”
“I’m not in the mood for your nonsense, Dorothy. I’m having a terrible morning, and I’ve got a lousy headache. Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I haven’t. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you left.”
“Are you telling me that you didn’t break into our shop on the last three nights?”
“No, I didn’t. Why would I want to break into your stupid shop?”
“The intruder was wearing a Scream mask just like those which you have out there.”
“There are millions of those around. What did he steal, anyway?”
“He—err—didn’t steal anything.”
“Why did he bother breaking in, then?”
“He—err—never mind.” She stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her.
“Have a nice day!” Fable called after her as she left the shop.
***
That woman was crazy, and getting crazier by the day, Neil reflected after Dorothy had left. Why would she think he was the one who had broken into her shop? It wasn’t the kind of thing that he would ever do. Okay, yes, he had kind of broken into someone else’s apartment, but that was totally different. He’d done that to retrieve property which belonged to Socky. Unfortunately, that ‘property’ had turned out to be no more than a brick.
If Dorothy thought she had problems, she should try putting herself in his shoes. He had until tomorrow to find five-hundred pounds. If he didn’t, he would be out of a job, and probably end up in prison. He had been over his options a thousand times. There was only one way he might be able to put his hands on that kind of money quickly enough, and it was the last thing he wanted to do.
***
Susan had spent the best part of the morning in a meeting with Flynn. He’d shared with her his plans for The Bugle, which were nothing if not ambitious. Not only did he hope to turn the newspaper around in the next two years, he also had ambitions to launch a sister publication in West Chipping to take on their rival, The Chips. He’d made it quite clear that he saw Susan as a central part of his plans, and told her, in confidence, that he hoped to be rid of some of the ‘dead wood’ before the end of the year.
“Someone left this for you.” Stella handed Susan a note when she returned to her office.
“Who brought it in?”
“I don’t know.” Stella shook her head. “It was on my desk when I came back from the loo. I asked around the office, but nobody saw anyone come in. Sorry, Susan.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
It took Susan a few minutes to decipher Manic’s writing, but she eventually worked out that he wanted her to drive to the top floor of the Bridge Street multi-storey car park in Washbridge at two o’ clock that afternoon. She was to park as close to the blue zone exit as she could, and was to stay in her car. Manic was nothing if not a man of his word, but what was this all about? What kind of proof could he possibly have to back up the story of the disappearing money? If this turned out to be some kind of wild goose chase, that creepy little man would have a lot of explaining to do.
Her phone rang.
“Susan, it’s Caroline.”
Caroline Day was an old school friend. Dreams, as Susan would always think of her, had been the one who had put her onto the job at The Bugle.
“Hey, Dreams. How goes the gift shop business?”
“It’s quiet as usual. Look, I was wondering if you and Jess fancied a night out?”
“Has Ryan given you permission?”
“Susan!”
“Sorry. Only kidding. I’d definitely be up for it, and you know Jess—she’s always up for a night out. When did you have in mind?”
“Ryan is away this weekend for work, so I thought—”
“I knew it.” Susan laughed. “While the cat’s away.”
“I can go out any time I want.”
“Of course you can. Why don’t I contact Jess, and see what she says? I’ll call you back.”
“Great. Can’t wait.”
Susan hadn’t heard Dreams so upbeat for some time. Although Dreams would never admit it, she had lost a lot of her spark since she’d hooked up with Ryan. Maybe, a good night out would let her see what she was missing, and she’d dump that loser.
***
Charlie was on his lunch break when his phone rang.
“Is that Charlie?”
“Speaking.” He didn’t recognise the female voice. It was probably someone trying to sell him something.
“My name is Charlotte Warne. I work at ‘All Man’ modelling agency. I was given your details by Tara Brown.”
“Oh?” He had assumed he wouldn’t hear any more about that.
“I wondered if you might be able to drop in for a chat?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.”
“According to Tara, you’re precisely what we’re looking for, and Tara knows her stuff. If she says you’re model material, then it’s at least worth us having a conversation.”
“I don’t know the first thing about modelling.”
“That’s just as we prefer it. Look, could you pop in after you’ve finished work today?”
“Today?” This was all happening way too quickly for Charlie’s liking.
“Why not? Tara told me where you work. Our offices are only a stone’s throw from your gym. What time do you finish?”
“Early, today. At four o’ clock.”
“That’s ideal. I’ll give you the address.”
By the time the call had ended, Charlie was in a state of shock. He’d just agreed to meet with Charlotte to discuss his possible future in the modelling business. The whole thing was surreal.
***
The top floor of Bridge Street multi-storey car park was the only one not under cover. Susan had no problem parking next to the blue zone exit, as Manic had instructed, because there were only three other cars up there. Presumably most people preferred to park their cars under cover, and didn’t relish the long trek down to the ground floor—the single lift was out of order.
Susan had arrived in plenty of time, and had stayed in her car as instructed. She had no idea what to expect. Did Manic have more information for her about the banks? It had to be more than that otherwise he would have contacted her in the car park at The Bugle.
She’d just checked her watch—it was five to two—when the door to the exit at the opposite side of the car park opened. Susan recognised the man immediately—it wasn’t Manic.
Lance Westwood, the manager of Washbridge Central Bank, was wearing a black overcoat and a trilby, and was carrying a small leather case. Even from that distance, Susan could see he looked nervous, as he shuffled from one foot to the other. His gaze was fixed on the ramp which Susan had just driven up. The second hand was almost on the hour when the screeching of tyres caught Susan’s attention. Moments later, a black Volvo shot up the ramp and onto the roof. Westwood watched the car as it did a hand brake turn to come to a halt just in front of him. The passenger door opened just long enough for Westwood to hand over the case. As he did, Susan managed to snap a few photos on her phone. The car sped away towards the down-ramp. Once it had disappeared, Westwood left through the exit door.
It was pretty obvious to Susan what she had just witnessed. The bank manager had just handed over cash to someone. It had all the hallmarks of a blackmail payment.
Just then, Susan’s passenger door opened, and she almost screamed, but realised just in time that it was Manic.
“You scared me to death.”
“Manic apologises. That was not his intention.”
“What was that all about?” She gestured towards the exit doors through which Westwood had left.
“What do you think it was?”<
br />
“I assume it was a payment in response to blackmail demands, but that doesn’t make any sense. If the banks are scared of the cash disappearing, how does handing over the money help?”
“The sums of money being paid to the blackmailer are trivial compared to the amount that would be lost if the vault was emptied. The manager can write that small amount off as an accounting error. Losing the whole contents of the vault would be more difficult to cover up. And, who’s to say they’ll only empty the vault once?”
“Okay. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. The first time the money was made to disappear was just by way of a demonstration to prove it could be done. The blackmail payments are to ensure it isn’t made to disappear for good?”
“That is correct.”
“Are both bank managers being blackmailed?”
“Yes, and now that Manic has done his job, it’s time for you to do yours.”
Before she could ask him any more questions, he’d climbed out of the car and disappeared through the exit.
Susan felt like she understood what was going on now, but was still left with three questions: Who was behind this, how were they making the money disappear, and why not just keep the cash they had taken from the vault? Why settle instead for much smaller amounts by blackmailing the bank managers? It didn’t make a lick of sense.
Chapter 13
Neil knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Debs, I have to leave early. You’re in charge.”
“You’re never here. Have you got another job somewhere that you haven’t told us about?”
“Just make sure you lock up, will you?” Neil didn’t have the energy for a fight.
He magicked himself over to Washbridge, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
“Neil?” His mother looked surprised, but pleased to see him. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Is Dad in?”
“Yes, come on through.”
His father was in his favourite armchair; the one next to the fireplace.
“Neil, my boy. This is a surprise.”
The last time Neil had been at his parents’ house, he’d stormed out, which made what he was about to do all the more difficult.
“I’ll make us all a drink.” His mother was hovering in the doorway.
“Not for me, thanks. I’d like to speak to both of you about something.”
“Of course, dear.” His mother took a seat in the armchair next to her husband. Neil sat on the sofa, facing them.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“I need to borrow some money.”
“I might have known.” His father sighed. “That seems to be the only time we see you these days.”
“James!” his mother snapped. “Hear him out!”
“I’m in a spot of bother. I have to find five hundred pounds by tomorrow.”
“What for this time?” his father said.
“I owe it to the other flatmates. They loaned it to me to get the car repaired, and I promised to repay it by tomorrow, but I’ve had a lot of unexpected expenses.”
It was an outright lie, but there was no way he was going to tell them the truth. His father didn’t need any more ammunition to use against him.
“Five hundred pounds is a lot of money,” his father said.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Neil knew that his parents regularly gave cash to his siblings, Jackie and Michael, but now wasn’t the time to raise that subject.
“We can give you the money,” his father said.
Neil sighed with relief.
“On one condition. You move back here to Candlefield, and resume your magic studies, as we discussed the last time you were here.”
“I’ve already told you, Dad, I’m not moving back here. I’ve made a life for myself in the human world.”
“What kind of life is it when you can’t even pay your own way. Playing at shop? That’s no job for a wizard. I’ll give you the cash right now if you give me your word you’ll move back here.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” Neil stood up. “I’m never moving back here. I hate it here. My life is in the human world now.”
“In that case, I’m very sorry, but—”
Neil didn’t hang around to hear the rest. He should have known better than to expect any help from his parents. He was on his own—just as he’d always been.
***
“This is not a good idea,” Charlie muttered to himself.
He was standing outside the door of the ‘All Man’ modelling agency. The offices were not as flashy as he’d expected, from the outside at least. Several times, he’d thought about turning around and walking away, but then he’d remembered what Tara had said about there being good money to be made. He could certainly use a boost to his finances.
He took a deep breath, and walked in.
The young woman behind reception had pink hair, and a stud through her bottom lip.
“Hi. Can I help you?” She flashed him a smile.
“I’m here to see Charlotte Warne.”
“You must be Charlie?”
He nodded.
“Take a seat over there, would you? I’ll let Charlotte know you’re here.”
While he waited, he glanced at the photos on the walls. As he’d expected from the name, the agency seemed to represent only male models. And, if these photos were anything to go by, they were all very handsome. He now felt even more out of place.
“Charlie?” The woman who had walked into reception was tall—at least five-eleven, and very pretty.
“Hi.” He stood up.
“Come through to my office, would you?”
Charlie followed her to a small office which was all glass and chrome.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, once they were seated.
“Neither was I. And now I’m here, I’m sure this is a mistake.”
“Nonsense. I can see why Tara called me.”
“I’m nothing like the photos you have on the wall out there.”
“Which is precisely why I think you’d do so well. Those models do get a lot of work, but many of them are interchangeable. You are that something special.”
He blushed.
“Look, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, and feel free to say no, but would you be prepared to take off your top?”
“Now?” Charlie’s blush grew deeper. “In here?”
“If you don’t mind.”
He hesitated for a moment, but then stood up and removed his t-shirt.
“It’s obvious you work out.”
“It comes with the job.”
“Okay, thanks Charlie. You can put your top back on.”
He didn’t need telling twice.
“There’s no doubt that I’ll be able to get work for you. If you’re interested?”
“What about my job?”
“To start with I would suggest you carry on working at the gym. You mentioned that you get away early some days?”
“Yes, a couple of days each week. I have to go in early those days.”
“Why don’t I start by finding you assignments that can work around your current job? Then, after a while, if we’re both happy with the way things are going, you can decide if you want to go full time. How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Great. We’ll need to take a few photographs before you leave—nothing too demanding—just something for our books. I’ll also need to go through our standard contract with you, and then we can get things rolling.”
Charlie was still shell-shocked when he left the building. A model? Him? Who would have thought it? At least he could keep his job at the gym until he saw how things went. There was no way he was going to tell anyone about this, and especially not Neil who would make his life a misery if he knew.
***
Neil and Charlie weren’t the only flatmates to have finished work early. Dorothy had asked Molly to cover for her, so she’d have
time to try to find her mother’s painting. Her mother had said she’d be over early evening; if the painting wasn’t hanging on the wall by then, Dorothy knew her mother would be upset.
She was still no closer to figuring out who the idiot in the Scream mask was. It had to be a wizard—how else was he getting into the shop? And what was with the ‘I Love Dot’ message? Was it really someone who had a crush on her? If so, he had a funny way of showing it.
“Where’s all the totty you promised me?” Bob yelled at her, as soon as she walked into the apartment.
“Don’t you start! I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about your love life.”
“What love life? That’s the problem. I don’t have one.”
“Join the club. Now, be quiet while I find this stupid painting.”
She started in Susan’s bedroom. The room was unbearably tidy. What was wrong with that human? Why couldn’t she just be a slob like the rest of them? How did she ever expect to fit in? Still, it did mean that it didn’t take Dorothy long to search the room. There was no sign of the painting.
Charlie’s room was less tidy, but still quite sparse. While she was searching, she could hear the two fairies squabbling with one another. Why did he put up with them? If it were up to her, those two would be on a one-way ticket back to Candlefield. Once again, there was no sign of the painting.
Neil’s room was more like her own: A tip. It took Dorothy almost as long to search through all his rubbish as it had taken her to search both of the other rooms. She was almost done—there was just the heap of clothes piled in one corner of the room. After removing a few jumpers, shirts and pairs of trousers, her hand brushed against something solid. She quickly removed the next few jumpers. There, in the middle of the pile of washing, was her mother’s masterpiece.
“I’ll kill him,” she said, under her breath.
Fortunately, the painting appeared to be undamaged. They had no picture hooks, so Dorothy was forced to knock a nail into the wall, and hang the painting with a length of wool. Hopefully, that would hold it—at least until after her mother had been and gone.