by Adele Abbott
Neil and Charlie arrived back together. Neil had spotted Charlie walking home, and had stopped to give him a lift.
“You found the painting,” Charlie said.
“I’m going to kill you, Neil.” Dorothy gave him both barrels as soon as he walked through the door.
“What have I done now?”
“The painting was in your bedroom, under a pile of your dirty clothes.”
“I didn’t put it there.”
“How did it get there, then? I suppose it just walked there by itself, did it?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me. Maybe Socky took a shine to it.”
“You’ve found it. That’s all that matters.” Charlie was once again trying to play peacemaker.
Before Dorothy could lay into Neil again, there was a knock at the door. Charlie let Craig in.
“I thought I should check back with you three to see if you wanted to change your minds about the petition. Nearly everyone else has signed it. I’m going to give it to Redman on Monday.”
“We haven’t changed our minds,” Charlie said.
“Are you sure?” He looked at Dorothy and Neil.
“Positive.” Neil nodded.
“Dorothy?” Craig approached her.
She looked at Neil, and then Charlie. “Positive. I guess.”
Susan was halfway up the stairs to her apartment when her phone rang. She assumed it would be Jess because she’d been trying to get hold of her to arrange a girls’ night out.
It wasn’t Jess.
“It’s Greg from PAW. I was just wondering if you’d like to get together to talk about Margie and the other women whose husbands have gone missing?”
“You’re not going to try to convince me that they’ve been abducted by paranormal creatures, are you?”
“I might, but I doubt it will do any good.”
“Did you want to come into the office? Or shall I come to PAW?”
“I thought we might meet up for lunch one day?”
“Oh? Sure, why not? I’m just really busy this week.”
“What about this weekend?”
“I could make it on Saturday.”
“Sounds good. Where?”
“How about the Washbridge Lounge?
“Okay. Midday?”
“Yeah. See you then.”
That had been a complete surprise—a very pleasant one, though. Did that count as a date, she wondered? It was ages since she’d had one of those.
“You found the painting!” Susan said when she walked into the apartment.
The other three flatmates were seated in the lounge.
“No thanks to Neil,” Dorothy said. “He had it hidden away under his dirty clothes.”
“I’ve already told you. I didn’t put it there. It must have been—” Neil hesitated when he realised that both Dorothy and Charlie were glaring at him. They’d realised he was just about to blame Socky for moving the painting. “It must have been—err—someone else. Anyway, you won’t have to worry about me for much longer. It looks like I’ll have to move back in with my parents.”
“Why?” Charlie looked surprised. “You said you hated living with them.”
Neil couldn’t tell them the whole story—not in front of Susan, but he did tell them that he’d had to borrow money from the shop.
“If I don’t pay it back tomorrow, I’ll be sacked for sure. And the owner will probably bring in the police.”
“You’re such an idiot, Neil,” Dorothy said.
“Don’t worry. You won’t have to put up with my idiocy for much longer. I’ll soon be gone.”
“I could lend you some of the money,” Susan said. “Maybe three hundred.”
“I could scrape together a hundred,” Charlie offered.
Dorothy realised Susan and Charlie were both waiting for her to speak up. “Oh, alright. I can let you have a hundred, but I’ll want it back. With interest.”
“Thanks, guys.” Neil was choking back the tears. “You three are the best.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Dorothy went to answer it.
“Mum, come in.”
“Give us a hug.” Her mother pulled Dorothy into her arms. “Now, where’s that painting?”
Chapter 14
“Good morning,” Susan said. She was still only half awake when she made it out of her bedroom.
“Morning, Susan.” Charlie sounded way too bright and breezy for that time in the morning.
Dorothy grunted something, which may or may not have been ‘good morning’.
“Are you taking the painting down already, Dorothy?” Susan said.
“Yeah. I’ll leave the nail there, so I can hang it again the next time Mum comes over.” She stepped down from the chair, painting in hand.
“Why don’t you just leave it up?” Susan was studying the contents of the cupboard, trying to decide what to have for breakfast.
“Nah, it gives me a migraine.” Dorothy took the painting through to her bedroom.
“Morning, everyone.” Neil looked ten times brighter than he had the previous evening. “Where’s the painting gone?”
“I’ve put it in my bedroom.” Dorothy reappeared. “Just don’t go hiding it again.”
“Hey, you three,” Neil said. “I just want to thank you all again for loaning me the cash. It means a lot to me. You three are the best.”
“Please, you’re making me gag.” Dorothy pulled a sour face. “I wouldn’t get too excited; you haven’t seen my interest rates yet.”
“Isn’t it your first date with Amelia, tomorrow night, Charlie?” Susan said.
“Don’t remind me.” Charlie’s smile dissolved. “I’m terrified.”
“If you need any advice, you know who to ask.” Neil grinned.
“Not you—that’s for sure,” Dorothy said. “You’ll be fine, Charlie. Just as long as you don’t take any advice from this idiot.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. The four flatmates looked at one another—they all had the same thought.
“Redman?” Neil said, in a whisper.
“If it is, we’re dead.” Charlie glanced around. “Look at the state of this place.”
“We’ll tell him that we’re starting the housework rota on Monday,” Susan said.
“Like that will do any good.” Dorothy scoffed. “We may as well pack our bags now.”
There was another knock, and then they heard Tilly’s voice. “Dorothy? Are you in there?”
The four of them breathed a collective sigh of relief; Dorothy went to answer the door.
“What’s up, Tilly?”
“Can I have a quick word?” She glanced at the other three flatmates. “In private?”
“Sure. Come on through.”
Dorothy led the way to her bedroom.
“Morning, everyone,” Tilly said, on her way past.
“Morning, Tilly,” Charlie said.
Susan could only manage a smile; her mouth was full of cornflakes.
“Speak in private?” Neil grinned. “All very top secret.”
“Are you okay?” Dorothy asked, once they were in her bedroom.
“Yeah. I’ve just run out of blood. Stupid really. I meant to call last night on the way home, but I forgot all about it. I just need enough to keep me going until I can get out at lunch time.”
“Sure. Help yourself.” Dorothy pulled open the door to her mini fridge.
“Thanks.” Tilly grabbed a bottle, unscrewed the top, and downed almost all of it in one go. “I needed that.”
“Here.” Dorothy passed her a couple of tissues. “I don’t want you to scare the human.”
“It looks like you won’t have to worry about her for much longer.” Tilly wiped the blood from her lips.
“How do you mean?”
“Craig has a ton of signatures on his petition. When Redman sees it, he’ll soon kick her out. You signed it, didn’t you?”
“Me? Err—yes, of course I did.”
&nb
sp; ***
Susan knew there was no point in calling to try to arrange another appointment with Lance Westwood, the manager of Washbridge Central Bank. Instead, she simply turned up at the bank, shortly after opening time.
“I’m sorry, Madam, but you can’t see the manager without an appointment.” The surly woman on reception informed her.
“I think you’ll find that he’ll want to speak to me. Please just say ‘Bridge Street car park’ to him.”
“Sorry?”
“Please tell Mr Westwood that Susan Hall from The Bugle would like to discuss Bridge Street car park with him before we go to press.”
The receptionist looked doubtful, but disappeared into the offices at the back of the bank. Less than two minutes later, she reappeared. At her shoulder was a red-faced Lance Westwood, who pulled Susan to one side.
“What’s this all about?”
“You already know the answer to that. Bridge Street car park.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” She took her phone out of her pocket, and brought up the photos she’d snapped of him handing over the case. “Remember this?”
He stared at it, and then at Susan. “How did you get that?”
“That doesn’t matter. What you need to know is that unless you talk to me right now, we’ll go to press with this.”
“You can’t do that!” He raised his voice, but immediately regretted the attention it attracted.
“Let’s talk, then.”
“Not here. And not on the record.”
“Where then?”
“There’s a coffee shop around the corner.”
Westwood led the way to a small coffee shop called Cup of Delight. Susan bought coffee for them both because Westwood was still too shell-shocked to function.
“This has to be off the record,” Westwood said when they were seated at a table in the far corner.
“I can’t promise—”
“It’s off the record or I walk.”
“Okay.” Susan didn’t like the idea, but without his information, she had nothing. Flynn was never going to run a story like this just on the strength of a photograph.
“The money did disappear from the vault,” Westwood said.
“How much?”
“About six million.”
“That’s an awful lot of money to just disappear.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped.
“But then it reappeared again?”
“Yes, not long after I’d called the police. By the time they arrived, the money was back. They thought I’d lost my mind. Or I’d been drinking.”
“You’re aware that the same thing happened at Washbridge Mutual, I assume?”
“Yes. Raymond Todd and I are old friends.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I have no idea. It simply doesn’t make any sense.”
“And now you’re being blackmailed?”
He didn’t respond.
“I already know you are.”
“They said that if I didn’t pay up, the money would disappear again, but this time it wouldn’t come back.”
“But now you’re giving them the money anyway?”
“The blackmail amount is insignificant compared to what they could take from the vault.”
“How many times have you paid them so far?”
“Just the once, but they said they’ll want regular payments from now on.”
“Won’t that show up on the books?”
“It should, but it won’t. The figure involved isn’t significant enough to attract any attention. There are ways to hide such small amounts.”
“Do you have any idea who might be behind this?”
“None. The only contact I’ve had is by phone, and they’re clearly using disposables. When they collected the cash in the car park, they were wearing masks.”
“Why haven’t you taken this to the police?”
“How can I? For a start, they’re never going to believe the ‘disappearing money’ story. And if it got out, it could start a run on the bank. Our customers would be terrified that their money was about to disappear.”
His story was incredible, but Susan had no doubt that he was telling the truth.
***
Dorothy wasn’t surprised to find that the books on the top shelf of the Crime section had once again been rearranged. Just like before, the first letter of their titles spelt out I-L-O-V-E-D-O-T.
“He’s done it again, then?” Molly appeared at her side. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I could tell the police, but I doubt they’d be interested if they knew that all the intruder does is rearrange a few books. I suppose I could camp out in the shop all night.”
“You can’t do that. He could be a madman.”
“Maybe I could get someone to stay here with me?”
“Like Neil?”
“He’d be no good. He couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. I was thinking Charlie might do it.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Just then, Molly spotted something on the floor. “What’s that?” She bent down and picked it up. “It’s a button.”
Dorothy studied the small teddy-bear shaped button in Molly’s hand. “Maybe our intruder lost it?”
***
As far as Neil was concerned, hiring Fable had proven to be a big mistake. Not only had she lied about having a boyfriend, but she and Debs were now besties.
“I thought you didn’t like humans,” he said to Debs, while Fable was looking for something in the stockroom.
“Fable’s okay. She’s a laugh.”
“You’ve changed your tune. I’m not sure she’s going to make the grade here. I may have to let her go.”
“Don’t be soft. She’s really good with the customers. You’re just annoyed because you thought you were going to add her to your list of conquests.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Liar.”
“I found it.” Fable passed a Hulk mask to Debs.
“Thanks, Fable. I don’t know how you do it. I spent two hours looking for that yesterday.”
“Thanks, Fable,” Neil mocked, under his breath. “I’m going out. I’ll be about an hour.”
“Where are you going this time?” Debs said.
“Never you mind. I have management stuff to attend to.”
Neil didn’t have anything in particular he needed to attend to; he just wanted to get away from the shop for a few minutes. It was tambourine day at Coffee Triangle, but he wasn’t in the mood to join in the percussion fest. Instead, he found a quiet booth towards the rear of the shop.
He’d paid back the cash into the shop safe first thing that morning. That had been a close call—much too close, and it was all Socky’s fault. The other three flatmates had really come through for him—especially Susan. She’d been the first one to offer to help, and had contributed the most. It would be awful if Craig and his petition managed to get her thrown out.
He was half-way down his coffee when he spotted a familiar face: Trevor Makepiece. He and Neil had been at school together back in Candlefield. They’d pretty much lost touch after that, although Neil had heard that Trevor had moved to the human world. Neil had no idea what his old friend was doing, but whatever it was must be paying dividends if his suit and Rolex were anything to go by.
“Neil? I haven’t seen you since—err—” Trevor hesitated. “Since forever. Mind if I join you?”
“Help yourself.”
Neil suddenly felt under-dressed in his jeans and t-shirt. His watch had cost five pounds from Washbridge market.
“Are you still living here in Washbridge?” Trevor said.
“Yeah. I share an apartment in the old sock factory.”
“Oh, yeah. I looked at those, but they were a bit too far out for my liking. I prefer to be right in the city centre. I’m living in Wash Tower.”
&nbs
p; “Really?” Neil tried not to sound envious, but it wasn’t easy. Wash Tower was the most exclusive, and expensive, development in Washbridge. “How did you manage that? Rob a bank?”
“Something like that.” Trevor laughed, and then glanced around to see if anyone could overhear. “I’m putting my magic to good use.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was working a dead-end job, making next to nothing, but then I had a Eureka moment. Why not use my magic skills?”
“How are you doing that, exactly?”
“You might think of me as Trevor Makepiece, but I am now The Great Makepiece.”
“The what?”
“I’m a magician.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly. I realised that there’s a ton of money to be made from providing a magician’s act like no human can.”
“Do you mean kids’ parties and stuff?”
“Not just any old kids’ parties. I only do them for the wealthy. They’ll spend a fortune for a private party for their children. And a few corporate events too. They pay very well.”
“It looks like it.” Neil gestured to the Rolex. “Isn’t it dangerous, though? What about the rogue retrievers?”
“That’s why I don’t do any stage work. There’s too big a risk of being spotted. But private parties? They’re perfectly safe. What about you? What are you doing?”
Neil had been dreading that question. “Managing a small fancy dress shop.”
“Are you making much money?”
“Not enough.”
“You should give the magic a whirl.”
“Me? Be a magician?”
“Why not? With our natural abilities, we’re always going to be better than any human magician.”
“I’m only level three.”
“So what? I’m only one level above you. That’s plenty good enough. There’s too much work for me to handle on my own. I have to turn a lot of it away.”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, I have to dash.” He handed Neil a card: The Great Makepiece. “If you change your mind, get in touch with the agency that I work with—their number is on there.”