SH03 - Whoops! Someone Is On Our Case
Whoops!
Someone Is On
Our Case
Published by Implode Publishing Ltd
© Implode Publishing Ltd 2017
The right of Adele Abbott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
It was Monday morning, and the four flatmates were in the lounge.
“Did you hear that Basil has moved out?” Charlie stretched, and almost knocked Dorothy off the sofa.
“Do you mind?” She thumped him on the arm.
“Sorry. I’m really tired this morning.”
“Who told you about Basil?” Neil was eating what was left of the donut he’d started the previous evening.
“Craig told me, yesterday. He reckons that Redman was sick of subsidising his little brother, and kicked him out.”
“That apartment is really nice.” Neil shoved the remainder of the donut into his mouth.
“Who eats donuts for breakfast?” Dorothy pulled a face. “Anyway, how do you know that apartment is nice?”
Neil realised he’d just dropped himself in it. The others had been unaware of the failed treasure hunt that had taken him inside Basil’s apartment. He didn’t particularly want to fess up because that would only have made him look stupid. Who in their right mind would go searching for gold on the word of a ghost?
“Basil asked me up there one day.”
“You never mentioned it.” Charlie was about to stretch again, but then caught Dorothy glaring at him.
“I thought I’d told you.” Neil brushed the crumbs off his trousers. “We got talking, and he invited me up there.”
“Stop brushing your crumbs onto the floor!” Dorothy shouted. “I vacuumed this room yesterday.”
“That reminds me.” Susan took her empty cornflake bowl over to the sink. “I want to thank all of you for sticking to the housework rota.”
“We’re the ones who should be thanking you.” Charlie could stand it no longer, so he stood up and stretched his huge frame. “It was your idea. This place looks a thousand times better than before you moved in, doesn’t it guys?”
“Definitely,” Neil said.
“I guess.” Dorothy shrugged.
Susan couldn’t help but smile at Dorothy’s begrudging response.
“Has there been any more fallout from the Burke Holdings story?” Charlie asked.
Susan’s article on the shady practices of the property developer had started a domino effect. The story had been picked up by the local radio and TV, and had then made it into the national press. It just so happened that one of the national broadsheets was already planning an exposé on unscrupulous property developers in the UK. The Burke Holdings story had slotted in nicely with that. Both The Bugle and Susan herself had been credited in the broadsheet’s piece, which in turn had led to a request for Susan to make an appearance on national TV. That had been the most nerve-racking thing that she’d done in her career so far. It was one of those early morning discussion programmes, which had a small audience. That hadn’t made facing the cameras any easier. Flynn had been over the moon; apparently so too had The Bugle’s owners. Dougal Andrews had been barely able to conceal his jealousy. He and the other members of the water cooler gang had taken every opportunity to try to belittle her achievements, but their opinions mattered even less to Susan now.
She knew that Charlie’s interest was genuine, so she was happy to bring him up to date. “From what I hear, Burke have had to cancel a number of projects because they’re unable to obtain the properties on adjacent land. They daren’t employ their usual bully boy tactics while the media spotlight is on them.”
“That sounds like a result to me,” Charlie said.
“So far, so good, but I’d like to see someone prosecuted for all of the intimidation.”
“Is that likely to happen?”
“I doubt it. Most people are still too scared to come forward.”
“What about you?” Neil said. “Aren’t you worried that they might come after you? You’ve cost them a lot of money.”
“I don’t think they’ll dare. If I’m attacked, it would be pretty obvious who was behind it.”
“Even so,” Charlie said. “You should be careful. If you ever need any help, just give me a shout.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“Me too,” Neil offered.
“You?” Dorothy scoffed. “What good would you be? You couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag.”
“Thanks for the offer, Neil.” Susan glared at Dorothy. “I appreciate it.”
Dorothy had had enough of this three-way love-fest, so decided to change the subject. “Did you guys know that Tilly was back home?”
“When did she get back?” Neil checked his watch because he wanted to get to work early that morning.
“Yesterday.”
“How is she?” Susan asked.
“Remarkably good, but she was a little nervous about moving back into her flat.”
“Hardly surprising under the circumstances.”
Just then, Neil’s phone rang.
“Hello? Mr Boyd? Yes, I remember.” He stood up, and made his way into his bedroom, out of earshot of the others.
Neil had performed at the birthday party of Roger Boyd’s son, Tristan. Boyd had been so impressed by Neil’s magic that he’d suggested he might be able to get him on TV. At the time, Neil had been thrilled, but having had the chance to think about it later, he’d realised what a bad idea it would be. He might be able to get away with real magic in front of a handful of kids, but if he tried that on TV, the rogue retrievers would be on him like a pack of dogs.
“I’m sorry I haven’t got back to you before now, Neil.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t really expect to hear from you.”
“I meant what I said when we spoke at the party. I think your act would go down well on TV. Unfortunately, my bosses haven’t given the green light yet.”
“Never mind. Thanks for trying, anyway.”
“Hold on. It isn’t dead just yet. They like the idea, but they want to hold an open audition, and pick the best magician from that. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. From what I saw of you, it’s a foregone conclusion.”
“I’ve given this a lot of thought too, Mr Boyd.”
“Call me Roger, please.”
“I’m not sure my act would be well suited to TV, Roger.”
“Nonsense. It would be ideal. You’ll become a national star—maybe even international. You’ll make a small fortune.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“With every fibre of my being. So, what do you say? Would you be willing to a
ttend the audition?”
“When is it?”
“That’s one good thing: I managed to persuade them that we should move quickly, so there’ll be a huge advertising campaign online and on radio. It’s going to run today, tomorrow and Wednesday. The audition will be this Friday. So, can I put your name down?”
“Err—yeah. Why not?”
As soon as he’d ended the call, Neil began to have second thoughts. What if it all went pear-shaped? What if the rogue retrievers dragged him back to Candlefield?
But then, there was all the money he stood to make. If he was a hit on TV, the world would be his oyster. What next? A residency in Las Vegas? And just think of all the women vying for his attention. If he used only the bare minimum of magic, and was discreet, no one need ever know the truth: that it was real magic. And besides, it was only an audition at this stage. He probably wouldn’t be chosen anyway.
But if he was—he could see that Ferrari already.
***
As soon as Charlie walked into his bedroom, he could hear Bunty chuntering, so he went over to the magnifying glass to see what was going on.
“Morning, Bunty.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“What’s the suitcase for?”
“We’re meant to be going to London for a couple of days, but by the time Greta is ready, it will be time to come back.”
“Why are you going to London?”
“We have a mutual friend down there: Suzy Glowtop. The three of us were at college together.”
“Morning, Charlie.” Greta appeared at the door to her house, suitcase in hand.
“About time.” Bunty tapped her watch.
“The train doesn’t leave for another hour.”
“You’re travelling by train?” Charlie said. “I assumed you’d fly.”
“All the way to London?” Bunty rolled her eyes. “Have you forgotten how tiny we are? Do you know how long it would take us to fly there?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Where will you sit on the train?”
“In first class, of course,” Bunty said. “There are usually a few empty seats, and even if there aren’t, we can squeeze in with the humans. They’ll never notice.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“We’re planning on staying for a few nights.”
“I hope you both have a nice time.”
“If we ever get there.” Bunty sighed. “Come on, slowcoach. Get a move on.”
“Bye, Charlie.” Greta waved with her free hand.
“Bye, both of you. Safe journey.”
And with that, they flew out of the window.
Charlie hung around in his bedroom until he was sure the other flatmates had left. Neil had gone in early, and Dorothy had taken a lift with him. Susan was going in early too because she was meeting that Greg guy for a coffee. Charlie had hoped they’d heard the last of Greg and his Paranormal Activity Watch. He wasn’t sure if Susan was still taking the guy’s obsession with the supernatural seriously, or if she just had a thing for him. Hopefully, she wouldn’t bring him over to the flat again anytime soon.
Charlie had hoped to find Pretty waiting for him outside the apartment door, but there was no sign of her. Sometimes, he wished he’d never started feeding her, but she’d seemed so scared and vulnerable at first. Dorothy had always insisted that Pretty wasn’t a stray, and that she was probably scrounging food from half a dozen other suckers. But what if she was wrong? What if Pretty relied on the food that Charlie gave to her? He couldn’t just abandon her; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.
Charlie checked his watch. Even if he set off now, he’d be five minutes late. He was already in Draycott’s bad books—if he wasn’t careful, he’d be out of a job, and then he’d be the one wondering where his next meal was coming from. He couldn’t wait any longer, so he locked the door, and was about to start down the stairs when he heard footsteps above him. It was Amelia, the young witch from upstairs.
“Waiting for Ugly?” She sneered.
“Her name is Pretty.”
“Looks like she’s stood you up. I can’t say I blame her.”
“Can’t we just be friends, Amelia?”
“Friends?” She laughed. “Why would I want to be your friend, after the way you treated me?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Really? So, you didn’t flirt with other women while you were supposed to be on a date with me?”
“I told you. They were just talking to me.”
“And that floozy on the billboard with you? I assume you two were just talking too?”
“That was just work.”
“Talk to the hand because the rest of me doesn’t care.”
“Have you seen Pretty this morning?”
“Might have. Might not have.”
“Please, Amelia. I’m worried about her.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.” She licked her lips. “Not any longer.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Very tasty she was, too.” Amelia cackled, as she disappeared down the stairs.
Amelia was just winding him up—that was all.
Wasn’t she?
Chapter 2
Greg had arrived at Coffee Triangle before Susan. When he spotted her, he came over and joined her at the counter.
“Am I late?” She checked her watch.
“No. I’m always early. It’s one of my faults.”
“That’s hardly a fault.”
“What would you like to drink?”
“It’s okay. I’ll get it.”
“No, I insist. It’s the least I can do to thank you for humouring me.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll have a small, skinny Cappuccino, please.”
“Anything to eat? Their breakfast pastries are always good.”
“No, thanks. I had breakfast before I left home.”
“What about a triangle?”
“Sorry? Oh yeah, I’d forgotten they hand out instruments in this place. No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got a triangle back at the table.”
“I’m sure.”
Greg had chosen one of the booths at the rear of the shop.
“Do you mind if I—?” He held up the triangle.
“Be my guest. Knock yourself out.”
He struck the triangle several times.
“There’s something exceptionally pleasing about that sound.” He grinned.
“I think we might have to agree to disagree on that one.”
“Are you serious about us working together?” He put down the instrument.
“Only if we can agree on the ground rules first.”
“What are they?”
“I’m only interested in trying to find out what happened to Margie’s husband.”
“So am I.”
“Yes, but you still think that he was somehow spirited away by supernatural forces, don’t you?”
“He isn’t the only one to go missing.”
“And that’s the story: missing persons. Everyone is fascinated by tales of people who have disappeared without a trace. Especially when there’s no obvious reason why they should have upped and left.”
“But there is a reason. It’s the same reason for all of the people who have gone missing.”
“Can we focus on my ground rules for now?”
“Sorry. Please carry on.”
“If I work with you on this, it’s on the strict understanding that I’m working on a missing persons story. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good. There’ll be a perfectly logical explanation for all of these disappearances, and I intend to find out what it is. That’s the story I’ll be writing.”
“But what if your investigation reveals that the disappearances are related to paranormal activity?”
“It won’t.”
“I thought the mark of a good journalist is that they approach each story with an ope
n mind?”
“It is, and I do, but—”
“That’s all I ask.”
“The bottom line is this: If you so much as suggest to anyone that I’m working on anything related to the paranormal, then all bets are off, and you’re on your own. I’m just starting to build a reputation for myself, and—”
“Oh yes, I meant to say congrats on the award. I saw you on TV.”
“Thanks. So you see, I can’t afford to put all that at risk by allowing my name to be associated with the crazies. No offence.”
“None taken.” He smiled. “I’d like us to work together, so I accept your ground rules. I promise that I won’t tell anyone that you are working with Mr Crazy.”
“And you realise that this will have to fit around my ‘real’ work? That will always take priority.”
“Of course. I thought we could start by talking to a few other people who have contacted me.”
“About?”
“More missing people.”
“How many are there?”
“Another three. Are you up for it?”
“Sure. Set up a meeting with them, and let’s see where that takes us.”
“Great! Thanks, Susan.”
“I hope I don’t live to regret this.”
***
“Who’s that with his tongue down Molly’s throat?” Neil said, as he pulled up near to the fancy dress shop.
Dorothy glanced down the road. “No idea.”
“Did you know she was seeing someone?”
“Last I heard, she was having a break from men.”
“That didn’t last long, apparently.”
“It never does with her. I don’t think I’ve seen her with a werewolf before, though. Look at the size of that guy. He makes Charlie look like a wimp.”
“Speaking of love lives, Dorothy, how’s yours?”
“None of your business.”
“My offer still stands.” Neil grinned. “You could do a lot worse.”
“I seriously doubt that.” She climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the lift.”
“How about we go for a drink tonight?”
“Bye, Neil.”
“Your loss.”
Molly and the werewolf were still battling tongues when Dorothy reached them, so she cleared her throat to get their attention.