Page 15 of Joker in the Pack

That strange, smoky smell? “I just assumed someone had burned dinner.”

Maddie giggled. “You honestly didn’t realise?”

“No! I’ve never touched drugs.”

Truly, this was impossible. Two places left to see, and I didn’t hold out much hope for either one after the morning.

Third on our list was the house. We stopped off at the agent’s on the way there to pick up the key, and a man with coffee stains on his tie put his hand over the phone receiver and handed us a map scrawled on the back of a window cleaner’s flyer.

“Would you mind showing yourselves around? I’m rushed off my feet today. Phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

I had my suspicions about that, unless he called all his customers “Mum,” but it suited us fine. At least we wouldn’t be getting the hard sell from him.

The SatNav app on Maddie’s phone led us to a quiet backstreet. Number fifteen turned out to be a narrow terrace with a bright blue front door and polished letterbox.

“This is really nice,” I said to Maddie after we’d taken a quick walk around.

“Isn’t it? Look, it’s even got a built-in microwave.”

Although the rooms were smaller than those in my flat, the tiny lounge and fitted kitchen were pristine, and the double bedroom and well-appointed bathroom would suit me perfectly.

“It’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

The faint smell of fresh paint permeated throughout, and bits of fluff on the carpets suggested they’d only just been laid. The house even came with a tiny outdoor space, complete with wooden decking and a couple of potted plants. I opened the glass doors and stepped outside. Birdsong was audible over the faint hum of traffic, and we’d already checked the place wasn’t near any busy roads or railway lines.

So peaceful. I could almost imagine being alone in the world out there.

“Cooee.”

A voice came over the fence, but I couldn’t see anyone.

“Hello?”

“Over here.”

I hopped onto an upturned flower pot and peered into the next garden. A tiny grey-haired lady looked up at me, adjusting her glasses as I came into view.

“Are you going to be moving in?” she asked.

“I’m thinking about it.” Although the answer was almost certainly going to be yes.

“Oh, that’ll be nice. The house has been empty for far too long, and I’ve been lonely. You can come round for tea and a nice chat.”

“Really? How long has it been empty?”

“Going on three months now.”

Three months? But it was such a sweet little house. Why hadn’t it been snapped up? Had I misread the price and missed off a zero? Or was it haunted?

“I don’t suppose you know why it’s been vacant so long?”

“Of course I do, dearie. I may be almost eighty, but not much gets past me. It’s because of the shootings.”

The what? I goggled at her. “Shootings?”

As in, plural?

“Yes, dearie, the drive-bys. They happen every so often. This is Acacia Road, and people keep getting it confused with Acacia Avenue.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, even though there was no one else about. “Number fifteen Acacia Avenue has gang members living in it, or so I’ve heard.”

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