Page 55 of Good Bad Girl

Something draws her to the window and she sees that she wasn’t imagining the sound she heard. A pair of headlights are glowing at the end of the road. Clio ducks behind the curtain when she sees something move beside what looks like a camper van. But it isn’t a person, it’s a fox. A black one with a white tail. She stares transfixed as the fox creeps along the street and stops right outside her front door. Illuminated by the streetlight, it appears to look up in her direction.

Is she dreaming?

She hears something else then. A noise downstairs. The black fox seems to hear it too, and darts across the street before running inside the communal gardens, disappearing through the black bars of the gate as though it was never there. Clio hears the noise again, it’s impossible to identify what it is from up here—something like muffled footsteps down below—so she leaves the bedroom to investigate.

The house is in complete darkness, so she feels for the switch on the wall to turn on the landing light. When nothing happens she flicks it again, but the lights aren’t working. She tries to turn on the metal table lamp on the dresser in the hallway, but that doesn’t work either. Clio wonders if there has been a power cut, but then she hears another noise downstairs and her imagination provides other possibilities. Bad ones. Clio has always had a rational mind and her fear soon passes. It’s bound to be her mother down there, making a nuisance of herself just like always.

Edith has probably tried to make some toast with the dodgy toaster in the middle of the night and tripped the fuse board. It wouldn’t be the first time; the wiring in this old house is as fragile as Clio’s nerves. She uses the torch on her phone, then slowly, quietly, takes another step toward the stairs. She strains to hear any more unfamiliar sounds but all she can hear is her own heartbeat. She gently pushes open her mother’s bedroom door and sees the shape of someone sleeping in the bed. So itisn’tEdith downstairs.

Clio’s fear returns. She often leaves the key in the kitchen door at the back of the house, even though she knows it is a security risk. She always seems to lose the key when she doesn’t, and now she can’t remember whether she did or didn’t put it in the drawer last night. She hears the sound of something smashing down below then, and her fear turns to rage. With her torch in one hand and the metal lamp from the dresser in the other—the best makeshift weapon she can think of to grab—she hurries down the stairs. Every one of them is disloyal, creaking loudly to let the intruderknow she is coming, but Clio doesn’t care. Her fury outweighs her fear and makes her brave—how dare someone break intoherhome—they’ll soon wish that they hadn’t.

When she reaches the ground floor she sees that the front door is open. Clio would never have left it like that; she always puts the chain on before going to bed.

She hears another sound, close enough to pinpoint now.

Someone is in her consulting room.

Her hands are trembling as she creeps toward it. A seesaw of bravery and fear steering her toward the room then away from it. Anger trumps them both.

She bursts through the door and sees that her imagination was not playing tricks on her.

Someone is there. Sitting in her chair.

On seeing who it is, Clio doesn’t hesitate. She screams and runs toward them.

Edith

Edith thinks the detective looks awfully young with her pink bits of hair and pierced ears.

“Are you sure you’re a detective?” she asks.

“I get that a lot,” the young woman replies. She sits down in the chair opposite Edith and takes a sip from a ridiculously large takeaway coffee. She made “proper tea” for Edith, as requested. “I am indeed DCI Charlotte Chapman and I’m older than I look. There weren’t any custard creams, sorry about that.”

“Is this the room where Ladybug would have been?” Edith asks, staring at the white walls, thinking how much jollier the place would look with some art on them.

“If you mean Patience Liddell, then yes.”

“She’s innocent.”

“So I hear. The sergeant said you were quite certain of that when he called and woke me. Seeing as I’ve come to work in the middle of the night at your insistence, I’m hoping there might be a few things you can help clear up.”

“I’d be happy to,” Edith replies.

“How do you know that the care home manager was murdered?”

“Were you trying to keep it a secret? The woman was found dead in an elevator with an out-of-order sign around her neck. News like that travels fast.”

“Why did you leave the care home?”

“Have you ever stayed in one? If you had, you would know why I left.”

“Okay, why did you leave on the same day as the care home manager died?”

“Do you believe in coincidence?”

“No.”

“Very wise. You’ll make a good detective one day.”

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