Page 83 of Crazy Spooky Love
“With someone you can’t see,” Marina adds.
“Or hear,” Artie nods.
“But other than that, it’s perfectly normal,” I say, shooting them both a warning look.
Jojo looks round the long sitting room, taking in the dated furniture and decor. “There isn’t anyone else in here with us right now, is there?” She folds her arms over her chest and rubs her hands briskly up and down her biceps, making her bracelets jangle. It’s cold in here, despite the warmth of the May sunshine splashed across the patio outside. I can only imagine how bitterly cold this house must get in the winter months without an up-to-date heating system.
“Just us,” I assure her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Wait here with Artie.”
She nods, and I glance at the others. “Marina, would you come upstairs with me? Artie, you stay here and text if you need me, okay?”
She nods, and we leave the Hensons and Artie sitting on wingback chairs in the sunshine close to the open French doors as we go in search of Isaac.
“How do you think this is going to go?” Marina asks quietly when we’re out of earshot.
“Well, I hope?” I bend to retrieve my kit bag in the hallway. “Come on, quick. We’ve got a murder weapon to find.”
Marina looks at me as I sling the dark bag over my shoulder. “You look like a suburban Katniss Everdeen. You could totally work that side-braid.”
We’ve just reached the first-floor landing when we hear a key turn in the front door.
Shit! Marina and I slide into the nearest open bedroom doorway and stand still, listening.
“When I get my hands on that bloody girl I’m going to wring her scraggy neck!” Donovan Scarborough’s enraged voice bursts into the downstairs hallway. Oh God, oh God, oh God! He knows I’m here, obviously, because Babs is pretty darn hard to miss. I wish so hard that Jojo and Richard weren’t here right now, this is the last thing I wanted to happen for them.
The click-clack of heels tells me that Scarborough isn’t alone, and then I hear Leo’s voice.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for Melody being here. If she’s here at all?”
He’s speaking loudly, almost as if he’s trying to warn me of the incoming danger.
“She’s here somewhere,” Scarborough bellows. “Best twenty quid I’ve ever spent, paying the neighbor to let me know if she turned up here again. She’s like a dog with a fucking bone.”
I hear the light tinkle of sycophantic laughter. Great. The creepy twins are here too.
“I think we need to hide,” Marina’s whisper is urgent in my ear. “Buy ourselves a bit of time to think.”
Below us we hear Scarborough charging around in the kitchen, and I nod and scan the room quickly. It’s a large, square room with a huge, old, brass bedstead and a couple of wooden cupboards.
“Under the bed?” Marina suggests. To be perfectly honest they’re all crap hiding places. If this was a game of hide-and-seek we’d be found in a heartbeat, but I duck and roll all the same, because right now anywhere is better than nowhere and there’s a chance he’ll just open the door and glancein.
We lie there like statues and listen to him thundering around, and then inevitably he goes into the sitting room and starts shouting at the top end of his lungs again.
“Who the blazes are you lot and what are you doing in my house?”
“He’ll be in there with them for a couple of minutes,” I say quickly and, with difficulty, I wriggle my phone out of my backpocket and click it on. Right at this moment, I’m actually glad I got Lestat, because without him I wouldn’t have the phone number I urgently need right now. Marina watches as I type.
HELP. TRAPPED UNDER BED IN SCARBOROUGH HOUSE. IN DANGER.
“You can’t send that, you’ll give your mum a heart attack,” she says.
“I’m not sending it to my mother.” I press send. “I’ve sent it to Fletcher Gunn.”
I know.I know. Why, of all the people on earth, would I send it to Fletch? Well, here’s the answer. I saw the look of pure, unadulterated hatred in Lloyd Scarborough’s eyes when I made Artie reach through him to unlock the French doors earlier, and I’ve only seen that level of vitriol on one other man: Lloyd’s great-grandson, Donovan. There’s already been one murder in this house. I really don’t want there to be another one, and the only thing I can think of that Donovan Scarborough values over the lucrative sale of the house is his public image. He courts the press, he loves the camera, and he trades on his reputation as an affluent businessman; if there’s anything that will make him temper his behavior it’s the idea that he’s likely to end up on the front page for all the wrong reasons.
“Fletcher Gunn?” Marina whisper-shouts. “Christ, Melody! We’re in mortal danger and you’ve got the horn?”
I twist my head to shoot her daggers. “No, I have not, thank you very much! I just know that if he thinks there’s a sniff of a story he’ll be here like a bloodhound.”
