by Elise Noble
“Um, I’ve never been a big fan of rock, no.”
Not that I’d really listened to that type of music. Mother never allowed it, and Edward had looked at me like I was crazy when I played a Coldplay CD. Rock, especially the heavy stuff? Way, way outside of his comfort zone.
Dreadlock Guy waved at the array of speakers. “Don’t worry. We rarely play all night. Usually, we quit at two or three in the morning. The last guy who rented the room reckoned he could barely hear us with his earplugs in.”
Maddie caught my eye and gave her head a shake. Yep, I was with her on that one.
“Uh, I’ve got a problem with my ear canals. I can’t wear earplugs.”
“Aw, bummer.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Well, thanks for your time.”
I smiled and waved as we backed out, and the guy seemed genuinely disappointed. Hard Rock House was better than Chicken Castle, but only marginally.
“I couldn’t cope with that noise,” I said to Maddie. “Not when I work from home.”
“I was more concerned about the stink of marijuana.”
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.”
“Someone shot at this house?” My voice came out as a squeak.
“Only four times. They did try a fifth, but the police came and there was a standoff. Like an episode of The Bill, it was, blue lights and one of those megaphones. But I looked in through the windows last week and the landlord’s done an excellent job of patching up the bullet holes. You’d never even know they were there.”
No, you wouldn’t, would you? How nice of the agent to mention that the house was inadvertently in the middle of a gang war.
“Well, it was lovely to meet you.” I glanced at my watch. “Ooh, is that the time? We’re late for our next viewing.”
I practically ran through the house, collecting Maddie on my way out the front door.
“It’s a no.”
“What? Why? Did you see the light-up mirror in the bathroom?”
“I don’t care if it’s a magical mirror that makes me look like a supermodel.”
Once I’d explained the story, her mouth dropped open.
“I’m going to castrate that bloody agent. No wonder he didn’t want to come to the viewing.”
“Please don’t. You know I hate the sight of blood, and I can’t afford to bail you out.”
“He deserves it.”
“I’m just glad I found out before I moved in.”
Back at the agency, Maddie threw the keys at the man who’d sent us into the danger zone. Hard.
“What the—”
He didn’t have time to finish the sentence before she marched out again, and I wasn’t about to stay and enlighten him either.
“One place left,” Maddie said once we’d made it safely out to the pavement. “Keep your fingers crossed.”
Another house share, and although I spotted a few weeds growing through the cracks in the front path, the maisonette itself looked tidy.
“I’m still not sure about living with a stranger,” I muttered to Maddie.
“You never know, you might meet the man of your dreams.”
The door swung open as I raised my hand to knock, and when I saw the person behind it, I almost fainted.
Holy cannoli! He could have been Mr. January. No, scratch that. He could have had his own calendar and been all the months.
“Ladies.” His wide grin made my underwear melt. “Do you want to come in?”
Maddie’s face bore the same glazed expression as it had two years ago when she won a thousand pounds on a lottery scratch card, so I took her hand and pulled her inside after me.
“Sven.”
The hunk held out his hand, and mine sizzled in his firm grip. That zing—I’d never felt anything like it before.
“I’m Olivia, and this is Maddie.”
Who was still gawping, mouth slightly open.
“Which of you is looking for the room?”
Maddie started to raise her hand, but I slapped it down. “Me. I’m looking for the room.”
“We could share,” Maddie hissed in my ear.
“The room or the man?” I whispered as Sven turned and headed along the hallway. “You’ve got a boyfriend.”
“I know, but… Oh my gosh! Would you look at that?”
Look at it? I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Sven’s butt cheeks could have cracked walnuts. Edward had gone to the gym regularly, but Sven… Sven should have been a spokesmodel for StairMaster.
“So, Olivia, this is the room that’s up for rent.”
Up until then, I’d never found a Scandinavian accent sexy, but he could have spoken Klingon and made my heart skip.
“The carpet’s new,” he continued. “And with the double glazi
ng, you can barely hear the road.”
A bed. That was pretty much all I noticed, at least about the room. Believe me, I noticed plenty about the man standing in it. His twinkling blue eyes, his chiselled jaw, the way his blond hair fell over his tanned forehead.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I’m interested.”
“Shall I show you the rest of the place?”
“Yes, please.”
In reality, I only wanted to see one other room: his. I know I’d sworn off men, but when I made that decision, I hadn’t envisaged Sven and his buns of sculpted marble. Perhaps I’d been a little hasty.
“This is the bathroom. Shared, but I promise not to leave my toenail clippings in the sink.”
The sink? Who clipped their toenails in the sink? Maybe it was a Nordic thing? Ah well, at least he bothered with good foot hygiene. I lagged behind again to enjoy the view, smiling as he led us into… What was this? A jungle?
“Uh, you sure have a lot of plants.”
“They’re for my babies. I like them to feel right at home.”
His babies?
Movement caught my eye as a snake slowly descended from the branch next to me, its beady yellow eyes locking on mine as I stood frozen to the spot.
“What the…”
“Opheodrys aestivus, the rough green snake. She’s called Belinda.”
Sven stepped forward and Belinda wound her way up his arm, pausing halfway to poke her tongue out at me. Next to me, Maddie let out a whimper, and I followed her gaze.
“I-i-is that a tarantula?” I asked.
The spider was sitting on the back of an armchair, and as I watched, it lifted one leg as if it were waving hello.
“Yes—Margot’s a Mexican red-knee. She’s very friendly.”
“But aren’t tarantulas deadly?”
“A myth. Margot’s bite is no worse than a wasp sting. No, it’s the black widows you need to watch out for, but I keep those in a tank.”
I heard a muffled thump as Maddie fell to the floor beside me. She never had been too keen on spiders.
“Maddie, wake up!” I crouched beside her and fanned her face as she blinked a few times.
“What’s wrong with her?” Sven asked.
Seriously? How could the man think it was normal to have a venomous menagerie in his lounge?
“Haven’t you ever seen Arachnophobia?”
Sven’s eyes grew moist. “Those poor spiders. Murdered. All of them.”
Maddie swayed as I pulled her upright. “Is it gone?”
I glanced to the side where Margot was still advancing along the arm of the chair.
“No, but it will be. Run!”
With Maddie still unsteady on her feet, I half dragged her as we stumbled from the house of horrors into the street. Man of my dreams? Nightmares, more like.
“Tell me I just imagined that,” Maddie said.
“If only.”
With our last prospect a bust, we trudged back to the bus stop. Maddie had an early shift the next day, and if her yawn was anything to go by, house-hunting had left her as exhausted as me.
“This isn’t as straightforward as I thought,” Maddie confessed.
“Next time, we need to ask better questions. Like ‘Do you keep any deadly pets?’”
“And ‘Have there been any attempted murders recently?’”
Maddie giggled first, but I wasn’t far behind. We earned several odd glances as we stood laughing by the side of the road, and one woman gave us a dirty look as she led her toddler to the opposite pavement, well out of the way of the two lunatics. I kept laughing anyway. It was either that or sit and rock.
“Shall we take a break tomorrow?” I asked.
Maddie nodded. “Good idea. We can regroup and try again the day after. There’s got to be one habitable flat out there that isn’t filled with weirdos.”
The following afternoon, I swallowed a paracetamol as I updated Longacres’ website. “Make it colourful,” the owner had told me, and the bright flowers were entirely too cheery for my mood.
A knock at the door made me stiffen.
Please, let it be someone from the insurance company and not my downstairs neighbour. He’d already left me a snotty note yesterday, and a visit from him in person was just what I didn’t need. I totally appreciated how much I’d inconvenienced him, but shouting at me wouldn’t get things fixed any quicker.
Deep breaths, Olivia. I cracked open the door and peered through the gap. Phew. Not the man from downstairs, but a stranger, shifting from foot to foot as he looked up at me.
“Olivia Porter?” he asked.
“Are you from the insurance company?”
He looked like an insurance person—brown suit, clip-on tie, the shifty demeanour of a man whose clients hated him.
“Insurance? No, I’m not selling insurance.”
“That’s not what I meant. I had a small problem with a pipe, and… Actually, never mind. What do you want?”
He straightened an inch, meeting my eyes for a second before he looked away again. Nervous. Why was he nervous?
“I was wondering… Do you know Eleanor Rigby?”
CHAPTER 7
“ELEANOR RIGBY? IS this some sort of joke?”
Why on earth had a stranger showed up on my doorstep asking if I knew an old Beatles song?
The man gave a little cough. “No, I’m not joking, I assure you. Do you know her?”
“What do you mean, her?”
“Eleanor Rigby.”
“The song?”
“No, the person.”
“I’m ever so sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Why me? Was this karma’s idea of a joke? I’d left a few little gifts for Edward in his house, and in return, I was destined to meet every weirdo in East London?
“You’re not the daughter of Frank and Victoria Porter, then?”
My eyes widened. How did he know that? Okay, this was getting a little creepy. Not quite as creepy as Margot, the tarantula, but close.
“Yes, I am, but who are you?”
“Mickey Scudamore.” He held out a hand, and I shook it out of habit. “I work for a company called Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow.”
“What’s that got to do with me? Or my parents?”
“My research suggested you might have an aunt called Eleanor Rigby.”
Eleanor Rigby… Eleanor… Ellie… Aunt Ellie? Dim memories of a childhood birthday party surfaced. A plump lady handing me a bowl of jelly and ice cream before she sat back down next to my mother. I’d seen her a handful of times before that day, and every time she visited, Mother had worn a scowl.
“I do have an Aunt Ellie, but I never knew her surname.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I haven’t seen her since I was seven years old. Maybe eight. Look, what’s this all about? I’m busy with work.”
Well, busyish. Choosing the perfect shade of pink for Longacres’ homepage background was a very important job.
“My company looks for unclaimed estates and tries to reunite them with their rightful beneficiaries. I’m sorry to tell you this, but I think your aunt died a couple of months ago.”
But he didn’t seem particularly sorry. More…hopeful.
His words slowly sank in. Aunt Ellie was dead? By rights, I should have felt sad at the news, but I’d barely known her.
And when I scratched around in the recesses of my mind, I vaguely remembered shouting. A row. Mother rarely shouted, but that day, she’d yelled long and loud at Aunt Ellie while I hid in my bedroom with my father.
“Why’s Mum cross with Aunt Ellie?” I’d asked him.
He’d shrugged. “Those two have never got on. Like chalk and cheese.”
“What do you mean, chalk and cheese?”
“Never mind, Livvie. Why don’t we read a story?”
At that age, I had more important things to worry about than Aunt Ellie and her absence. Ballet lessons and fri
lly dresses, if I recalled correctly. Mother had begun teaching me to act like a lady as soon as I learned to walk.
Indeed, I’d barely thought about Ellie at all until Mickey turned up at my door. And now she was dead?
“I’m sorry to hear about her passing,” was the best I could come up with. “Should I send flowers?”
“The funeral’s already happened. I spoke to the priest, Father McKenzie, and he said nobody came.”
Now, that made me sad. Imagine going through your whole life and meaning so little to anybody that all you were worth was an empty church and a sermon nobody heard.
Mind you, who would come to my funeral? Probably only Maddie and Dave.
“I’d have gone if I’d known.”
She’d been family, after all.
“I understand she was a bit of a loner.”
That left one big question. Well, two. “So, how did you know Aunt Ellie? And why are you here?”
“Each day, my company reviews the Bona Vacantia list, and—”
“Wait a second. What’s the Bona Vacantia list?”
“It’s a list of unclaimed estates published by the government.”
“Like when people die without a will?”
“Exactly that. Anyway, we review it and try to track down the deceased’s missing relatives to inherit what’s left.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “And what do you get out of that?”
The whole arrangement sounded suspiciously like a scam to me. I may have been poor, but I wanted to believe I wasn’t entirely dumb.
“We help potential heirs with the paperwork in exchange for a small fee.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “But between you and me, I just love the research. Genealogy’s always fascinated me, and being able to make a living from studying it is a dream come true.”
“So you think, what? That I may somehow be Aunt Ellie’s heir?”
“I can’t find that she has any other family left.”
I opened the door wider, hoping that he wasn’t a serial killer. He stood an inch shorter than me, so kind of small for a man, and a year older at a guess. I didn’t feel any threatening vibes. But then again, my character judgement had been a little off lately, hadn’t it? While he stepped over the threshold and looked around, I inched closer to the ugly lamp sitting on the floor in the lounge. A gift from Edward’s aunt last Christmas, nobody wanted it, not even the good folks who shopped on eBay.
