The Stranger, Mark Ayre [microsoft ebook reader .TXT] 📗

was the last she checked for signs of life and the first for stolen money. Not here. The wardrobes and chest of drawers were bare, and there was nothing beneath the bed. Besides these items, the room was empty.

Both the toilet and bathroom were quick to search. Neither produced positive results. The kitchen fridge was empty, bearing out that Leona spent little time here, and the freezer contained only a couple of ready meals and some mince. The surfaces were bare, and, save for a couple of glasses, a plate, a bowl, a knife block missing a knife, and a few pieces of cutlery, the rest of the cupboards and drawers were also empty.

In the master bedroom, wall-mounted, a TV would dwarf in size most living room tellys. Within the drawers and wardrobes, Abbie found a few expensive outfits and some even pricier jewellery. The clothes smelt musty. The jewellery was coated in dust. Selling the lot would pay the rent on a three-bedroom home for six months. Money apparently meant nothing to Leona. In this secret bungalow, she would leave her expensive but unwanted possessions to rot.

Atop the single bedside table was a lamp; beneath it, a box of various items of lingerie, ranging from risque to X-rated. Concealed under the skimpy clothing, Abbie found a range of toys not suitable for children. Had Abbie's mother found such a box in the room of any of her children, she would have suffered a heart attack.

These clothes smelt not musty but recently washed. No dust coated the toys. Abbie seemed to have found the few items in the bungalow that got any use.

At the very bottom of the box, Abbie found a sheet of paper upon which Leona had written a list of surnames, all but the last of which were crossed out. Alongside the names was a basic table used to note Leona's bedmates' preferences. Favourite lingerie, favourite toy, favourite position, and unusual fetishes, some of which made Abbie feel quite unwell.

There were no dates to indicate when Leona had added the names to the list, but the most recent addition was Dean.

That Danny Dean was not crossed out indicated Leona did not come here daily. Or at least had not been here today. After all, what could be more worthy of a crossing out than having died? Abbie didn’t know. Didn’t want to think about it. She ran a finger down the table columns.

Most of the men on the list liked red or black lingerie, but Danny's favourite was, bizarrely, yellow. In the fetish column, Leona had written, Bad boy. Abbie didn’t know if this meant Danny liked to act like a bad boy, if he wanted to be spanked and called a bad boy, or if he would only get to it with Leona if the film Bad Boys, starring Will Smith and Martin Lawrence, was playing on the vast telly.

Trying to avoid contemplating such questions, Abbie folded and pocketed the slip of paper. From the bedroom, Abbie moved to the office. In here: a computer, a filing cabinet which contained no files, and a shelf of books so dusty you struggled to read the title on the spine.

The computer was off. The keys were clear of dust, as was the power button on the PC, indicating Leona used this office for more than role-play with the men she brought here. Abbie didn't switch on the PC. It would be password protected.

On the desk, half-concealed beneath the screen—which seemed to be acting as a paperweight— were a few scraps, torn from a notepad. Doodles decorated the notes, plus a few numbers used in some rudimentary mathematical equations. A few words that might have been passwords and a couple of names. Nothing of interest to Abbie.

From the office, Abbie returned to the kitchen. A second door led into the conservatory, which was empty but for a sofa and an armchair. Passing these, Abbie dropped down two steps and reached a garage door, which she flung open, half-expecting to see a safe or maybe just huge stacks of cash. Something of interest after the tedious house search.

The garage was empty. Stone walls. Concrete floor. Metal shutters.

Nothing else.

Closing the door, Abbie returned to the living room.

"I don't think Leona's hidden the money here," she said, entering the room through the sliding conservatory door.

"No," said Eddie, who hadn't been searching the living room but had perched himself upon the sofa with the missing and sharpest blade from the knife block.

At the sight of this, Abbie sighed, then turned from Eddie and walked to the glass drinks cabinet. For form, she searched through the lower cupboards before opening the glass-fronted doors at the top and examining the expensive bottles of booze on display.

"You never expected to find the money here, did you?" she asked of Eddie.

"No."

"But you do expect to find Leona? Wasn't it you who said she doesn't often stay here? What makes you think she'll turn up any time soon?"

"I texted her."

"Ahh, ingenious. What are you, a whiskey man? Or Vodka. Don't say Gin."

Eddie stared at her as though she were mad. "I don't need anything."

Abbie said, "Are you planning to kill Leona tonight?"

A hesitation, then, "Yes."

"Have you killed before?"

Another hesitation. "No."

"You need a drink."

Making the decision for him, Abbie withdrew from the shelf a bottle of incredibly expensive whiskey. From the cupboards she had recently searched, she took a crystal tumbler that she half filled. Taking both the bottle and the tumbler, Abbie moved to the armchair across from the sofa on which sat Eddie.

"I don't think Leona will begrudge you the drink," she said, sliding the glass across the coffee table. "Even if she does, doesn’t matter, does it? Given you plan to kill her."

Eddie looked to the drink, then turned his eyes to Abbie.

"Are you going to try and stop me?"

"You obviously don't think so," said Abbie. "You had a key to get in. You didn't need me. I guess I'm here in case things go wrong. You think if you