Finders Keepers Edie Baylis (phonics readers .TXT) 📖

a strip of fabric. Storming over to Gwen, he ignored her pleading eyes and pulled her head back by the hair.

‘I need to tell you about Lena. I...’

‘What is this shit? School?’ Saul roared. ‘Lena’s told on you and now... What? You’re going tell on her? If you had something else on her then you should have spoken up in the first place!’

Gwen was about to say that she was coming over to do just that, but her chance disappeared when Saul expertly gagged her with the strip of curtain fabric. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes as the thick material cut into the sides of her mouth.

‘It’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?’ Saul sneered, tying a tight knot that painfully pulled strands of Gwen’s hair, a sinister cackle escaping his mouth. ‘It’s not like the other party can defend themselves from your accusations.’ His bright manic eyes fixed on Lena’s crumpled body.

Gwen’s eyes followed Saul’s, panic spreading as she stared at Lena’s inert body, the pool of blood underneath her having considerably grown in size. ‘NNNN!’ she squawked through the gag in the hope that Saul would do something. He couldn’t let Lena die like this.

Her heart lurched when, almost in answer to her prayers, Saul moved towards Lena, then recoiled in repulsion when he dragged her up from the floor by an arm, her head lolling against her chest.

Haphazardly tying Lena to a second chair next to Gwen, Saul chuckled – a guttural noise deep in his throat. ‘Don’t know why I’m bothering,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘It’s not like she’ll be saying anything, but it is kind of artistic.’

Stepping back, he thoughtfully appraised the scene, putting his finger to his mouth. ‘Hmm, yes... Artistic. My version of the three monkeys. One dead, one soon to be dead and the third monkey isn’t here yet, but soon will be.’

Gwen blinked in horror, realising Lena had died. Oh Jesus Christ. Saul was completely mental and there was no way out.

With the sound of the doorbell, her heart palpitated and her already dry mouth became drier as a flash of hope flooded through her.

Forty Four

HEATH FROWNED, MOST PUT OUT. He was a Platinum VIP member and this bozo wouldn’t allow him through the door? ‘What do you mean, ‘not available’?’

The doorman studied Heath, his face expressionless. ‘Like I said Sir, Miss Taylor is not available at the moment.’

Heath pursed his lips. ‘Then when will she be available? I want to discuss my event next weekend.’ He folded his arms. ‘I’m paying a lot of money to host it here, yet you’re telling me that I can’t see h...’

‘Miss Taylor isn’t here, Sir,’ the doorman repeated patiently. ‘The club isn’t open yet, but I’ll make sure she knows that y...’

‘But I’m...’

‘Perhaps booking an appointment might be a good idea, Sir? At least then you wouldn’t have a wasted journey.’

Heath stared at the doorman. The patronising bastard. Book an appointment? Did they think they were royalty or something? Pushing himself up on tip toe to look around the man’s bulky frame, he peered into the Feather’s lobby. ‘What about Jonah Powell? Is he around?’

A slight twitch passed across the doorman’s face. ‘Mr Powell is not here either, Sir. Even so, you would still need to...’

‘To book an appointment, yes – I heard you the first time. No need to repeat yourself. I think you’ve spelt everything out quite clearly.’

Turning on his heels, Heath stomped back down the entrance steps before he did something stupid – like lose his temper.

Well, this ruined his plans. How was he supposed to get acquainted with the place and find his bloody stuff if he couldn’t even get in the goddamn building? Picking up the pace, Heath hurried along the road towards the overpriced car park where he’d left the Lexus, deciding he’d use the time to visit Teagan instead. Thanks to that discarded invite he’d grabbed from the wake, he knew where Robert Adams’ place was, so he’d take the chance of going there. With any luck, he wouldn’t be present and would have gone into work like a normal person.

Ok, so it meant having to trek to Maidenhead again, as well as putting up with seeing that creepy old girl, Dulcie, but he may as well try his luck, if only for further info. Teagan should know a lot more about what was going on by now. Besides, it was better than returning to the car showroom to get more disparaging grief off his bloody father.

If his father no longer wanted the benefit of his plans, then that was his prerogative, but he did. He very much still wanted that benefit.

JOE’S EYES WIDENED IN TERROR as he was dumped unceremoniously on the tiled hallway of the large house. Blinking, he squinted up at the overly bright lights, willing his vision to adjust after the blackness of the car boot.

No longer being confined in the oily-smelling space and being thrown around during the short journey was good. Even having his head whacked on the way out had seemed like a bonus.

‘What the fuck is that?’ A voice roared.

Joe froze, his confused senses rapidly realising that the initial elation of being released from Keith’s car boot was premature. His ordeal was far from over - it appeared to have got worse. He had no idea where he was, but judging that he was lying on the floor of the large hallway of a rather swish house and someone who didn’t sound too friendly was roaring at the psycho who had dragged him here in the first place, did nothing to convince him that his situation had improved.

‘This is the stoner,’ Keith muttered, eyeing Saul blocking him from fully passing into the hall.

‘Why is he here?’ Saul barked, detecting a hint of nervousness behind Keith’s usual staid, expressionless exterior. ‘I thought we were done with him, or was that something else you didn’t agree with