Joker in the Pack (Romantic Suspense, Completed, Watty Winner)

Chapter 8

"Eeuch! Who does that?" I screwed my eyes shut, wishing it would go away.

"What? What's wrong?" Maddie asked.

I shuffled to the side so she could look into the downstairs toilet. The orange downstairs toilet. And not a muted shade of peach or a subtle tint. No, bright, in-your-face tangerine, the love child of a can of Tango and a bottle of Tropicana.

"Ouch. Did your Aunt Ellie have impaired vision?"

"I don't think so. Just incredibly bad taste."

"At least it's not avocado," Mickey said.

"No, that's probably upstairs."

I pulled the toilet door shut, wishing I hadn't sold my Gucci sunglasses on eBay. I'd need them every time I got the urge to pee.

"Wonder what's behind door number two?" Maddie muttered as I followed her along the hallway.

Mickey had been spot on about the carpet. Grimy and threadbare underfoot, I'd certainly never walk on it without slippers.

"Do you want me to open it?" Mickey asked, his hand hovering above the door handle.

"Yes, go on."

Light coming in through the grimy window of the lounge revealed an oversized velvet sofa, the antithesis of the bathroom with its drab brown swirls. It sat opposite the biggest plasma TV I'd ever seen.

Mickey let out a low whistle. "Well, I guess we know where her pension went."

We sure did. Edward had spent a fortune on his fifty-inch flat screen, but Aunt Ellie's looked bigger.

"I guess she must have really enjoyed her soaps."

The TV was the focal point of the room, but clutter dominated the rest of the space. A cheap-looking veneered shelving unit spanned one wall, full to bursting with nicknacks. China figurines, decorative plates, candles, teacups and matching saucers. How on earth did she dust? I ran a finger across one ornamental jug and studied the grey layer on my finger. Guess I'd answered that question.

Out in the hallway again, I hoped it would be third time lucky. Maddie opened the door this time, revealing a kitchen with stained Formica countertops and a lingering odour of cigarette smoke. The ceiling was stained yellow from old tobacco, made worse by the clash with the beige walls. I couldn't help shuddering.

"It needs a bit of modernising," Maddie said.

"Congratulations. You just won the prize for understatement of the year."

A newish microwave sat in one corner, but the kettle, the stove, and everything else could have come from the Ark. In fact, I wasn't sure I'd dare to turn the cooker on. The only thing worse than having to live in Lilac Cottage would be burning it down.

"Guys! You have to look at this." Mickey's voice drifted through the open door.

"Look at what?" I asked.

"The... Oh, you've got to come in here."

I tried to push door number four open, but it got stuck halfway. Even a shove didn't help. I squeezed through the gap, and my jaw dropped open.

"What the hell is all of this stuff?"

Maddie leaned in behind me, and judging by her sharp intake of breath, she couldn't believe her eyes either.

"Your aunt seems to have bought everything QVC has ever sold."

"Or else she was acting as a satellite warehouse for The Shopping Channel," Mickey said.

No kidding.

The boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling, everything from a steam mop to slimming underwear in extra-large. A halogen oven jostled for space with a replica lightsabre, and I spotted four different hair-removal gadgets. Good grief—was that... Yes. A life-size cutout of Cliff Richard grinned at us from beside the window.

"Bloody hell," Maddie said. "I've always wondered who bought all this crap. Now I know."

My first instinct was to run and never look back. In fact, I'd got halfway out the door before Maddie grabbed my arm and hauled me back into my own personal hell. Even as a child, I'd arranged my books in alphabetical order and put my toys into their box at the end of each day. But this... Lilac Cottage was so far removed from my love of neatness and order that I felt the beginnings of a migraine just looking at the mess.

Old Olivia longed to climb into Maddie's car and go straight back to London, but new Olivia didn't have the luxury of being fussy anymore. At least it was cheap. Those words became my new mantra.

At least it's cheap. At least it's cheap. At least it's cheap.

"How are you going to cope with this lot?" Maddie asked. "You know, with your OCD?"

"I do not have OCD," I snapped.

The expression on Maddie's face told me she thought otherwise.

Okay, maybe I did, just a little. "I'll manage. I have to."

She poked at a box containing a steam iron. "There could be anything buried under this lot."

"A World War Two bomb, a dead body, a portal to a parallel universe," Mickey added.

I forced a laugh. It was either that or cry. "I'm going to have a field day on eBay."

"Flipping heck, you will, won't you? And now Christmas is over, you could borrow some of Santa's elves to help you with all the packing."

If I'd thought the ground floor was bad, the situation only got worse as we climbed the creaking staircase.

"I was right," Mickey said as he pushed open the first door to the left. "Avocado. And it could do with a clean."

Marvellous. Still, if I was lucky, there'd be a white bathroom suite stacked in the mess downstairs. To the right, Eleanor's bedroom had the same tired air as the lounge, from the faded velour headboard on the sagging double bed, to the tatty wardrobe, to the dressing table covered in half-empty bottles of lotions and potions.

But the other two bedrooms?

If only I could unsee the horrors. Jigsaw holders, TV dinner trays, garden kneelers, and ugly kaftans. Fancy toilet roll holders, foot files, garish scarves, and a machine that looked like a torture device but claimed it would give you a "Hollywood butt lift."

And an idea began to form in my mind...