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“Where’s the spare key?” I growl.
With an air of nonchalance, Mr Zeepler leans against the doorframe. He’s slipped out of his wool coat and scarf. The blue of his crisp shirt brings out his bedroom-eyes. His blond hair shines. I see he’s changed into a pair of sheepskin indoor slippers (luxury, no doubt). And here was me thinking slippers were synonymous with old men. Although, to be fair, Mrs Zeepler can’t stand messy floors. He looks like he should be in Gentleman’s Quarterly or something. What the fvck is he doing in this neighbourhood? He doesn’t even seem the family type. He flashes me a dazzling, white smile.
“Have coffee.” He walks off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving me standing on the front step.
The cat gives me a disdainful look as if to say “Are you coming, b!tch?” before wondering off.
Sh!t.
***
I have a sudden brain-wave. I gaze at the lounge door. My heart nearly skips in happiness. There’s some movement in the kitchen — he’ll be distracted making the coffee. I could just sneak into the lounge and snatch the spare key right under his nose. Thank fvck for Mrs Z showing me where she put it a few months ago.
Things are looking up.
I enter the lounge. The Zeeplers are loaded. Mrs Z loves interior design — it certainly shows if her lounge is any evidence. The room looks like it came out of a glossy home magazine. The furniture is rustic — very Scandinavian. Warm timber. Natural materials. Warm and homely. There are over-stuffed, plush sofas with comfy cushions scattered casually on them. The lounge has an informal atmosphere. A few photographs with colourful frames are on the feature wall. Most of them are black-and-white shots of Golden Erik, with the occasional Mishka photograph. Mrs Z is a keen amateur photographer; her favourite subject is her husband. A huge black mirror of a television hangs on a fresh, buttercream wall.
I wonder over to a side-table and open the draw eagerly. The small wooden lacquered box within is a welcome sight indeed. My fingers fumble over the lid. Haha, piece of cake. Looks like you’ll be having your coffee alone, b@st—
I bite my lip and inhale sharply.
A rumbling noise comes from the cat. Green eyes gleam with laughter. He swishes his bushy tail mockingly — nuh-uh-uh.
The box is empty.
A/N: Please VOTE, COMMENT and SHARE! Thank you! :) Did Amelie’s Dad give The Zeeplers the new key? Will she find the key? Dmitri