Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

shakes and jars of capsules claiming this and that to dramatically improve performance. I scan the building. Art and the skinny man are nowhere to be seen.

A red-faced woman with sweaty hair scraped back in a ponytail is walking towards me. Beads of sweat glisten on her temple. She wipes her forehead with a towelling wristband.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘Could you tell me where the toilets are?’

She lifts an arm, winces and laughs about having overdone things today, then points towards the back of the building. I thank her and wander over, fully alert.

The toilets are situated next to a storeroom with its door ajar. I burst in, startling them both. Art is kneeling at a large open safe located in a cupboard to the rear of the room.

‘Sorry, I thought this was the ladies,’ I say, pretending not to acknowledge the wad of cash Art is handing over to the skinny man who is holding out a package of something. I spin around, dazed, and steam back outside.

‘What’s wrong, darling?’ Jim asks when I return to the car. ‘You look troubled.’

‘Art is not the squeaky clean neighbour Sasha believes him to be.’

Twenty-Seven

LUKE

Alisha Davies. A common surname for such a unique lady. She is smart, that one. Way smarter than any woman I’ve ever met, and not only in the head. Every aspect of her radiates sophistication. The chic way she dresses, the eloquent way she talks, and even the way she walks – briskly, with her head held high – as if she belongs on the cover of one of those voguish magazines lying around her stylish house. Everything so immaculate, spotless.

What is she doing with that loser of a husband, then? The man with the charisma of an out-of-date ham sandwich. She’s not stupid. She’s a lawyer for heaven’s sake. She must know he has been shagging one of the neighbours for the past year. It could be even longer. I first caught Penelope Price and Thomas Davies at it twelve months ago during Harry’s seventeenth birthday party. I didn’t actually catch them in the act, per se. No, it was the video clips I was browsing through a few days later that aroused my attention. So much so, I found myself rewatching certain bits several times over. Pen the dog groomer and Tom the graphic designer, however did those two get it together? What amused me the most was how they tried to pretend nothing was going on. But the frequent glances in each other’s direction and Penelope’s childish giggles failed to slip my attention. I have a lot to thank those two for. They were the start – the start of my lucrative future. They planted the idea in my mind.

I nearly gave up gathering evidence on the two of them. The opportunity rarely arose, and when it did, something always seemed to get in the way. Most annoying. But one thing my dad taught me from an early age is never to quit. “Quitting is for the weak, boy. If you want something bad enough, you’ll succeed in the end as long as you hang on in there.”

I suppose he’s been good for something.

I felt like someone was looking down on me from heaven when Alisha popped around here Monday last week and asked if I would be interested in shooting an introductory video for her new website. ‘Hell, yes,’ I wanted to shout, but suppressed my eagerness with a polite, ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I’ve prepared the script. I need someone with decent videoing skills.’ She gave a slight flip of her head. Her silky hair, as lustrous as onyx stone, swished away from her face. ‘You’ve come highly recommended.’

‘Whom by?’

‘The neighbours.’

‘I’m sure I could manage this. I’m free to come over tonight.’

‘Would it better to wait until your exams are finished?’

No!

‘Not at all. It won’t take me long. Around seven?’

So, when I was at her house that evening, shooting that video for her, I was orchestrating a way of gaining access to her bedroom. When the chance arose, I thought to myself, it’s now or never, Lukie-boy, take it. Chances are for taking, are they not? Her phone rang at the opportune moment. ‘I need to take this,’ she said.

‘May I use your toilet, please?’

Little did she realise how easy she made my life when she said, ‘There’s a problem with the downstairs toilet. You’ll have to nip upstairs.’

Thank you, Alisha. Thank you very much.

I took her stairs two at a time to gain as much advantage as possible. Although a replica in build, her house felt so different from ours. Its luxurious ambience ran from bottom to top like the cream, deep-pile carpet. At the top of the stairs, I didn’t turn right to the family bathroom she said I could use. No, I had other ideas. Living in a house with exactly the same layout, I knew precisely where I was going. I marched towards the master bedroom. From the loft room at the top of my house, I can see into that room. Penelope Price should be more careful and stay away from the window. I’ve seen her in there on several occasions; most Wednesday afternoons to be exact. You’d think they’d be more discreet, she and her lover. I mean, come on, having an affair is one thing, but they could surely show a little decency and not be conducting it in either of the marital homes.

There are such lowlifes in this world.

I nipped in there as nimbly as a sleuth and removed my little piece of magic from the pocket of my jeans, scanning the room for the perfect spot. First, I positioned the tiny camera on her dressing table in amongst her umpteen pots and tubes of cream and gels, all claiming a more youthful complexion. Then I thought better of it. Too risky, the bookcase would prove a far safer option and a more impressive camera angle. So I concealed it amongst their collection