A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder

Naomi had a knife and Pip stepped back.

‘Be careful,’ she said.

‘Oh no!’ Naomi shook her head. ‘The eyes are uneven.’

She spun the pumpkin round so Pip and Cara could see its face.

‘Looks a bit like Trump,’ Cara cackled.

‘It’s supposed to be an evil cat.’ Naomi placed her knife down next to the bowl of pumpkin innards.

‘Don’t give up the day job,’ Cara said, wiping pumpkin goo from her hands and sauntering over to the cupboard.

‘I don’t have a day job.’

‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ Cara grumbled, on tiptoes looking through the cupboard. ‘Where have those two packets of biscuits gone? I was literally with Dad two days ago when we bought them.’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t eaten them.’ Naomi came over to admire Pip’s pumpkin. ‘What on earth is yours, Pip?’

‘Sauron’s eye,’ she said quietly.

‘Or a vagina on fire,’ Cara said, grabbing a banana instead.

‘Now that is scary,’ Naomi laughed.

No, this was.

Naomi had had the pumpkins and knives laid out and ready for when Cara and Pip got in from school. Pip hadn’t had a chance to sneak off yet.

‘Naomi,’ she said, ‘thanks for ringing me the other day. I got that email from your friend’s cousin about the Cambridge exam. It was very helpful.’

‘Oh good,’ she smiled. ‘No worries.’

‘So when will your phone be fixed?’

‘Tomorrow actually, the shop says. It’s taken bloody long enough.’

Pip nodded, tensing her chin in what she hoped was a sympathetic look. ‘Well, at least you had your old phone with a SIM that still worked. Lucky you held on to them.’

‘Well, lucky Dad had a spare pay-as-you-go micro SIM kicking around. And bonus: eighteen pounds credit on it. There was just an expired contract one in my phone.’

The knife almost fell from Pip’s hand. A climbing hum in her ears.

‘Your dad’s SIM card?’

‘Yeah,’ Naomi said, scoring the knife along her pumpkin face, her tongue out as she concentrated. ‘Cara found it in his desk. At the bottom of his bits and bobs drawer. You know that drawer every family has, full of old useless chargers and foreign currency and stuff.’

The hum split into a ringing sound, shrieking and shrieking and stuffing her head. She felt sick, the back of her throat filling with a metallic taste.

Elliot’s SIM card.

Elliot’s old phone number scribbled out in Andie’s planner.

Andie calling Mr Ward an arsehole to her friends the week she disappeared.

Elliot.

‘You OK, Pip?’ Cara asked as she dropped the lit candle into her pumpkin and it glowed into life.

‘Yeah.’ Pip nodded too hard. ‘I’m just, um . . . just hungry.’

‘Well, I would offer you a biscuit, but they seem to have disappeared, as always. Toast?’

‘Err . . . no thanks.’

‘I feed you because I love you,’ Cara said.

Pip’s mouth filled, all tacky and sickly. No, it might not mean what she was thinking. Maybe Elliot was just offering to tutor Andie and that’s why she wrote his number down. Maybe. It couldn’t be him. She needed to calm down, try to breathe. This wasn’t proof of anything.

But she had a way to find proof.

‘I think we should have spooky Halloween music on while we do this,’ Pip said. ‘Cara, can I go get your laptop?’

‘Yeah, it’s on my bed.’

Pip closed the kitchen door behind her.

She raced up the stairs and into Cara’s room. With the laptop tucked under her arm she crept back downstairs, her heart thudding, fighting to be louder than the ringing in her ears.

She slipped into Elliot’s study and gently closed the door, staring for a moment at the printer on Elliot’s desk. The rainbow-coloured people from Isobel Ward’s paintings watched her as she put Cara’s laptop down on the oxblood leather chair and pulled open the lid, kneeling on the floor before it.

When it awoke she clicked on to the control panel and into Devices and Printers. Hovering the mouse over Freddie Prints Jr, she right-clicked and, holding her breath, clicked the top item in the drop-down menu: See what’s printing.

A small blue-bordered box popped up. Inside was a table with six columns: Document Name, Status, Owner, Pages, Size and Date Submitted.

It was filled with entries. One yesterday from Cara called Personal Statement second draft. One a few days ago from Elliot Comp: Gluten free cookies recipe. Several in a row from Naomi: CV 2017, Charity Job application, Cover letter, Cover letter 2.

The note was put in Pip’s locker on Friday the 20th October. With her eyes on the Date Submitted column, she scrolled down.

Her fingers drew up. On the 19th October at twenty to midnight, Elliot Comp had printed Microsoft Word – Document 1.

An unnamed, unsaved document.

Her fingers left sweaty tracks on the mousepad as she right-clicked on the document. Another small drop-down menu appeared. Her heart in her throat, she bit down on her tongue and clicked the Restart option.

The printer clacked behind her and she flinched.

Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she turned as it hissed, sucking in the top piece of paper.

She straightened up as it started to sputt-sputt-sputt the page through.

She moved towards it, a step between each sputt.

The paper started to push through, a glimpse of fresh black ink, upside down.

The printer finished and spat it out.

Pip reached for it.

She turned it round.

This is your final warning, Pippa. Walk away.