This is the nineteenth part of a fiction serial, in 1275 words.

Tom Calder took the call from Ron Goldman. He was the family accountant, managing all funds unconnected with the tech company. “Hi, Tom. Something has come up, and I need to bring it to your attention. I’m aware that there’s a lot going on with Marjorie’s disappearance, but this is important, and I feel it may be connected too”. Calder sat down at his desk. “Of course, Ron, what is it?” He heard some typing from the other end, then Goldman continued. “There were two transfers from Marjorie’s Trust Fund yesterday. The account was accessed using your late wife’s password, and two separate electronic deposits were made into online bank accounts. Each one was for one million pounds. Do you happen to know if anyone else has access to your wife’s password?” Calder shook his head as he replied. “As far as I know, that died with her. She never told me, and Marjorie would have been unlikely to have been told either. She was too young at the time”.

There was a pause. Ron seemed to have been thinking of his next question. “Should we notify the police? They can get names and addresses for those accounts with a court order, and trace the location of the computer that was used. Meanwhile, we can either recall the transfers, or put a stop on the account so that nothing more can be taken”. Calder mulled it over. “Stop any more going out from the account, but don’t recall those transfers. And let’s not involve the police for a couple of days, until we have had time to think what this might mean. After all, there’s a chance that Marjorie has taken her own money, and put it in those accounts. Thanks for telling me, Ron, and keep me updated”. Tom hung up, and swivelled his chair around. He was wondering what the girl was up to, and was convinced she knew her mother’s password.

On the morning of her birthday, Marjorie waited until Phil had left for work, and sat writing in her notebook. She made a detailed account of everything, from the moment she had got out of the taxi, until her arrival at Phil’s flat. Satisfied it was all there, she packed the book away in her school bag, and went into the bathroom to get ready. It would take hours today, as she had to look her very best. The best she had ever looked. Her irresistible best.

That same morning, Tom Calder phoned the police, and asked to speak to Tina Collier. There had been no transactions on either of the accounts, so whoever had them was not coming out of the woodwork to get their hands on the money. He told her about the unexpected money transfers, and gave her the account details too. Other than that, he was surly and unhelpful, acting as if he was doing her a favour. When he finished talking, Tina was curt in her response. “It would have been useful to know this earlier, Mr Calder. Now I have to get a court order for the bank details and trace the computer too. That will take time, and drag things out even longer”. When she heard the buzzing, she realised he had hung up whilst she was still speaking, and slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

By the time Phil got home from work, Marjorie was made up like a film star, and dressed in a skimpy thong, with fishnet hold-up stockings on her legs. She wasn’t going to bother with a bra. Wrapped in Phil’s toweling dressing gown, she sat on the bed, making some last-minute adjustments around her eyes. She shouted through the door of the bedroom. “I will be a while yet, you might as well get started on dinner”. He called back, unaware how normal and familiar this all sounded. “I will just get a quick shower, then I can change when you come out”. Marjorie shook her head. He was acting like she was his girlfriend. Had he already forgotten that him and his mate had shot her in the leg with a dart, trapped her in a stinking cage at the Zoo, and made her fear for her life? She was trembling with rage, but knew she would be able to compose herself when it mattered.

Thirty minutes later, she came out of the bedroom. Phil was messing around in the kitchen area, a towel wrapped around his waist. He turned to her, smiling. “Wow! You look great, you really do. Happy Birthday by the way. I will just go and get changed, then fry up the steaks. There are some nice wedges in the oven to go with them”. Marjorie sat down, then leaned forward and crossed her legs. She was sure he would get a good view of her cleavage, and her thighs too. Lowering her voice into something resembling a husky growl, she said. “What about the champagne? I wouldn’t mind a glass while you get ready”. He struggled with the cork, but eventually brought over a full glass of the fizzy drink. It was a normal wine glass of course, he wouldn’t have known about flutes. She watched as he blatantly stared down her dress, and looked at her legs. Sipping the sour-tasting wine, she nodded in the direction of the bedroom. “Go on then, I’m getting hungry”.

The meal was surprisingly good. He cooked the steak just how she liked it, and although she had discovered she didn’t like the taste of champagne, two glasses of the stuff had lowered her inhibitions to the required level, without being too much to make her lose focus. When they had eaten, she stood up, and sat on the edge of the sofa, patting the cushion next to her to indicate he should sit there. Phil suddenly looked awkward. “I’ve got some ice-cream in the freezer. I thought you might like some”. Marjorie gave him her ‘best face’. “I think we can both enjoy something sweeter than ice cream. Come and sit down”. He blushed, but as looked at that smile, he sat down quickly.

Marjorie had no experience in making love. Other than some pretend kissing with other girls at school, she hadn’t so much as kissed or touched anyone. But she had watched so many love scenes in films and TV shows, she managed to give a convincing performance that might well have earned her a ‘Best Newcomer’ award, in other circumstances. After some fumbling on the sofa, she led Phil by the hand into the bedroom, and allowed him to unzip her dress. He had been surprisingly gentle, so she had to urge him on. “Harder, I like it rough”. Phil was too far gone to even think about why a girl like this would say something so slutty, and did as she asked. After the big build-up, he hadn’t lasted very long, and that was a relief to her. Happy with his performance, he rolled over, and smiled, dropping the condom into the waste-basket by the bed. A long day at work, a busy evening, and two glasses of champagne had all taken their toll. He was soon asleep, still dressed in what few clothes he had left on in his excitement.

She waited until he was snoring peacefully. Walking around the bed quietly, she retrieved the condom from the small bin, and wrapped it carefully in two tissues, walking back to put the small bundle inside her make up bag. Then she stretched out on the edge of the bed, away from any possibility of their bodies touching.

But she didn’t intend going to sleep.