A Vicky Hill Exclusive! by Hannah Dennison

all that bothered about good versus evil. Whittler was probably one of those fair-weather vicars. As long as things ran along smoothly, and people died from natural causes, he was everybody’s best friend. But just hint at the dark forces, and he was gone.
    In the basement kitchenette, I was surprised to see the outside door closed. I could have sworn I’d left it ajar. Pierce Brosnan must have exited the building this way. The moment I opened the door, I practically had a heart attack.
    An earth shattering clanging erupted from the bowels of the building. The alarm worked, after all! It went on and on, seemingly growing louder by the second.
    What a stupid oversight! Thank God Dad was not here to witness my faux pas. Obviously, Pierce Brosnan had disabled the alarm
before
I arrived, then switched it back on when he left.
    The shrill ring continued. My heart was beating so rapidly I feared I’d become hysterical if I didn’t take action. In five minutes, the police would arrive. I tore outside, grabbed a handful of stones, and flung them haphazardly at the ringing bell. Even though most hit their mark, they made no difference at all.
    Ducking back into the basement, I grabbed a wooden long-handled mop and raced back. I thrust the pole, mop end first – to muffle the sound – into the belly of the alarm, praying it would jam. The bell gamely shuddered to a halt and expired altogether with a pathetic
phut!
There, the mop stayed, providing ample evidence of my guilt.
Blast!
I couldn’t reach it, and my newspaper tower had long collapsed. I’d have to leave the mop there.
    I bolted out of the alley and into the High Street. Stopped dead.
Blast!
I’d left my scarf and gloves outside the basement door. They weren’t exactly run-of-the-mill, either, being a fluorescent lime green and vivid purple stripe. I may as well have left my name and address, too. How could I even
think
I was my father’s daughter?
    Paralysed, I stood outside The Copper Kettle as a police car, siren blaring, blue and red lights flashing, barrelled towards me up the High Street. My God, the cops were on the ball tonight. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes since the bell went off.
    Suddenly, firm hands grabbed my shoulders. I struggled to escape, but a hand clamped firmly over my nose and mouth. ‘Quickly. In here!’ cried Topaz, dragging me backwards through the door of the tearoom. With surprising strength, she threw me facedown onto the floor and hurled herself on top of me.
    Winded, I took in deep gulps of air, utterly confused by the turn of events and my unexpected rescuer.
    ‘Don’t move,’ Topaz said.
    I refrained from telling her I couldn’t. She was actually heavy. Her breath was hot on my neck, and her body moulded into the contours of my back.
    ‘We’ll wait until the coast is clear,’ she whispered into my ear.
    Luckily, Topaz could not see my horrified expression. How much had she seen and why rescue me?
    ‘I can’t breathe, Topaz,’ I groaned, trying to jostle her off. ‘Please!’
    ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said, rolling onto her knees. ‘Follow me, but keep down!’
    Topaz crawled, leopard-style, beneath the window over to the table where I had sat only hours earlier. ‘Good view from here.’
    I duly followed, noting she was wearing her mob cap and wondering if she slept in it.
    We both knelt by the window, peeping over the sill as another panda car screamed to a halt, ejecting two more coppers, who swarmed all over the
Gazette
as if there’d been a bank robbery. I felt sick. No doubt they’d find the mop – covered in my fingerprints – and my scarf and gloves. As the old saying goes, it’s a ‘fair cop’.
    Mesmerized, we watched the
Gazette
office windows light up, one by one. The police were methodically combing the building.
    Topaz turned towards me, her gaze steady. ‘What do you think happened?’
    Did she really not know, or was she testing me?
    Dad always maintained it was best to stay as