221b Baker Street Flat Novels & Stories

THE OTHER MAN ~ANNETTE'S POV~ The address Monica sent me wasn't a hotel. It wasn't a café. It was a pre-war apartment building in Hell's Kitchen. The kind of place that had character, sure, but definitely didn't have a doorman or a concierge service. It wasn't the kind of place Monica Blackwood usually set foot in, let alone visited voluntarily. I checked the text again. Apartment 4B. Don't knock loud. I took a deep breath, gripping my purse strap tight enough to hurt, and walked up the three flights of stairs. The hallway smelled like old cooking oil and floor wax.

During the ride to Hampstead, I watched the glowing red digits climbing steadily on the meter while I pieced together a plan. The doorman at Jock’s mansion block had already gone home for the night, but the caretaker recognized me and buzzed me through into the foyer. “What happened to your ear?” “Insect bite,” I replied. “Got infected.” The staircase inside gleamed with polished mahogany, the brass stair-rods shining beneath the chandeliers. Jock’s flat lay in darkness. I opened the door quietly and immediately noticed the blinking red light on the alarm panel. It wasn’t armed.

But in the morning, after the building visit, after the afternoon in James's office going through drawings and staircase options and material specifications, when James mentioned the flat again and said his colleague was happy to show it if they had an hour, she had said yes before Ethan could answer. The flat was on the third floor of a Georgian terrace on a quiet street in the New Town. The building had the particular restrained elegance of its period, the facade all clean lines and correct proportions and the kind of understatement that required complete confidence to pull off. The colleague, a woman named Fiona who managed several properties in the area, met them at the door and took the

Apartment twenty, the killer’s, was blank. “The manager’s in number four, right around the corner,” Malomond said, moving forward into the hallway. Conner followed him into a dim corridor covered with dark brown industrial carpet. Bare light bulbs hung at regular intervals from a dirty white ceiling, none of them lit. The hallway smelled old and musty. Cleaning and maintenance were clearly not priorities in this place. Joyous Mexican guitar music streamed from one of the nearby apartments.

Bahnhofstrasse 42. Luxury apartment building. Old. Historic. Expensive. "Your father owned an apartment here?" Sienna asked. Staring up at the building. "Apparently. One more secret. One more thing he never mentioned." They entered. Modern lobby. Doorman who verified their identification. Key. Documentation proving Dante was Alessandro's heir. "Apartment 7B. Seventh floor. Elevator is to your right." The apartment was immaculate. Professionally maintained. Clearly used but preserved. Like a museum of Alessandro's life.

My suitcase is taken by someone, and Alfred drives me to Ruby‘s flat. Ruby resides in the penthouse apartment. on her ground floor. There are just two doors. This is a penthouse with just two units. Alfred exclaims, "Someone just moved in next door," as soon as we get to the floor. The door of that unit is still open. The owner must still be quite busy with his belongings. A portion of the cardboard was placed facedown on the ground.

ZAYDEN It was seven twenty in the evening when the taxi dropped me before the luxury suburban building that was supposed to be home but had felt like a prison for the longest time. Gated community. Two-storey grey building. Manicured lawn. Outdoor backyard kitchen I never seemed to remember ever being used. I exhaled and made my way toward it, fighting the exhaustion that had sunk into my muscles and refused to let go. Before I could punch in the door code, the knob turned. Someone opened it from the inside. My hand froze mid-air, and I looked up at her. Mrs. Baker.

"Mm… I… second floor… door twenty-three…" Useless. I swore and fumbled out my phone. Cheryl picked up on the second ring. "Sir?" "Ethan's address. Now." A pause. "Why do you need that?" "It's an emergency," I growled. My knuckles were bunched against the wheel. Another pause. Then she softened her voice. "Okay. He lives on 15th, old Maplewood Apartments. Unit 23B, second floor." "Good." I hung up before she could ask anything else and floored the gas.

The lady on the phone asked. Breanna peered through her room window, lifting the curtain to see. "Breanna!." She heard him shout, Breanna dropped the cloth like it was on fire. "I'm in my room, but he's right outside my window, I noticed a pocket knife in his hand." She answered. "Your address?." "2114 on Maddison street, flat four close to Charleston University campus." "Breanna!, my love it doesn't have to be like this?." He banged on her front door.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> The Edinburgh flat was still available. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She knew because she checked at six forty-seven on a Tuesday morning before her alarm went off, which was new behaviour she was choosing not to examine too closely. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Third floor. Good light in the photos. The kitchen table looked like it could hold two people working at the same time without either of them having to give up space.