The Mystery in Flat 6B


 
 Title Page
 Contents
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 eCopyright
 
 
 
 
 
 
 BLOOMSBURY EDUCATION
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 BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY EDUCATION and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
 This electronic edition published in 2023 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
 First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
 Text copyright © Karen McCombie, 2023
 Illustrations copyright © Thy Bui, 2023
 Karen McCombie and Thy Bui have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author and Illustrator of this work
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 CONTENTS
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 
 CHAPTER ONE
 It’s been less than an hour since me, Dad and my pet rat Spike ditched our old house and caught the bus to our new flat.
 It’s in a big, squat block called Seaview Court, six storeys high and as wide as a football pitch.
 The whole building looks gloomy, I think as the three of us walk towards it, with Spike peeking out of his plastic carry-case. There’s a heavy haze of fog almost hiding the top floor. Our floor, where we’ll find our flat. I haven’t seen it yet. And Dad forgot to take photos when he viewed it a couple of weeks ago.
 “Look, JoJo – the removal team are here already!” Dad says brightly. He nods towards a parked van with ‘WE ♥ TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT!’ written on the side. It’s a pretty funny slogan and would’ve made me laugh – or sing it out loud – at any other time, but not today. Nothing seems too funny at the moment.
 “OK, now what’s the code to get in?” Dad mumbles as we reach the glass doors of the entrance. He’s frowning at the rows of silver buttons on a panel. “Let me check that email I got from–”
 Stepping in front of him, I drop my skateboard to the ground and quickly press three buttons: ‘6’, ‘A’ and then ‘Enter’. The door clicks open.
 “Ah, of course the code is just the number of our flat,” Dad laughs at himself.
 “Yep,” I reply, holding the door so Dad can go in first.
 Honestly, Dad is super-smart in lots of ways. He was the manager of a whole store before it shut down last year. But he can be super-dumb with obvious stuff, like most adults.
 “Right, let’s see how the guys are getting on,” says Dad.
 We see straightaway. There are two lifts, but one has an ‘out of order’ sign on it. The whole of the entrance area is clogged up with piled-up cardboard boxes and furniture. I spot two men wearing T-shirts with ‘WE ♥ TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT!’ on the front. They’ve just turned our battered old piano on its end, and seem to be trying to figure out how to manoeuvre it into the one working lift.
 By the looks of it, the piano will be even more battered than it already is once they finally get it into our flat. I told Dad not to take it with us. How many times have I said that I don’t want to play it anymore? Not with this annoying twitch I’ve got going on in my arm. But then I can’t just stand here and watch the piano get thunked about. It’s making twanging and plinking noises like it’s in distress…
 “I’m going to take the stairs,” I tell Dad, holding Spike’s carrier in my left hand and my skateboard in my right.
 “Huh? You sure, JoJo? It’s a long way up!” Dad calls after me, but I’m already through the door marked ‘STAIRS TO ALL FLOORS’.
 At first glance the stairwell looks boring and dull – blank breeze-block walls, blank cement steps, no windows and too-bright overhead lights.
 “Hello!” I call out, to test the echo.
 “Hello!” my voice comes back, sounding odd as it bounces back down at me, sounding higher, more like a girl’s.
 Me and Spike set off, and quickly climb up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Floor 1, Floor 2, Floor 3, Floor 4… it’s all just the same grey blankness, only broken up by big red plastic numbers beside each doorway.
 But half-way up to Floor 5 I see something different. Something scrawled on the wall.
 THIS WAY!!!!
 I stop dead and stare at the bubble lettering and wonky arrow doodled in peach chalk.
 “This way to what?” I say out loud, grinning to myself and talking to no one.
 I hear a high-pitched sound like a giggle, but it was probably just Spike squeaking, protesting, feeling travel-sick in his carrier.
 Giving myself a shake,