Family Business, 2. The wicked Stepmother

As I'd suspected the room I keep for Scruff was now a tip, with clothes scattered all over the place. I nearly threw a pile of them in the wash, but she told me they were actually clean - apparently she couldn't be bothered to put them in the wardrobe.
She's a great sister, really, but very, very untidy.
"I have to go out tonight," I told her. "We'll get some fish and chips from the place round the corner and watch TV while we eat."
I had decided to pay my stepmother a visit. She's poisonous, a peroxide blonde who married Dad for his money. I'd let the court appoint her Scruff's guardian, but now I was starting to see that I'd made a huge mistake.
Supper was great, just like when we were children, when Dad was still alive, Scruff and me sitting on the sofa, watching TV and eating fish and chips. Scruff talks with her mouth full - but you've probably guessed that already.
Once it was done I jumped up and went to wash my hands. Coming back, I ruffled Scruff's lovely black hair and grinned.
"Okay, I've got to go out now. Make yourself at home."
"'Bye," she said affectionately. I left quickly.
I made my way to a place hidden in the back alleys of London, a place where I kept a sleek grey car for nights like this.
There I changed into my close-fitting costume, and soon I was on my way from the more Bohemian streets where I chose to make my home towards the respectable suburbs of the capital.
I stopped in a leafy avenue, full of large, respectable-looking houses. Houses I knew hid terrible secrets, worse than the houses of Limehouse.
And in one of them lived my own stepmother, the woman I detest above all others.
I got out of the car and jumped over the rear fence, landing silently on the lawn. Light came through the French windows, filtering through curtains.
I padded silently over the wet grass until I stood at the French windows. Through the curtains I could see my stepmother, dressed in an expensive gown that told me she was not alone.
"... apparently the child's gone to stay with that sister of hers," she said. "You know, the suspicious blonde who lives in a flat in the City?"
"I know," I heard the voice of a sophisticated, ruthless man. "Why did you let her?"
"Clive! You know I have no control over her! You can't exactly control a girl like her with money! And it was YOUR son who refused to marry her!"
"Harry quite naturally refused to marry a scruffy teenager who looks like some sort of vagrant!" the man answered. "And now she's with this suspicious sister who's sure to work out that you've been robbing Lilian's inheritance."
"She has no proof. Just like she's got no proof I pushed her father into that pulping vat..."
I gasped.
I had never even realised how poisonous she was! And now my campaign for justice, my quest to visit vengeance upon the wicked, had turned very, very personal.