Is this good suspense for my story? Part 2?

“Alright,” I croaked. Little Miss Spit Fire, that’s what she was. Now, where did Father keep his lighter? “Let me check in his study,” I said. When we moved in, I remembered that he carried his lighter into his study. It was silver with an American flag painted onto it in bright colors.





I paused in front of the mahogany doors of his study and took a deep breath. I really wasn’t allowed in here. But, it was just to get a lighter, nothing more. I’d light Megumi’s cigarette, put the lighter back, and turn a blind eye to her smoking. I strongly suspected her father disapproved of young ladies smoking and drinking, or for that matter, any woman smoking or drinking.





The door was pushed open by me, and I walked inside, sniffing the air. It smelled faintly of vanilla. It was a comforting scent, as it reminded me of Father, and he snoked a pipe with vanilla. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a globe rested soundly in the corner of the room. The window was open, letting the air inside. The moon, now high in the sky, shone through, illuminating the floor.





I searched his desk. It was cluttered with documents of all sorts. I hardly read them, as they seemed so boring. Then I heard a faint crunch. I looked underfoot: a crinkled piece piece of notebook paper. On it was scrawled hastily The Horrible Princess: A Holiday Story for Children at Heart. Various letters were underlined, but I didn’t bother to read them. I knew the story already.





A children’s story...is Father seeing another woman? I wondered. I remembered the story from long ago...such a distant memory. When I was little, he would read it to me before bed. It was an adorable story: a mean spirited princess learns the spirit of loving and caring in time for Christmas. Along the way, she met various talking creatures who taught her how to love.





I placed the paper down gingerly on the floor and turned my attention back to the desk. A glint in the moonlight caught my eye. Buried under the mass of papers was the lighter. I dug it out and nestled it firmly in the palm of my hand. The box was cold and smooth, matching my mood. The smooth part anyway. I felt so serene, standing in the moonlight.





I went back out into the brightly lit parlor where yellow lamplight swamped my vision and waved the lighter. Megumi looked up excitedly from the dining table and rolled out her cigarette.





“What took you so long?” she asked as I pulled out a chair. I held out the lighter in my hand and fiddled with the top, trying to get a flame. Megumi looked mildly exasperated and took it.





“Here, like this.” She swiftly flicked the top and a flame sprang forth. I took it back from her, keeping my finger down where hers formerly was, and lit the cigarette. Long gray strand of smoke snaked out, and Megumi breathed out deeply. “There, that’s more like it...” She seemed to sag in her chair and closed her eyes. My missionm completed, it was now time to put the lighter back in its proper place.





I went back into Fathers study and placed the lighter under the mound of papers on his desk. Then I looked to the upper right corner of his desk, where his ink well was. Or was supposed to be.





That was strange. Wasn’t his inkwell always on his desk? I distinctly remembered it being on the upper right corner of the table.





I searched the desk, until my eyes landed on the upper left corner. The silver jug sat innocuously, a black pen snidely leaning out of it. Look, it seemed to say. I was here the whole time. Now don’t bother me or think up some ridiculous idea.





“I won’t,” I heard myself say. ****, I just murmured to myself. I really needed to stop that, before I went crazy and got sent to the asylum. At Miss. Dupont’s, this one girl, Gloria I think, got sent to the asylum. She had this problem where she never ate, and threw up her food. Maybe she thought of herself as fat. From what I remembered, she wasn’t. She was movie star glamorous, with bright red lips that didn’t need lip stick. I envied her.





My eyes lowered to the floor. I remembered that the princess story had strange underlinings on the paper. Maybe I’d take a look at it again. The floor was messy as usual, and I picked up each piece of paper, searching its contents. But nothing was there.





Nothing was there.





The inkwell, the princess story. Had someone been in here?





I walked slowly to the window and peered down below. Nothing was touched. The curtain gently swished back and forth, as it had before.





Shaken, I walked back to the parlor. Something seemed amiss. If Father noticed anything was out of place, he would be beyond furious.





And I would be the brunt of the blame.|||it is a great piece of writing with wonderful vocabulary that makes it flow very well, but its hardly suspense. Its only an inkwell!. For more suspense maybe she could feel a breeze on her neck and realise the window is open, and it wasn't open before. Then she could realise several things are missing, and there is a rustle of bushes from outside. That would be suspense!|||Yeah it is enough. I think it's kind of necessary what with father and so on. There's a good balance between suspenseful actions and suspenseful evocations.