They Did Bad Things

by Lauren A. Forry

  “What is she doing downstairs?” Lorna asked.

  “I’m not downstairs.”

  Both Lorna and Oliver jumped.

  There Ellie stood in the hallway, silent and pale. A wild look stained her face.

  “Where have you—” Oliver started but Ellie pressed a finger to her lips and pointed down.

  Footsteps again crossed the floor below.

  Lorna’s first thought was that Maeve had somehow found a way out, but then a voice followed the footsteps—a man’s. Lorna waved the others back into Maeve’s room and closed the door. They listened and waited.

  Ellie kept glancing over her shoulder even though she was standing with her back to the wall. Oliver drummed on his thigh.

  “Did you see him?” Lorna whispered to Ellie. “Do you know who it is?”

  “I told you I haven’t been downstairs. I didn’t even hear him until just now.”

  “Well, where were you then?” Lorna asked.

  Ellie looked her in the eye but said nothing. But Lorna knew Ellie had been somewhere. Had seen something. Or had done something.

  Lorna laid her hand on the doorknob.

  “What are you doing?” Oliver whispered.

  “I’m going to see who it is.”

  He grabbed her wrist.

  “He’ll find us,” Oliver said while at the same time Ellie said, “You can’t do that.”

  Lorna tossed up her arms. “And what’s your alternative? Stay here? Does the phrase ‘sitting ducks’ mean anything to you? Not to mention Maeve’s down there on her own. Do you really want her to end up like Hollis? No matter what she’s done, do you really truly want that for her?”

  Oliver lowered his hand.

  “Why should we care about Maeve?” Ellie asked.

  Lorna had to stop herself from striking Ellie right then and there. Instead, she channeled her anger into yanking open the door.

  Silently, she hurried down the hall and the first set of stairs. The others followed. Oliver’s breath blew hot against the back of her neck, and Ellie kept stepping on the heel of her shoe. Lorna wanted to tell them both to back off, but they were too close to the main staircase now.

  The man was in the foyer, opening and closing doors, pacing back and forth. Twice he cursed to himself in between a string of other sentences. Although Lorna could make out words here and there, she couldn’t piece them together into anything sensible. Her first thought was that somehow MacLeod wasn’t dead. That he’d merely been unconscious. Had Oliver checked for a pulse? She couldn’t remember. But then from the top of the great staircase, she caught her first glimpse of him as he went into the dining room—a long, jeans-clad leg, an arm in a navy-blue coat sleeve. MacLeod had been wearing a green parka. Lorna looked at the others. With a nod of agreement, they crept down the stairs.

  There would be no place to hide if he returned to the foyer. He would spot them, rats huddled on the staircase. With every step down, Lorna expected him to fly from the room. But the dining room doorway remained unmoving, unchanged. Any moment now, she thought. And yet the silence remained.

  They reached the half-shut door unnoticed. Lorna mouthed, “On three.” And held up her fingers: one, two . . .

  The man barreled out of the room, knocking into all three of them. Everyone fell, a tangle of arms and legs and screams. Lorna tried to knee someone in the stomach. Her nails found a face. And then, with a grunt, the struggle stopped. Ellie lay on her right, shaking. A weight held them both down. Lorna pictured MacLeod’s body falling on top of her, suffocating her.

  But this body rolled away. Or rather, was rolled. Oliver stood over her with the silver candlestick Ellie had carried downstairs earlier.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  Lorna looked to her left, and there the man was, unconscious. It was Caskie. What struck her was how young he looked compared to them. A baby, in jeans and his ratty knit jumper, dirt on his clothes, scratches down his cheek.

  Oliver helped Lorna up, then Ellie, and handed Ellie the candlestick. After finding some duct tape and rope from a cupboard near the front desk, he bent over the unconscious form.

  “Well maybe now we can get some real answers.”

  Ellie

  They waited in the study as the rain fell steadily outside. Lorna on the chesterfield sofa, watching out the windows. Oliver pacing the short distance between the chesterfield and the bar. Ellie watching the melting wax of a burning candle.

  Mr. Caskie remained motionless in the center of the room, tied securely to a chair.

  Until he woke, there was nothing to do but wait. Now was the perfect time for Ellie to tell the others what she had seen upstairs—the room, the note. But no matter how many times she imagined the conversation in her head, she held back. Lorna and Oliver would not help her. If she had been marked as the next victim, the others would be only too willing to hand her over. But why should she have to die? A mother and a philanthropist? Why not the unemployed alcoholic or the childless shrew?

  She watched Caskie breathing, his bloodied head slumped forward. In those old jeans and flannel shirt, he looked nothing more than a child, and Ellie knew how to handle children. If he was the one who had sent her those texts, she was going to find out—one way or another.

  Lorna got Oliver’s attention the next time he came close to the sofa. She spoke too softly for Ellie to make out what was said, but she heard “Maeve.”

  “Are you kidding? She’ll be hysterical. She can stay where she is for now.”

  Ellie wanted to ask them why they were considering freeing Maeve at all when Caskie groaned. They ran to face him.

  He squinted up at them. When he tried to speak, the duct tape over his mouth obscured his words. Oliver tore it free.

  Caskie ran his tongue over the sore spots left by the tape and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  “Could I have a glass of water?”

  Lorna made a move toward the bar, but Oliver held up his hand.

  “What you can do is tell us the truth,” he said. “And then maybe we’ll let you have a drink of water. If we’re feeling generous.”

  “What’s the truth matter to you?” Caskie muttered.

  Oliver backhanded him. Lorna jumped at the blow, but Ellie kept her feet planted and dug her fingernails into her arm. Caskie coughed once and spat blood to the floor, a red mark rising on his smooth chin.

  “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was looking for Mr. MacLeod and . . .” He looked at Lorna. “This wasn’t meant to happen.”

  “So why did it then?” Oliver asked.

  “Why else? Money. Grand house like this goes to waste most of the time. Could be used year-round if MacLeod would ever finish the renovations, but he keeps putting it off. Keeps finding something new to fix. Should do it all at once and be done with it. Not like he doesn’t, didn’t, have the money. Certainly doesn’t spend it on my salary. Didn’t. Could you loosen these, please?” he asked Lorna. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

  “Hang on. Salary?” Oliver asked, but before Caskie could answer, Ellie was asking her own questions.

  “So who was it?” she asked. “Who paid you to lure us here?”

  Caskie blinked a few times as if uncertain how to answer. He looked right at her when he spoke.

  “You did.”

  The weight of Lorna’s and Oliver’s gaze shifted to her, but before she could deny it, Caskie continued.

  “All of you did. You answered the ad I put up on Gumtree. All of your names were on the email. Said you were planning some sort of reunion. And you sent those gifts on ahead. Said it was some sort of inside joke. I thought it was stupid but—”

  “You’re saying you don’t know who we are?” Lorna asked.

  “Am I supposed to?”

  “This is bullshit!” Oliver grabbed Caskie’s shirt collar, smacked him again. “You brought us here on purpose!”

  “I didn’t!”

  “You thought y
ou could blackmail us into staying!”

  “I swear I—”

  Oliver punched him. Blood sprayed the floor. “Your plan all along was to kill us one by one!”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone!”

  “I almost let you off the hook. You should have never shown your face again.” Oliver raised his fist again, but Lorna placed a hand on his arm.

  “Wait!” she said. “Please. Ellie, water.”

  Ellie went behind the bar as Lorna whispered, “Wait,” to Oliver again. Caskie was crying now, his cheek swollen. Mucus and blood hung from his nose.

  “Please,” he begged Lorna. “Please untie me. Make them let me go.” Ellie handed the water glass to Lorna, who crouched in front of Caskie and held it to his lips. He took a sip, wincing at his split lip, and Lorna asked her question.

  “I want you to tell us why you came back.” Her voice was calm and firm.

  Caskie muttered something through his tears. Lorna placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I know you’re scared. Just take a deep breath. You did leave last night, didn’t you? So why did you come back?”

  Caskie took not one but three shuddering breaths and calmed himself enough to speak, but he spoke only to Lorna, wincing whenever Oliver or Ellie moved. He was pleading with her, and it made her want to pull away. “I wasn’t going to come back until Monday morning. You’d paid me . . . I thought you’d paid me . . . to stay away for the weekend. Give you all privacy. I promise that was what I was going to do. I promise. But Mr. MacLeod. He was supposed to be in Glasgow this weekend. He wasn’t. I found out he’d got back early and was headed straight for the house. He was going to find you all here and I didn’t . . . He knew I let the house out again. He’s had his suspicions before, but I always got away with it. This time, I don’t know how, he knew. He found out. Someone told him. Someone must have told him.”

  Lorna allowed him another sip of water, and he continued.

  “I thought I could make it back here. Head him off and, I don’t know. I figured I’d think of something.”

  “So,” Lorna said, “it’s really Mr. MacLeod who owns Wolfheather House. You work for him and let the rooms without him knowing. Pocket the cash. Is that right?”

  Caskie nodded.

  “Then tell us this, Mister Caskie,” Oliver interrupted. “Why have you been skulking about all day?”

  “I haven’t. I just got here. I left Portree as soon as I got wind of MacLeod, but the storm made the sea too choppy. I couldn’t cross safely till late this morning.”

  “Did you take the ferry?” Lorna asked.

  “I have my own boat. Docked at the quay. Won’t be another ferry until Monday, not with the weather the way it is. Please, I don’t know what’s been going on here or what you think I’ve done. But I’ve told you everything, I swear. Please let me go. Whatever it is you’re after, I’ll help you. I know this house inside and out. Or I can take you to Skye. My boat can hold everyone. Please. I can take you all away from here, and whatever’s happened . . . we can get away. I’ll help you get away.”

  “Mr. Caskie. James,” said Lorna. “Look at me. Thank you. But I’m sure you saw him. Out there in the foyer. Mr. MacLeod. There’s no getting away from that.”

  Caskie shut his eyes and shook his head. Started crying again.

  “James, did you kill Mr. MacLeod?”

  Caskie could only cry. Lorna offered him more water, but he turned his head away.

  “Look, James. Something’s happening here that we have to see through to the end. If you help us, it won’t matter what you did to . . . It won’t matter what happened to Mr. McLeod. But we can’t leave until we’re done.”

  Lorna tried again to coax him into calming down, but he wouldn’t say anything more.

  Oliver nodded to the doorway and they followed him into the foyer, leaving Caskie to his tears.

  “What do you think?” Oliver asked, his anger waning.

  “I don’t know,” said Lorna. “He’s practically a kid. And he’s a mess.

  I could see someone bribing him to get us here, but honestly, other than money, what motive would he have? He’s half our age. He couldn’t have been more than an infant when we were at university.”

  “Well, of course he didn’t set it all up,” Ellie said. “Maeve did, and she used him to help her.” Now that they’d spoken to Caskie, it was obvious. Maeve had finally got her revenge for that night. For what they did to her at the party. For what happened to Callum. “Women can manipulate soft-headed men like Caskie into anything. Including murder. You might have trouble believing that, Oliver, but I’m sure Lorna understands.”

  Caskie was no different than her Gordon, she thought, just a little younger.

  But instead of backing her up, Oliver and Lorna exchanged looks. Then Lorna explained that they thought Maeve had been telling the truth about the catfishing. If Maeve was telling the truth about that, she couldn’t possibly be responsible for what was happening, they thought. Ellie could see how they would make that assumption based on the information they had. But they didn’t know what Ellie knew. They didn’t know Ellie had been contacted before coming to Wolfheather House, and that the same was probably true of Maeve. That someone could have told her to pack that lingerie as a cover. She could have told them all of that. Now was her chance. But she knew how angry they would be with her, and it was still possible she could get out of this without either of them ever knowing what she’d done. If she could just speak to Caskie alone.

  “Didn’t you notice how he didn’t ask about Maeve?” Ellie said. “Or Hollis? He knows he checked in five people. But he hasn’t asked where they are. That’s because he already knows.”

  “Or he’s scared shitless and it hasn’t crossed his mind,” Lorna said.

  “Then get Maeve up here. If you’re so certain she’s innocent, let her in to see Caskie. If he’s lying, maybe he’s the one who catfished her. I bet we could get it out of him with her help.”

  “I told you earlier we should let her out,” Lorna said to Oliver.

  “Yeah, all right. Fine. I guess we can deal with her now that we’ve got a better handle on Caskie.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Ellie said. “You two fetch her while I watch Mr. Caskie.”

  Lorna shifted her stance. “Ellie, we shouldn’t leave you alone with him. What if—”

  “Nonsense, Lorna. I’ll be perfectly fine. Hostessing is my specialty, after all.”

  She smiled and watched them walk to the cellar while anger bubbled inside her like champagne. If they truly no longer suspected Maeve, their suspicion would fall elsewhere. And if they discovered Ellie played a part in this, no matter how small, that suspicion would fall on her. Ellie couldn’t have that. Not when she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Lorna might believe young James Caskie, but Ellie knew better than to fall for a younger man’s words. He had to be hiding something, and Ellie knew how to find out. She removed her hair from its ponytail and shook it out with her fingers, then undid the top three buttons on her blouse and pinched her cheeks. With her sweetest smile, she returned to the study.

  “Hello again, Mr. Caskie. Would you like some more water?”

  Oliver

  The stairs creaked as they descended. Oliver flashed his mobile phone’s light in different directions, but the cellar looked much the same as it had that morning. It felt different, though, in a way he couldn’t explain. Like it had witnessed something that left a mark.

  “Maeve,” he whispered. “Maeve! Where is she?”

  “Hiding because she’s afraid you’re going to beat her to death.”

  At the bottom step, he stopped and cast the light around the room.

  “Maeve,” said Lorna. “We need to talk to you. We wanted to apologize.”

  “Yeah, Maeve. We’re sorry we pushed you down the stairs. Although that was Ellie’s idea.”

  Lorna slapped him on the arm. “Give her a chance to respond.”

  Several more
seconds passed without an answer. They began a circuit around the room.

  “What if she’s unconscious? That could’ve given her a serious head injury,” said Lorna. “Or if not unconscious—”

  “Don’t. Last thing we need is another body.”

  But he’d been thinking it before she said it. He hadn’t been himself when they’d put Maeve down here. Ever since he was a kid, whenever he got angry—really angry—a second person seemed to take over. He’d scream and hit and rage. Sometimes, once it was over, he couldn’t really remember all that he’d done. It would come back to him later, like the memory of an old television show. Sometimes that memory would make him ill, and other times he could ignore what he’d done. But he couldn’t ignore Maeve. Not because of who she was or their shared history, but because he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death. To see her curled in a corner, unmoving, with a bloody head wound, no breath left in her body, and to know he did that? He’d start drinking more than Mum.

  Oliver tripped and stumbled against the wall.

  “What the fuck was that?” he asked, afraid it was Maeve.

  “A big, scary lantern,” Lorna picked it up by the handle.

  Oliver pointed the light down. “By a puddle of blood.”

  He’d stepped into the stain unawares but now saw the pattern of blood all over the dirt floor. Drops here and there. But no sign of a body.

  “Shit,” Lorna whispered.

  “Right then, Maeve,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “Come on out. We really do want to talk.”

  But Maeve didn’t come out, and the more they searched the cellar, the fewer places there were for her to hide, until none were left.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “You don’t lock someone in a cellar because you want them to disappear. Shit. Caskie killed her, didn’t he? That’s what he was doing before we came down. He’s killed her and put her in the dining room or the kitchen. And we caught him in the act.”

  “And now he’s alone with Ellie,” Lorna said.

  “Shit.” Oliver raced up the stairs, Lorna close behind, and flung open the study door.

  Lorna screamed first.