YOU'RE DEAD: Three Gripping Murder Mystery Suspense Novels

by Diane M Dickson

  She sat for an age slumped on the floor next to the kitchen table, her overstretched brain tuning out and sending her into a state of half faint, half dream. When she came back to herself the fear and the aftershock of it had wrung her out and left her drained of all emotion, gutted. She didn’t know how long she had been there but she shivered with the cold from the tiled floor.

  Dragging herself hand over hand up the table leg she managed to stand. As she turned towards the table her eyes closed in fear. She drew in a deep breath and forced her lids apart. The surface was empty, gleaming gently in the glow of the moon.

  Her finger stroked across the smooth wood, what had it been? Had she imagined it? Maybe a trick of the light had fooled her, she looked at the end of her finger to see nothing there. Maybe a draught had moved the curtain and scattered the condiments and a shadow had tricked her over-active mind. Maybe it was all just her silly imagination after all. She began to feel a little stronger. Perhaps this was just a really nasty half dream. After all what else could it be? There was no ghostly rose, just her fear and tension.

  She fetched a damp tissue and wiped the table top. Bending to retrieve the salt and pepper she saw that in fact the salt wasn’t spilt at all but both little glass pots were upright, as if they had been carefully placed. “Well there you are that’s really lucky isn’t it?” She spoke aloud into the darkness, needing the sound of a human voice even though it was her own, weak and shaky at that. Had she done this herself, cleaning and tidying before bed-time? Was she suffering blackouts, losing moments from her life? Was the pain and the anguish coming back to punish her? Heaven knew she had expected punishment, at times she had felt that she would welcome it – to assuage the grief and guilt.

  She replaced the mat and the condiments. No, this had all been imagination and really she did need to get herself sorted out. Squaring her shoulders she marched across the room and then with firm steps she climbed the stairs, turning out all but the landing light.

  Chapter 7

  “Fiona, are you okay? You look terrible.”

  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Picked up a bit of a bug I think. Nothing too bad, nothing catching.”

  Fiona turned away from her friend. Picking up the clipboard, she left the nursing station, collected the trolley and started the drugs round.

  Sharon, her head tipped to one side, watched the slender figure dragging herself around the ward. Fiona still smiled at the patients as she passed through, still stopped to have a quick word or check an infusion line. Ever the professional nurse, calm and efficient – no way had she picked up a bug. For a start she wouldn’t risk bringing infection into the hospital and secondly a bug wouldn’t cause that nervous fluttering of the eyelids or the tension in her shoulders. A bug wouldn’t cause the dramatic loss of weight and the haunted, hunted expression in her eyes. Something was going on and although she was worried for her friend she was also a little hurt not to be asked to share in the problems. She would try at the end of the shift to persuade Fiona to go for a drink or a bite to eat maybe and find out what was going on.

  That house, there was a problem with that house. She had never said as much but there was something odd there, a feeling about the place. It wasn’t really what you could call an atmosphere but it just wasn’t a place that felt relaxed. The decorations were modern and bright, the fittings stylish and of course it was all clean and new. The garden was lovely even though it was still in its infancy with the perennial plants immature but it didn’t feel ‘right’. She could never say so because Fiona was so happy with it all but she wouldn’t want to live there and had hardly slept a wink when she had stayed over although she didn’t know why.

  For Fiona the day dragged on. Last night, going back to bed she had convinced herself that what had happened was a figment of her imagination and her nerves which were still on edge. A rose though, a long stemmed rose with a ribbon tied around the stem. A chill ran through her. That clichéd expression of affection, she knew that a long stemmed rose would never be a ‘Hallmark Moment’ for her. Never, no matter how much time and distance there was between her and what had happened. The manager at the garden centre had tried to interest her in patio rose bushes and was obviously taken aback at the vehemence of her refusal to even look at them. Ladies loved roses didn’t they? Well not this lady, no, never again.

  “Coffee later Fi?”

  “Oh, erm okay. Yeah, yeah of course, usual place about sixish?”

  “Are you doing anything about the lodger thing by the way? Are you going to see them in HR, see if there is anyone looking for a room?”

  “No go, I’m afraid. The policy at the moment is for them not to be involved in private arrangements. The manager did say that I could put an advert on the notice board but, and get this, she said that there was a rumour going around that there was a problem at my house. It seems that it’s common knowledge that the police have been and she reckoned I should leave it a few weeks before I try to get anyone interested. Now how do you think they found out about that?”

  “Fi, you don’t think it was me do you? My God, you know I would never…”

  “No, no course not. I think that one of the coppers that came probably knows somebody here. You know how it is; no truly I never for one moment thought it was you. See you later love, I’ve got to go and see to Mrs Jones now, her dressing needs changing.” A look at her friend’s face caused Fiona to throw her arms around her in a warm hug. “Truly Sharon, I know it wasn’t you.”

  Easily said but there was a knot of unease in Sharon’s gut. There was something here that wasn’t straightforward, something causing her friend to withdraw and turn in on herself. The benefit of the last week had been quickly lost and now Fi looked worse than before. Well, all she could do was wait and to be there in the hope that eventually, when she was ready, Fiona would unburden herself.

  Chapter 8

  Life and work had other plans and it was five days before they were eventually able to meet up outside of the hospital. The summer was coming in fast now and the evenings were drawing out. They met at one of the local haunts which had a beer garden and a view of the park and they planned to sit outside; after a day on the ward the fresh air would be wonderful. As it turned out, there was a cold wind so Sharon waited in the lounge bar. Watching her friend weaving through the rapidly filling room she was shocked, now that she was out of the loose hospital uniform she looked far too thin. She really didn’t look at all well.

  “I got you a white wine. Okay?”

  “Thanks.” Fiona flopped into the window seat.

  “Look, Fi. I’m not going to beat about the bush here. I think we’ve known each other long enough now to be frank, okay? I know that something is bothering you. You look awful, I don’t think you’ve had any sleep for days and every little thing makes you jump out of your skin. Tell me to mind my own business if you like but I just want to say that I’m your friend, I love you and if you want to talk you can tell me anything.”

  To her horror Fiona began to sob and tears flooded her cheeks. She leaned over, grasping the shaking hand in hers.

  “Fi, you can’t go on like this. Has something else happened at the house? What is it?”

  Fiona raised her ravaged face and stared in silence across the table. Her mouth worked but the ability to speak eluded her. Eventually she coughed, cleared her throat. Sharon had to lean closer to catch the whisper.

  “There’s a rose.”

  “A rose, what do you mean a rose? Where is there a rose?” The atmosphere was electric with tension. She thought that this must be what it would be like to deal with a terrified animal, like a deer or an injured dog, it seemed that at any moment her friend would up and run. “Where is the rose Fi? I don’t understand.”

  Fiona stared blankly for a moment, she had gone to another place, unreachable. Now she shook her head, a nervous movement, bringing herself back. Insisting on this meeting, Sharon had decided that it was time to try to have things out in the open but had never f
or one moment anticipated this, this anguish.

  “Can I really tell you anything? Do you really believe that, that I can tell you anything and that you will just sit there with your glass of wine and listen to me? No matter what it is you will just listen and then go home to Simon and say ‘Well, you’ll never guess what Fiona told me tonight’.”

  Sharon gasped, a quiet rush of air. This was so much more than she had expected and now she wondered if she had in fact overstepped some invisible line, gone too far and taken too much for granted. She believed that they had a valuable and honest friendship but her friend’s behaviour was totally out of character. There was bitterness in her voice, whether it was aimed at her or at some other source was impossible to tell.

  “Fi, what on earth is the matter? Tell me, I promise that if you don’t want me to I won’t tell anyone and maybe you’ll feel better.”

  “Better. Maybe I’ll feel better. You have no idea how much I want that. How much I would like to feel better and how I would like to tell you but if I do, if I tell you then it will be over. You’ll never want to see me again and you’ll have to make decisions that I don’t want you to have to make.”

  “Fiona, you’re really scaring me now. Look, have a drink of your wine, take a deep breath and just tell me. Things are not right with you I can see that. What is it, what about this rose, what rose? Come on just tell me.”

  “The night after you stayed I woke up and there was a rose on the table downstairs. I thought I dreamt it. It’s happened again, another two nights, a rose on my table. Now I can’t go to sleep, I can’t go to bed. I can’t leave the room because when I do, in the dark it comes back. The rose.”

  “But, where is it coming from?”

  “It’s dead, you see. It’s dead and black and then when I try to lift it, it just disintegrates in my hand.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Hah, that would be so easy. No Sharon I haven’t called the police.”

  “But, why not? Heavens Fiona if someone is breaking into your house and leaving dead roses then you have to call the police.”

  “Did I say someone was breaking in, did I?” By now Fiona’s voice was hissing through her stiff lips, her hands were clenching and unclenching, one against her thigh and the other painfully kneading Sharon’s fingers. Her frantic eyes darted back and forth around the room, searching and scanning. She had become unravelled, like a blocked drain that suddenly clears and all the water floods out gushing and violent.

  “I’m worried about you Fi. I think you should leave your drink and come back with me, come to my house. Simon’s on lates; he won’t be there. I think we should go home, come with me to where it’s quiet and you can tell me about it there.” As she tried to pull her hand away she found her fingers painfully trapped.

  “Yes, and can I stay with you Sharon, just for now? I can’t go back, I don’t think I can spend another night there.”

  “Of course you can stay, silly, but first of all you’re going to have to tell me about it.”

  “Tell you about it. How can I tell you? Some things, Sharon, are so big, so awful that we don’t have the words, ordinary words are not enough. We need a whole new vocabulary of words. No, some things don’t fit into ordinary words.”

  Now, it was beginning to seem that even going home wasn’t the answer; Fiona was ranting like someone delusional – maybe she needed medical care. Could Sharon risk just taking her home? How had this got so out of hand? How had a quiet drink at the pub turned into this nightmare and what on earth could be behind it all? She had seen how tired Fiona seemed, and nervy, but had no inkling that there had been this panic submerged just below the surface, waiting to burst forth.

  She stood up. Still holding onto the other woman’s hand and grabbing both handbags, she shuffled round the table and led her friend out of the pub. She ignored the puzzled looks of the other customers, concentrating only on leading Fiona to the car and strapping her into the passenger seat as she sobbed and gasped through the storm which now threatened to engulf her completely.

  Chapter 9

  Tea, the great panacea. Sharon’s hands were trembling as she filled the kettle and plopped the bags into mugs. Fiona was calmer now. As they had driven through the darkening streets the sobbing had subsided and eventually her passenger had simply sat there, silently staring through the windscreen. Her body was tight with tension, a line too strung out to be safe, on the verge of snapping.

  Pulling into the drive she had expected to help her friend out but when the car stopped the passenger door was flung open and Fiona jumped out and made for the front door. Hugging herself tightly she had swayed from foot to foot while Sharon fiddled with the lock and the burglar alarm. Although taught as wire, she did seem to be more in control.

  “Sit down love, in the lounge. Go in there. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Now the two steaming mugs sat before them untouched. Sharon perched sideways on the edge of the cushion to look directly into the haggard face and to hold onto both restless hands and stop them wringing and kneading.

  “Now, come on out with it. What on earth is going on?”

  For a long moment blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears stared back unblinking. Fiona took a long shuddering breath, and looked down at her hands clasped in friendship between those of the other woman. She closed her lids momentarily and as she opened them the tears escaped to flood unheeded. Giving her head a sharp shake she then tipped it to one side and peered seriously at her questioner.

  “What do you reckon, Sharon? What is the worst thing that could happen to you?”

  “Well, if Simon was to go off with someone else I suppose. Or maybe losing my job, I don’t know. Serious illness of course.”

  “No, no you’re thinking too small.”

  “Small, you think that’s small. Simon leaving would be devastating.”

  “Yes, yes of course but bigger than that, something so big that you know you won’t ever be able to get away from it. You know absolutely that you will carry it forever and no matter how you try to go on, to convince yourself and everyone around you that it’s all fine, it will be there like a cancer, black and destructive inside you.”

  “God Fiona, what are you talking about? Are you ill, is that it?”

  “No. Something worse, ‘A fate worse than death’ – that’s what they used to call it, worse than death. What is worse than death?”

  Unconsciously dropping the hands now grown still and limp Sharon covered her mouth, as if to try to stop the horrified gasp escaping. “No, oh no, oh Fiona you haven’t. Not you, oh you poor thing. Was that what happened, the other night, the one after I stayed? Oh you have to call the police.”

  “Wait, just wait,” with a raised palm Fiona stayed any further comments. “There’s a second part to the question.” She paused, calm now, her breathing quiet and her hands motionless against her blue jeans. “What do you think is the worst thing that you could do to someone else?”

  “Oh well, being unfaithful I suppose. Lying, cheating, there are so many ways to hurt people. I think my worst fear is hurting someone in a car crash, I often worry about that.”

  “Ah, so hurting someone, physically hurting them. That is the worst thing?”

  “Well, yes, or of course I suppose, heaven forbid actually, killing someone.”

  Now there was no sound except what came from the street outside, somewhere a car door slammed, a dog barked. It was a world away from this one, unrelated to this reality.

  For a long time Fiona didn’t speak, she simply sat staring at her friend, willing her to understand the thing that was too big, too awful for ordinary words.

  Chapter 10

  Sharon lifted the mug of tea to her mouth, sipping at the rapidly cooling drink. The skin of her forehead wrinkled with confusion and ignorance. She was struggling, couldn’t straighten her thoughts into anything that made any sense. Eventually, and more to break the awful silence than anything, she fell back on the conve
rsation that had ignited this whole dreadful situation.

  “Fiona, what did you mean about the rose? In the pub you said that there was a rose, a dead rose in the house. You said there had been more than one. Do you know where the rose comes from? What does it mean? I don’t understand what you are saying, it’s just – weird.”

  “Yes, the rose.” Fiona was still sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa cushion, all sharp edges and tension. “When I was away, you know, overseas,” she glanced at Sharon, “all the time you had to be very careful. There are things you can’t understand if you haven’t lived in those sorts of places. For women, it’s not just about driving and covering up, it’s far more complicated. I don’t have any sympathy with people who complain about it though.” She shook her head, settled back a little bit. Now she had begun to unburden herself she relaxed against the cushions, softened, relinquishing the load.

  “Nobody forces you to go there so whenever you can you should conform. Yes, it’s difficult to do and it’s easy to get into trouble. When you see the inequality and the unfairness it’s hard not to speak out. That’s not why you are there though and it is up to the people themselves to sort it. We can support them but we can’t change their lives and their beliefs, it’s up to them. I truly think that so I was very careful. You can’t be in the company of men you’re not related to. Except at work of course, that has to happen but even then you have to take care all the time. I did, Sharon, I truly did. I tried so hard.”

  Now new tears flooded onto her face and she turned to her friend. She struggled to speak through the sobs. “I tried hard not to do anything wrong. In terms of a lifetime the years over there were so few. I thought, keep my head down, earn my money and do as good a job at nursing as I could.” Shaking her head, struggling for control, she let go a huge sigh. “Of course even here in UK we have the problem of patients becoming too dependent.”