Parcels of Doom (Chapel End Mysteries, #1)

by Lown, Anne

  She struggled to breathe, let alone talk. Jenny clawed at his fingers, but they were too strong to release.

  “Where are they?”

  She thrashed her legs behind his back, but they were useless in aiding her. Her mind came up with nothing, her ability to think of something almost gone. Almost. She let go of his fingers with her right hand and felt the ground around her for something, anything to help her escape. Something hard brushed against the side of her thumb, but it rolled out of reach. Groping about again, she found another, a largish stone, and fingered it until it came towards her. She gripped the stone, more the size of a small rock, and held it tight while she swung her arm in a wild arc towards his face.

  The first blow missed, bouncing off his shoulder. It did nothing to loosen his grip. She tried again and again until it caught the side of his head. Once she knew where it was, she swung harder and hit him again. He cried out in pain. A spray of something wet splashed her face. She hit him again, and he rolled to her left and slumped to the ground.

  His dead weight pinned her down, but she was determined to get out from under him. Jenny used every morsel of energy she had left and squirmed free. She didn’t check to see if he was breathing but ran back towards the road and escaped over the stile. The lane was quiet, no cars coming from either direction. She ran along the middle of the road, eager to get home.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jenny looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see anything move, but that didn’t mean she’d be all right. She pushed her exhausted body to hobble faster. Getting back to the house seemed to take an age. Everything moved in slow motion with her muscles like dead weights.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but it was still hard to see. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, the residents she passed all tucked up in their beds. Only her light was on, streaming out of the front door she’d left open, guiding her home like a beacon in the night.

  Jenny whimpered. She was so close to her house, only a short distance now if she could get there. More tears flowed. She imagined they left tracks in the dirt and blood that clung to her face from when she’d landed on the ground with Martin on top of her. In the garden, sobs slipped from her lips. She felt for the doorframe with her fingers to propel herself over the threshold. Crumpling onto the hall carpet, her body spasmed from the emotion of reaching the relative protection of her home.

  “Are you all right?” a voice came out of the darkness.

  Jenny froze where she was. The door was still wide open. She was no safer slumped in a heap in the hallway than she’d be if she were lying in the street. Slowly, she turned her head in the direction of footsteps tapping their way up her garden path.

  The voice came again. “Are you all right?” It was a woman.

  Relieved, Jenny turned to see who it was.

  Tracy. Why’s she here?

  Tracy walked closer to the house. “Sorry, did I startle you? I came to give you a message.”

  “Oh.” Jenny wiped at her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand. Supporting herself with the inner hallway wall, she got to her feet. “Come in.” She couldn’t wait to close the door, but the woman hovered there, preventing her from doing so.

  She staggered into the kitchen, a sudden thirst raging from the running. Jenny leant over the sink, bile rising in her throat, giving her an urge to be sick. She fumbled with the tap, fingers slipping, turning it on so she could fill a glass with water. She drank greedily, the water escaping the sides and dribbling down her chin. Behind her, Tracy was waiting.

  “Jason says to come to the pub. He’s at a lock-in with Dave and Scott.”

  “He’s with Scott? At the pub?” Jenny couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d been waiting for him to return. He didn’t answer his phone and now he was with Scott who should’ve been at work?

  Thinking of her phone, she looked around the worktops to find it. Her attention flicked to the reflection in the window as it passed. Tracy was rooting around in her shoulder bag.

  Why’s she got her bag with her at this time of night?

  It was a strange thing for Jenny to think, but something was odd, and it registered in her mind before she carried on searching.

  She swept her gaze back the other way, alighting on the reflection in the window once more. Jenny froze. Something in Tracy’s hand glinted in the electric light. She eased it from her shoulder bag and looked up at Jenny to see the quizzical expression on her face staring back at her.

  In that moment, horror gripped again. Tracy’s face contorted, her pleasant demeanour morphing into hatred. Jenny’s feet felt cemented to the spot when she reeled at what she saw. Her body was no longer in her control after her own kitchen knife charged towards her. Tracy had been quick in her movements, but not compared to Jenny as she fell to the floor alongside the kitchen cabinets. She hadn’t done it on purpose, she’d merely fallen at the exact right time—it was a fortuitous unbalancing in that instant that saved her life, but it wasn’t over yet.

  Tracy landed head-first into the sink. She paused a moment before pushing herself up and away from the side of the worktop, knife still firmly clutched in her hand.

  Jenny lay on the floor in terror beneath Tracy. She knew she had to get up and away or she’d be an easy target. Scrabbling with her hands and feet, she pushed herself backwards to find her head and shoulders abutting a wall. Her mind raced with no coherent thoughts of what to do next. Clawing at the floor to her right, she gained an awkward foothold on the bottom of the cabinet to her left. Jenny tried at the least to drag herself out from under her assailant even though she couldn’t get up.

  Tracy pounced again, but the tip of the knife clanged off the cold tiled floor in the spot Jenny had just vacated. The woman drew her body back up, her knife hand held high above her head, then lunging and thrusting downwards again.

  The pain from the knife slicing her thigh burned as she tried to make her escape. Thanks to her flinching, the wound was only superficial. She’d managed to roll enough out of the way to be on her front and give her feet better leverage against the cabinet behind her. The pain stung in her leg. She would’ve clasped it, but it brought clarity to her mind, urging her to launch herself towards the kitchen door and out into the hallway.

  She was aware of her small head start so used her hands on the hallway wall to push herself forward quicker. The front door stood wide open from earlier where she’d dived through on her return home from escaping Martin’s clutches, and now she was diving back the other way to escape Tracy’s. The irony of her situation meant she knew she had to get outside and away regardless of what was out there. If she could get ahead and hide somewhere until she lost her in the darkness, then she could find help.

  The pain in her leg grew, and her trouser, now wet with blood, clung to her skin. She threw herself through the garden gate and out into the street. Someone grabbed at her arms, but their hands didn’t manage to catch hold. Instead, she was destabilized trying to evade capture and sent reeling sideways, sprawling onto the tarmac outside her house. Terror gripped her.

  Please no, not Martin.

  Was she now confronted with two killers? Jenny covered her face with her hands and screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the next few seconds to bring her death. She had nowhere to go, the fight in her now diminished, and she lay there ready for the end.

  She peeked through her fingers. Tracy, in hot pursuit, ran full force down the garden path, her knife hand still held high above her head ready to swoop down and strike her prey. A scream of anger erupting from Tracy’s lips, and she broke through the boundary at the gate, ready for her final attack. Her arm, already making the downward motion, swung as low as her shoulder, when out of the darkness, a solid punch from an unknown fist connected with her temple. The impact whipped her head sideways, knocking her off-balance and onto the path. She never made it into the road.

  Jenny heard the clang and scrape of the knife as it landed with Tracy, still in her hand. She pus
hed herself away with her hands and feet while she stared at the shadow of a figure before her, wrestling the knife from Tracy’s grip. The woman wailed, fighting in vain to hang on to it, her limbs thrashing in anger. The shadow above her was winning the fight, and the knife clattered along the road where it was flung free to do no more harm.

  Lights in the nearby houses turned on, and a few front doors opened. With more illumination in the street, Jenny made out the figures clearly. Tracy was being restrained with help from neighbours still in their nightclothes. The shadow who’d saved her came forward and helped her where she lay in the road.

  “Are you hurt?” It was the gentle and yet authoritative voice of DS George.

  No words came as she gazed up at him. He loomed over her, his strong hands gripping her upper arms, helping her to sit up.

  “Stay where you are,” he said. “We’ll get an ambulance.”

  Someone brought a cloth and pressed it to her thigh. Jenny felt dazed and couldn’t register which neighbour it was, but the soothing voice was female. Another wrapped their arms around her and held her tight. She let out a deep breath and relaxed, her head lying against theirs.

  Strobing lights of emergency vehicles flashed into the night sky from the direction of Bishop. Help was coming. She would be okay.

  Chapter Forty

  Jenny sat at a table in the pub. She’d had no intention of going anywhere until Jason had turned up at her house looking sheepish and offering to buy her dinner. So much for her knight in shining armour. He’d stayed at the lock-in until after the police had been, unaware he’d sent the killer to do her harm. She didn’t know how he had the gall to show his face, but somehow, he did.

  He placed a dinner in front of her and went back to the bar for the drinks. It was more than the baked potato or chips she’d been suffering through of late. Dave insisted he fix her something special. After all, it was the least he could do.

  Jenny sat back and sighed. She was the talk of the village. For a Wednesday evening, the pub was doing a roaring trade since she’d arrived. Everyone she’d glanced at stared back.

  So this is how it feels to be famous.

  She flinched. Jason had lost his grip on her glass, and it banged against the tabletop.

  “Sorry, not too much spilt.”

  Jenny picked up the glass and drank half of what was left. “No worries, you can get me another.”

  A slow grin matched the twinkle in his eyes. He made short work of the delicious meal. Jenny thought it tasted even better when Dave told them it was on the house. His way of putting things right.

  Conversation between them stayed on neutral topics, like Jenny getting the rest of the week off work to recover and put her leg up. She’d only suffered a flesh wound, superficial at most, but that didn’t stop it hurting. Adam had called when he knew she wasn’t going to be on duty. He’d apologised over and over; he hadn’t realised why she’d been so upset about the voodoo doll with her name on it.

  Jason shifted in his seat, and he looked around him before giving her his full attention. “Aren’t you going to tell me what George said?”

  “Not much to tell, really.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  Now it was Jenny’s turn to grin. She was going to string him along, make him work for the information, but that would’ve been cruel. Not that he didn’t deserve it after what he’d put her through. She sighed again.

  “Nothing of this was to do with you. Tracy used your coming back to the village to get something she wanted. She was manipulating the situation.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “If I tell you, keep it to yourself. This is just between us.” Jenny waited for his nod of understanding. She had to know he wouldn’t break her confidence. “Tracy saw an ad for Paul’s services. She used you to get him to the village—she was the anonymous person who’d engaged him.”

  “I thought that was Emma.”

  Jenny scooped a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed. She shook her head. “She was using her. Dave and Tracy were splitting up. He was going to marry Emma, and Tracy was all right with that until Paul rejected her. Turns out he wasn’t interested.”

  “Is that why she killed him?” Jason sat back in his chair. It seemed nothing was turning out how he’d imagined it.

  “Yep, she caught him packing. The voodoo doll was a threat. She’d had an argument with him before it turned up, and it was to reinforce what she’d said to him.”

  “Why would she do that? I thought he’d hurt her. You know, the bruises, the reason Dave had a fight with him.”

  Jenny stopped talking. A couple walked past their table, and she smiled as they greeted her. She hadn’t a clue who they were, but that didn’t seem to be an issue. She’d have to get used to her new-found fame until something else in the village happened and their attention went elsewhere.

  “Didn’t you notice how she flinched around Dave?” she asked. “She was playing everyone, making herself out to be a victim.”

  “What?”

  She put her finger to her lips. His voice was beginning to carry, and some of the customers appeared interested in their conversation. “She did it to herself. She’s a self-harmer.”

  Jason’s face changed. The twinkle was gone from his eyes. He stared into the distance, looking defeated. His fingers twisted the glass on the table, the wet patch beneath it spreading. “Annalise was a self-harmer. Her arms. She cut them.”

  She reached forward, sliding her hand across the table between the plates and glasses. She took his and squeezed. “I’m sorry, truly.”

  He nodded. Picked up his glass and drained it. Tilting it in her direction, he said, “Want another?”

  “Please.”

  Jenny watched him go. He stood at the bar and waited to be served. Martin was in his usual spot, his head sporting a growing bruise he did his best to hide under a cap. A feeling of satisfaction emerged—she’d got him back.

  I bet next time you won’t be so quick to hurt me.

  A conversation struck up between the two men. Jason didn’t seem in a hurry to return. She couldn’t blame him. It must be like an emotional roller coaster, all his worst fears coming true.

  The main door opened. Jenny’s gaze flitted to see who it was. She groaned.

  Not you, too.

  Scott stood in the entrance, a big grin firmly in place. “Did you miss me?” His voice gained the attention of the room.

  Jenny turned away and tried to pretend she hadn’t seen him. She was out of luck. He strode over to her, appearing eager to engage her. She looked up when he got to her table, ready to see what he had to say for himself.

  “How’s the walking wounded?” Scott winked.

  “Why weren’t you at work last night?” She sat with her arms folded, waiting for him to answer. They hadn’t been expecting him to turn up when he did—it set in motion her being on her own in the house and coming across Martin in the garden.

  Scott shrugged. “I shouldn’t have been a dick. You were scared, and I wasn’t around. I wanted to put it right.”

  Jenny nodded. She could see him doing that. For all his bad-boy antics, he could be quite sensitive. The last few weeks had been a challenge for them both. Maybe it was time to put that behind them.

  Scott cocked his head towards the bar. “Coming?”

  Jenny got up and hobbled the short distance. Martin’s posture stiffened. Their relationship would not be so easily mended, and she was fine with that. He was the opposite to Scott, and she was sure he hid his nasty side from view. It had peeked through in the last few days, but she didn’t think that was all he was—she had the feeling he could be a lot worse.

  The next couple of hours were spent joking at the bar. She’d been given a barstool to sit on, curtesy of Dave. The time passed, and before she knew it, they were about to leave.

  “Back to your place?” Scott had his jacket on, ready to go.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said.
“Will you be staying?” Jenny asked the question, but she already knew the answer. She’d done it for Martin’s benefit. At least now, he’d know not to come by in the night. She’d have one good sleep before anything kicked off again.

  The lads said their farewells, and the three of them stepped into the street. Jenny looped her arms through one each of theirs—the least Scott and Jason could do was support her home. With a man on either side, she braved the pain in her leg.

  The cold air was sharp, slinking down the back of her neck. She didn’t have a free hand to keep her collar closed tight, so she was relieved when they walked along her road. She’d left the lights on. The house was a welcoming sight, so different from the evening before. She opened the front door and left the boys to get them all a drink. Jenny slumped on the sofa, her leg propped up on the coffee table.

  Jason handed her a mug, the liquid steaming. She wrapped her hands around the outside, using it to warm them through. He sat beside her, sipping in silence.

  “Is there something you want to know?” she asked.

  Half of his drink already gone, he balanced his mug on his leg. “Emma. What was that all about?”

  Jenny lay her head on his shoulder. She would’ve hugged him if her hands were free. “She was playing a part. Tracy wouldn’t get divorced unless Emma did what she was told. All that drama in the pub was a ruse, to divert attention from what was really going on. Emma sent the diary to the charity shop. She’d had it all along; Annalise gave it to her.”

  “So she wasn’t really into me?”

  Jenny laughed. “Are you disappointed?”

  A sly grin emerged. He dipped his head. “Who doesn’t fancy me?”

  “Yeah, right. Me for one.” Scott snorted. He had a point.

  “But why did she die?”

  “Tracy had changed her mind. We all thought she’d been having an affair with Martin. She was stringing him along, too. He couldn’t have been enough for her. After all, he lives at home with his parents. It’s hardly a step up after she’s been married to a businessman like Dave.”