Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1)

by Gina Dickerson

  ‘Mum!’ Daughter flew into my arms. ‘Have you seen the horses?’

  ‘They’re well sweet!’ chipped in Sam, as we tumbled inside. ‘I’ve always wanted a pony but Dad said they cost too much and we don’t have anywhere to put one. I’m gonna tell him I want one of those horses instead.’

  ‘They’re bigger than a pony.’ Daughter rolled her eyes. ‘Cobs are about fourteen hands high.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Sam’s eyes bulged.

  ‘I just do,’ replied Daughter superiorly.

  ‘But how?’

  Daughter sighed. ‘Anyone who’s interested in horses knows how big a Cob can be.’

  ‘But—’

  Not knowing whether Daughter was actually correct and, sensing a horse-tussle, I interrupted. ‘They’re here for us.’

  ‘What?’ squealed Daughter. ‘You’re joking?’

  Sam gripped Daughter’s arm in excitement. ‘Everyone at school’s gonna be well jealous.’

  ‘We’re travelling by sleigh to my friend’s house.’ Pleasure rippled through my body, not just because of the horse drawn snow sleigh, which I admit, was pretty awesome, but because I’d made a new friend. Friends had been non-existent when I was chained to Mr Him. ‘Right,’ I said briskly. ‘Wrap up, there’s no roof on the sleigh and definitely no heating.’

  Neighbours pressed their faces against their windows, ogling us as we stepped into the sleigh and wrapped blankets around our legs. Mr Nice waved us off from the door. The horses moved at a steady speed and I gradually became accustomed to the interest of the people we passed. The children twisted in their seats as we passed the snow covered seafront and waved to other children, tugging sleds, as we rode through the park.

  13:50

  ‘That was epic,’ Daughter exclaimed as we alighted outside Darrelle’s home and tumbled onto the snow-cleared driveway.

  ‘Epic?’ I questioned.

  She nodded. ‘Like cool but way better.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘When I was young we just used the word cool.’

  Sam rolled her eyes. ‘That was, like, ages ago.’

  ‘Thanks, I’m obviously ancient.’

  ‘Can we give the horses a treat?’ Daughter asked.

  I held out my hands. ‘Give me your bags and ask the driver.’ They raced to the driver and eagerly reached into a bag he offered them.

  ‘Can they help me put the horses in the stables?’ he shouted.

  I nodded my approval and slung the bulging rucksacks over my shoulders. In daylight the house seemed larger than I remembered. I admired the Georgian property with its tasteful wing extension to one side, incorporating a glazed orangery which housed numerous plants. Part of a new extension in mid-construction was visible above the deep snow to the opposite side.

  ‘Coming in?’

  I turned to face Darrelle. ‘I was admiring your home.’

  ‘And I was introducing myself to your daughter and her little friend. The sleigh worked a treat. I’ve been dying for a reason to borrow a sleigh from Geoffrey. Geoffrey made one for me which I use as a bedstead but I’d never had the reason to borrow one of his working sleighs before. I must introduce you to him one time, he is such a lovely, kind person. A philanthropist.’ She turned her attention to the building. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s been in my family since it was built in seventeen fifty-four. I’m having a wing added for my practice,’ she explained. ‘It’ll mirror the old extension and so balance the property back out. The existing extension was added in my great-grandfather’s time. My own grandfather left me the estate.’

  ‘Was he your mother’s or father’s father?’ I asked curiously. ‘How come it didn’t pass to your parents?’

  ‘Grandfather disowned my father many years before he died and left me this heap. My mother.’ Darrelle cleared her throat. ‘Died when I was fairly young. My grandfather raised me here.’ She looked at the house fondly. ‘I was about your daughter’s age when he disinherited my father. I remember them arguing for weeks.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve nothing to feel sorrowful for, my grandfather was all the family I needed. May I?’ She held out a hand to help with the bags. ‘I’ll be glad to gain more space for myself. I work from a room on the ground floor but it’s a bit cramped. The best rooms are on the first floor, that’s how the house was built, with the grandest rooms on the first floor. I want to retain the understated elegance typical of the Georgian era, sorry I apologise, I shan’t bore you, I’m sure you’re not interested in hearing me waffle about the influence of ancient Greece and Rome on Georgian architecture. We’ll crack on with your neck.’

  ‘You’ll be more comfortable if you slip out of your clothes and pop this around you.’ Darrelle held up a small towel.

  ‘That’s not going to cover me!’ I noted with some minor relief slatted shutters adorned the consulting room window.

  ‘You’ll be on your front, on there.’ Darrelle pointed to her massage table. ‘Don’t worry, I’m a professional.’

  I slipped behind a modesty screen and nervously struggled out of my clothes. The towel wrapped scantily over my buttocks. At least I was wearing half decent knickers. I clamped my hands over my breasts and scurried from the screen to the table. I struggled onto it and heaved a sigh of relief as I pressed my nakedness onto the cool leather.

  ‘Try to relax.’ Darrelle smoothed oil over my back and began to work it in. I felt my neck release as she manipulated my back, shoulders, and tops of my arms, rolling my skin, gently kneading and sweeping. My eyelids began to droop of their own accord while time disappeared.

  ‘Your back’s done for today.’ Darrelle woke me some time later.

  ‘I fell asleep, I am so sorry,’ I apologised.

  ‘That’s perfectly fine.’ Darrelle helped me to my feet. ‘I don’t want to overdo it on your first session.’ She helped me to my feet. ‘Are you feeling better?’ She smiled her soft smile.

  ‘Much.’ I returned her smile.

  ‘I’m feeling fantastic,’ interjected a voice with a chuckle.

  ‘How long have you been there?’ I wailed. Mortification dripped from me as I scuttled behind the screen. ‘Why didn’t you knock?’

  Mr Cool, comfortably lounging on the window seat, consulted his watch. ‘I didn’t expect you to be half naked,’ he replied coolly. ‘But I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Pervert,’ I accused. I whipped on my jeans and yanked my jumper over my head.

  ‘I’m merely interested,’ drawled Mr Cool.

  ‘In naked women having massages?’

  ‘In naked you having a massage.’

  ‘Lovers,’ teased Darrelle. ‘You’re making me uncomfortable. Shall I leave, so you two can utilise the table?’

  I stalked out from behind the screen. ‘We’re not lovers.’

  ‘Yet,’ conceded Mr Cool.

  ‘Nor are we going to be,’ I advised Darrelle. ‘He’s my daughter’s headteacher. Imagine the gossip.’

  Darrelle perched on the edge of her writing desk and crossed one long, denim-clad leg over the over. ‘Gossip originates when something is interesting, therefore if people gossip about you, it must mean you’re of interest. If you two aren’t about to rip each other’s clothes off, shall we have cocktails?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Mr Cool. ‘I’m going to play in the snow with the children, I think we’ll make a snow family.’

  Mr Cool sauntered to the door. ‘Don’t worry.’ He stopped to kiss me briefly on the cheek. ‘I’ll show you later, tat for tit and all that.’

  15:50

  The loo room was massive. A high level flush toilet perched on marble floor. Swishy curtains, velvet soft to the touch and scooped at the sides by luxurious tassels, framed a six-by-six paned sash window. A squishy chaise longue commanded centre stage yet competed with an opulent vanity unit and boudoir stool. I breathed in the aroma of freshly washed linen jealously, reckoning my lounge could fit in the room and still rattle around.

  Thankfully I’d
taken my foundation with me as my face looked a little shiny. Not sure whether it was because of the cocktails, which were alarmingly strong, or because of the heat permeating from the cast-iron radiators, I made my face back up again.

  My phone vibrated across the vanity unit as I struggled with my lip gloss lid which appeared to have welded itself to the tube. I gave up and opened the message instead of the gloss.

  “If I offer champagne and hand-made truffles, am I forgiven?”

  16:05

  ‘I’m not speaking to you,’ I hissed into the phone as I left the toilet suite.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you left me at the police station.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mr Dry apologised. ‘Something urgent came up.’

  ‘Did it stop you from typing out a quick text?’

  On the other end of the phone line, Mr Dry sighed. ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘Do what?’ I demanded.

  ‘Argue.’

  ‘I’m not arguing, I just don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘Can I come over?’

  ‘I’m not at home.’

  ‘Where are you? I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, what? No I can’t pick you up?’

  I clenched the phone tight in my hand. Last night, when I’d needed him, he hadn’t been there. ‘You can’t pick me up.’

  ‘Can I see you today? Where are you?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Don’t be so grumpy.’

  ‘Where were you last night?’ I questioned.

  ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’

  ‘Well, stuff you,’ I spat. ‘That says everything about our relationship, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Fine,’ replied Mr Dry’s disembodied voice heavily. ‘I was at the hospital again.’

  ‘That’s it?’ I asked. ‘That’s all you’re prepared to tell me?’

  ‘There are some things I’d rather not discuss.’

  I ended the phone conversation.

  16:15

  ‘I was about to send out a search party.’ Darrelle handed me another cocktail. ‘You don’t mind if I flick the television on, do you? I’d like to see the weather forecast.’

  I shook my head and sipped my drink. The conversation with Mr Dry had marred my day. Why did he possess the ability to press the right buttons? He frustrated me immensely yet in my heart of hearts I knew why I was attracted to him. It was because he reminded in so many ways of the person whose memory I kept in a box inside my mind.

  Darrelle gestured with the remote control at the flat screen television, fixed to the kitchen wall. ‘Another body’s been found.’

  ‘Another missing girl?’ I asked. ‘I hadn’t heard of any others.’

  Darrelle continued reading the news reel at the bottom of the television screen. ‘Her name is, was, Melanie Fisher, she went out and never returned.’

  ‘Was she young?’

  ‘Nineteen.’ Darrelle shuddered. ‘It’s awful.’

  ‘Does it say where she was found?’

  Darrelle nodded. ‘In a field behind the hospital.’

  I didn’t notice the glass slip from my fingers until I heard it shatter as it hit the tiled floor.

  ‘Blimey.’ Mr Cool stomped his feet on the kitchen mat, snow falling from his broad shoulders. ‘I thought there’d been an accident.’ He indicated the red stain on the cream tiles.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said sheepishly.

  ‘It’ll mop up.’ Darrelle swished off, her long, blonde hair swinging behind her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mr Cool struggled out of his boots and padded, in chunky cable knit socks, to me. ‘You look white. Is your neck hurting you?’

  ‘No, it is much better. It may be the cocktails or Darrelle’s magic fingers.’

  ‘Or a combination of both,’ teased Mr Cool. ‘I’m really pleased you’re here. I was hoping we can pick up where we left off.’

  ‘Which was?’ I questioned.

  ‘About to enjoy a late night bottle of champagne in the hot-tub.’

  ‘Hot-tub?’ I squealed. ‘Late night? I’ll be gone in a few hours.’

  ‘Not.’ Darrelle returned with a mop and bucket. ‘If the snow keeps falling. Even the horses would find it hard work to negotiate the way back. You’ll have to spend the night.’

  ‘I haven’t brought all the things the girls and I would need. I don’t know whether Sam’s father would allow it. They don’t even have toothbrushes.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Darrelle said briskly, mopping the last of the cocktail from the floor. ‘I’ll call the girls in and Sam can telephone her father and explain. We have plenty of spare things in the guest rooms. We’ll be able to rustle up new toothbrushes.’

  ‘O-O-Oh,’ I stammered. ‘Thank you, it’s very kind.’

  Darrelle smiled. ‘Selfish really, I’m missing female company especially living here with him.’ She nodded at Mr Cool. ‘You can even borrow a bikini,’ she said with a wink.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll need a bikini.’ I laughed. ‘I don’t do bikinis.’

  ‘Even better,’ Darrelle replied smoothly. ‘I like a woman who’s not afraid to embrace her sexuality.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean that!’ I watched Darrelle glide from the kitchen carrying the mop and bucket.

  ‘Relax,’ interjected Mr Cool. ‘She’s teasing you. She’s missing her girlfriend. Darrelle likes the company of a beautiful woman. Rather like I do.’

  I blushed. ‘Where’s her girlfriend?’

  ‘They broke up,’ Mr Cool confided. ‘Arabella wasn’t mature enough for Darrelle. Don’t worry about Darrelle’s teasing. She’ll tease you because she knows I like you.’

  ‘You do?’

  Mr Cool’s lips, still slightly cold from having been out in the snow, sought mine. ‘I do,’ he said softly. ‘Very much.’

  I was about to reply when my mobile phone rang. I apologised, drawing it out of my jeans pocket.

  ‘Go ahead,’ instructed Mr Cool. ‘I need to change out of these wet clothes. I’ll check Sam’s father has been phoned, then we’ll make dinner together.’

  I felt warmed by his words and the expression on his face. ‘Hello?’ I spoke into the phone.

  ‘I know where you are. I spoke to your neighbour. Seriously,’ continued Mr Dry, ‘you’ve blown me off for the headteacher?’

  ‘You’re the one who blew me off.’

  ‘Let me pick you up.’

  ‘You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Not in all of this snow. The roads haven’t been cleared yet, as per usual the council were caught unprepared to deal with the amount of snow.’

  ‘You think I’d let a little bit of snow deter me from you?’ Mr Dry chuckled. ‘You’re underestimating me.’

  ‘What were you doing at the hospital last night?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not talking about it.’

  ‘Why?’ I demanded. Suddenly, thoughts of Mr Dry flash flooded my mind: Mr Dry in the field by the hospital, Mr Dry in the allotment plots with the tomatoes, Mr Dry at his favourite club; the golf club. Mr Dry at the club when I was on a date with Mr Cool; had it been accidental or had he been following me?

  ‘Because it doesn’t affect my relationship with you,’ Mr Dry said stiffly.

  ‘Or because you’re really a psychotic mass murderer?’ I blurted out unthinkingly.

  ‘What?’ Mr Dry snapped frostily.

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Oh, I think you did,’ replied Mr Dry, his voice sounding both hard and distant at the same time. ‘I thought you were different, Saze. I had hoped you were.’

  Different to what? A thought chilled me to the bone and I shivered in the log-warmed room. What if he meant different to all of the murdered women?

  18:00

  I dozed while watching a film with the children. Darrelle provided them with plates of pizza, chunky chips and cookies which were all homemade. I couldn’t help but think I had overreacted about Mr Dry. He proba
bly meant he thought I was different to other women he had dated. That made far more sense.

  18:10

  ‘Shall I show you to your room?’

  I nodded in affirmation and followed Darrelle up the central staircase and along the landing.

  ‘I’ve put you in the room between us. That.’ She pointed at the door to the left of the room. ‘Is mine. And that,’ she said, pointing to the door to the right of the room.

  ‘Is mine!’ yelled Mr Cool, poking his head around his door. ‘I don’t lock my door at night!’

  Darrelle placed her hand on my shoulder and guided me into the room. ‘I’ve laid a few things out for you on the bed. You have a private en-suite. If you come down, you can chat to me while I check our meal. I’ve made olive focaccia to begin, followed by chicken and vegetable jambalaya, and an amaretto syllabub for dessert.’

  ‘Thank you. It all sounds amazing.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure.’ Darrelle locked her clear eyes onto mine. ‘I wanted to apologise for the other evening’s misunderstanding. I’ve really enjoyed your company today and it would’ve been a shame for you not to have spent the night when we have so much space.’

  18:15

  Darrelle left me a toothbrush, hand towel, bath towel, dressing gown, bikini – gulp, and a dress. Was the dress one of Darrelle’s? If it was then it certainly wouldn’t fit me. Darrelle’s tall and slim whereas I’m shorter and more generously curved. It did look nice though, it was gold in colour and made of a stretchy, elastic type material.

  18:45

  ‘WOW!’ commented Mr Cool as I entered the warm kitchen.

  The aroma of Darrelle’s cooking tantalised my nostrils, my mouth started to water and I realised I was hungry.

  ‘You look fantastic. Where have you been hiding that dress?’

  ‘Darrelle left it on the bed for me.’

  Darrelle lifted a tray from the Aga. ‘I’m so pleased it fits you. I bought it for Arabella.’

  ‘Gosh, would you rather I took it off?’

  ‘No,’ Darrelle said. ‘I wanted you to have it. It’d only go to waste otherwise. What size shoe are you?’

  ‘Why did you say no?’ Mr Cool asked. ‘I’d love her to take the dress off.’ He took the tray of focaccia from Darrelle and slipped the bread onto a platter.