Taken Identity

by Raven McAllan

  There was a tap on her shoulder. Jules whirled round and screamed.

  Chapter Seven

  “Sorry, hen, didna realize ye’d got those wee ear thingies in.” The poor, perspiring postman, hot in his regulation polo shirt and navy shorts, stood beside her, his face apologetic.

  Jules pulled out the earplugs. “God Almighty, Dougie. You scared the crap out of me.”

  Bloody hell, why was she so jittery?

  “Ach, it’s those wee thingies. Make ye deif, an’all. Sorry, Jules, but I need a wee signing on this parcel.” He pulled out a packet from his bag, clicked something on his ‘new-fangled digitty whatsit’ as he called it and handed it to her with the ‘stick thingy’. Jules looked at him fondly. Dougie had been the postman for as long as anyone could remember, idiosyncratic and irritable if his round was changed or interrupted. Loyal and hardworking, he was more than a postie. He was a friend to all and a lifeline to those living alone without neighbors, and the elderly. He was also a fount of knowledge about the area. Anything Dougie MacDonald didn’t know, wasn’t worth knowing. Except, it seemed, technology. Jules scribed her name and handed the handset back to him. He took it as if it was a grenade and handed her a package.

  “Hate these thingies. What’s wrong with a wee bitty paper and pencil, eh?”

  Jules laughed and he scratched his head.

  “Ach, I’m too old for all this nonsense.”

  “Rubbish, you’re just too set in your ways.”

  “Aye, true enough. Well, best be on.” He turned away.

  “Hold on a sec.” Jules grabbed his sleeve. “Hear anything about a strange car or van in the village in the early hours? Well, not that early, say around six-ish.”

  He scratched his head again.

  “Ah, weel, I was up at the wee hoosie about then.” Dougie had not had to use a wee hoosie for at least forty years, but colloquialisms died hard. His bungalow boasted more than one state-of-the-art bathroom, with, as his wife was fond of saying, a power shower and a bidet.

  “And there was a car parked by the green, side on to the kirk. Big bugger it was. Awfy noisy when it set off.” His voice switched from Scots to English and back again as he spoke. A remnant, he often said, of his time in the army as a teenager.

  “Do you know what it was?” Jules asked without much hope.

  “Of course I do… A muckle great BMW 5 series. And I got its number.” He rattled it off. “I’ve a way with numbers.”

  “Have you got a pen?”

  Dougie handed her a felt tip. Jules had nothing to write on except the parcel, and that was covered in the sort of tape that wouldn’t take a felt tip. She scrawled the registration on her arm, hoping she would remember to transfer it to paper before she washed. “Cheers, Dougie. It might be important.”

  “House breaking?”

  “Who knows?” She kept the question oblique. “Well, I’d better get on.”

  “Aye, an’ me.” He ambled off around the side of the house.

  Jules looked at the packet without much interest. She didn’t remember ordering anything, but her parents often sent small gifts through the post.

  Tied up with string and tape, she noted. That meant a trip into the house for scissors. Just as she went to head house-wards, she saw the secateurs. They might do.

  They did. She snipped the string and attacked the tape. After unwrapping the brown paper, she looked inside and finally saw the contents.

  A big, black, hairy spider looked back at her, its eyes gleaming.

  The parcel fell as she screamed again, shuddered and ran into the house. She shut and locked the door, grabbed her mobile and thanked Gray for programming his number into it.

  “Come on, come on. Oh, shit! Gray, fucking answer, will you?”

  “Hi, Jules. What’s up?” He sounded upbeat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “Gray.” She shook and sobbed and could hardly get her words out. “Oh, God, Gray. I need you. I need you here now. And Sean. Yes, and Sean. Now, please. Oh God, oh God, Gray, it’s—” She was weeping in earnest. “Just come as quick as you can, please.”

  “Are you okay? Jules, tell me. Now.” He roared down the phone, shocking her into silence. “Are. You. All. Right?”

  “Yes,” she said and spoiled her assertions with a sniff. “No, yes, oh shit and fuck. Right, calm down, Jules. Lord, I’m babbling.”

  “Answer me, woman,” Gray roared. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no, honestly. I’m okay, but there’s been a parcel. You need to come back. Like now. Yuck, it makes me shudder just to think about it. And I’m scared. Bloody scared.” Her voice wavered and she took a deep breath. It was not the time to break down. “I need you both though, like ten minutes ago.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  She heard the sound of an engine revving high and the noise of gravel, down the phone line.

  “So where is the parcel? Do we need the police? Or the bomb squad?”

  “Oh shit, I’ve no idea. I saw what was in it and left it in the back garden. How could I be so stupid? “Bloody hell… Do I go and check?”

  “No, you bloody well don’t. Idiot woman!” He said it lovingly, although she could hear the worry in his voice. “Leaving it alone was sensible, not stupid. Lock the doors and go to the other side of the house. Your back garden is probably the safest place it could be. If it is a bomb. Right. I’ll be five minutes. Do not move from the front hall. Do not answer the door unless it is me—or Sean. Do not let anyone know you are there. If in doubt, lock yourself in the downstairs loo. Got it? And keep your phone on, on silent. And, Jules? I love you.”

  Well, that was the way to make her feel better.

  But she still hadn’t told him what was in the parcel.

  She counted down. Four minutes and twenty-nine seconds later she heard him hammering on the front door.

  “Jules? Jules, open up. It’s Gray. It’s me.”

  It took three shaky tries before she could turn the lock, open the door and fall, shuddering, into his arms. Gray held her tightly, stroking her hair, murmuring nonsense as he drew her back inside and closed the door firmly.

  “Okay, love. I’m here. It’s all right. Tell me.”

  Jules took a deep breath.

  “It’s not a bomb, Gray. I just freaked when I saw it. Thinking about it, of course it isn’t. It hasn’t any wires or ticks or anything.”

  He was firm. “Sean will still check it out. Moreover, do not ask. Okay, just accept he just knows about these things. He’ll be here in about ten minutes. So, can you tell me more about it? How you got it?”

  With Gray holding her, Jules felt strong and able to talk coherently about the events leading up to her total meltdown. She looked down at her muddy knees and hands. “Maybe I’d better wash up a bit. I’m making you filthy.”

  He looked at her arms and hands and laughed. “Mmm, looks like you’ve been practicing for a tattoo, as well.”

  Jules glanced down and remembered. “It’s the number.”

  Gray looked blank.

  “The car. This morning. Dougie the postie saw it. He’s a way with numbers. Five series Beamer.”

  She saw his delighted grin spread over his face as he gave her a long, hard kiss.

  “Well, good for Dougie the postie and his way with numbers, whatever that means. Let’s write it on something a bit more permanent.” With one smooth movement he took his phone from his pocket and keyed in the numbers. “Good, Sean will know what to do with that, as well. So, the non-bomb parcel. Brought by the postman?”

  Jules nodded. “I had to sign for it. It was all tied up with loads of string and tape. I was going to bring it in to use the scissors on it but then remembered the secateurs in my gardening trug. So, I used them to cut through the string and attack the tape.”

  “Did you untie the knots?”

  She shook her head. “No. Why?”

  Gray was deliberately vague. “Oh, Sean might recognize them. He’s good at that.”r />
  “Sounds like he’s good at a lot of things,” Jules said somewhat tartly.

  “He is.” He flipped the end of her nose with his pinkie. “Yeah another never-you-mind-why scenario. So then what?”

  “Then, I looked in the box. Screamed. Dropped it. And ran. Phoned you and hid in the hall.” Her attempt at flippancy just didn’t quite come off. “But it was horrible.”

  “What was it, Jules?”

  Her voice shook. “A spider. A bloody great spider, all furry and hairy and leggy and…” She shuddered and rubbed her arms with her hands. “Yuck. With a note attached to it.”

  Gray’s voice was icy. “Was it poisonous? Did it bite you?”

  “What? Oh, no. Sorry. I’m phobic about spiders, even toy ones. And this one was the most realistic toy spider I’d ever seen.”

  The relief he felt was evident to see. It might seem funny to someone who had no fear of spiders, but to Jules, it had been a major catastrophe. Now, knowing he was not going to ridicule her fears or get annoyed at her extreme reaction, she began to think logically. “It had a note, like a luggage tag, attached to it.”

  “Did you see what it said before you legged it? Which, by the way, was exactly the right thing to do.”

  “Yes, I was able to read it before I freaked. It said, Remember what happened to the fly. I guess it means, Walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. You know, where the fly sticks to the cobweb and the spider eats it. Warning us away from something.”

  “We really are rattling some cages then, aren’t we?” His voice was full of satisfaction. “Ah. That sounds like Sean. I’ll let him in, shall I?”

  A car stopped outside with a screech of brakes and there was the sound of a door slamming. Then, they heard footsteps which sounded louder as presumably the person approached the house.

  Jules nodded. “Can I go in the kitchen and make coffee? And get the whisky out?”

  Gray nodded his approval. “Good idea.”

  Sean didn’t come inside. She heard a heated discussion take place before Gray came back in, seeming somewhat disgruntled. Apparently, he and Sean had differing opinions about something, because she thought he looked like a little boy who had been told he couldn’t go out to play. She decided to respond in kind.

  “Ah, what’s wrong, Gray? Won’t Sean let you play? Bless, come and let me kiss you better.” She watched his lips twitch.

  “Tell him to give me my ball back.”

  “Ah, you’ve still got your ball, Gray, but I’ll check later if you want.” She watched as he struggled to hold on to his grumpiness and lost.

  “Oh, all right, point taken. However, just because he knows what he is doing and I don’t, is no reason to make me stay away. After all, it was you who was threatened. And, oh shit, I’m talking crap, aren’t I?”

  She nodded. Although she could sympathize with him wanting to be in the thick of it, she was glad Sean had put his foot down. She would have been doubly glad if it had been a bomb.

  “What was it you said to me?” she queried rhetorically. “Oh yes, I remember. ‘Let the expert deal with it’.”

  She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He had the grace to look ashamed.

  “So, follow your own advice, Gray. Let Sean deal with it. Whatever it is.”

  He nodded.

  “Good.” She smiled at him. “Pour the whisky. Here comes Sean.”

  The door opened and Sean entered carrying the packet. Jules glared at him. “If you have that, that thing in there, get it out. Now.”

  “It’s not real,” said Sean as he advanced across the kitchen.

  “I don’t give a Scooby.” She was almost shrieking. “I hate the bloody things, real, pretend, alive or dead. Makes no difference. Get it out of here!”

  The hairs on her arms stood on end and her skin crawled. Jules could sense the blood drain out of her face and her body shake. She looked down at her hands. Shit, my hands are white. What must I look like?

  Sean had taken one look at her, turned, retraced his steps and returned a few minutes later carrying a small, see-through bag, inside which was a tag looking similar to the one she had seen earlier.

  “All gone,” he said his demeanor cheerful “It’s away and in my car. Er…Jules, you won’t have a wobbly looking at this tag, will you?”

  Men. Sometimes they just didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut!

  “Not at that, no,” she said, frost noticeable in her voice. “But if you keep that shit up, I might throw a wobbly at you. A something heavy and wobbly. Perhaps I should add on the fact that I played ladies’ cricket for a good few years and bowled the highest number of people out in our league—for four years running. What was it the paper said? Oh yes, I remember. ‘A deadly accurate aim, guaranteed to hit whatever she wanted’. So watch it.”

  She saw Gray’s lips twitch, as it seemed he tried not to laugh.

  “Same applies to you,” she warned him.

  He held his hands up in supplication. “I come in peace.”

  Come in peace? Now there’s a double entendre if ever there was one. As Gray’s lips twitched when he spoke, it was a sure thing he had a similar thought. Jules smothered a laugh.

  “Now.” Her tone of voice changed, resuming its usual husky but cheerful tenor. “Coffee and whisky, coffee with whisky, just one or the other?”

  “Both.”

  “One of each, please.” Two voices with similar ideas. Both conciliatory.

  “Gray, will you sort it for me, please?” Jules asked him. “I’ll just have coffee at the mo. Whisky later.”

  She waited until they all had drinks, then led the way onto the sunlit patio. Seeing the garden, weeds scattered by the vegetable patch, gave her pause for thought. But dammit, she was not going to be kept out of her favorite spot due to someone’s perverted sense of, well…whatever.

  “So.” When they were all seated, Jules decided to take the initiative. “Perverts aside, what do we have, so far? Oh, and Sean, we’ve a car registration that might be worth a look at. So, who goes first?”

  “You.” Both Gray and Sean sounded definite about it.

  “Start from when I left,” Sean advised. “Doesn’t matter if we go over things twice. It’s chronological then.”

  She nodded and briefly set out all she knew had happened, needing next to no help from Gray.

  When she had finished, Sean looked impressed. “Excellent memory, Jules.”

  She laughed with her good humor and her equilibrium restored. “I cannot tell a lie. It’s mainly on the laptop, and I just checked it was all okay. But is the car number a help?”

  Sean nodded. “I can trace who it’s registered to.” He held his hand up.

  “Don’t ask?” Jules said wryly. “I’ve been told that quite a few times about things you can do.”

  “Your parcel.” It was clear he intended to ignore her interruption. “Unless the date stamp is wrong, it was posted here, in the village, this morning. How’s that possible?”

  “A bit of jiggery-pokery. If it’s for someone local and posted in the village, it happens. As long as it’s posted early enough in the day, Catriona, the postmistress, will send it straight out with Dougie. We don’t ask, merely accept that sometimes we get stuff really fast. It’s not generally acknowledged, but, I guess most locals would know.”

  “Therefore,” Gray cut in smoothly. “Either it’s someone local who wanted you to stay on edge, or someone not local who thought he’d let you calm down a bit before upsetting you again. Do many people know about your phobia?”

  “Well, I don’t go around shouting it out, if that’s what you mean,” she said tartly. “But it’s not a secret, either. Family, friends, they all know. They’ve all been called on to put one of the little blighters out at one time or another. I’ve got a theory, that like cats, spiders know who doesn’t like them and position themselves accordingly at the most awkward times, the buggers. You wouldn’t believe how many baths I’ve let go cold because a spider d
ecided to take up residence in my nice, warm bathroom.”

  She shuddered.

  “And maybe friends of friends and family.” Gray was half talking to himself and watching Sean, who had been talking rapidly in a low voice on his mobile.

  Sean finished his call and looked at both of them expectantly. “The car. The Beamer. Registered in Glasgow. To a Raymond Adrian Archer. Ring any bells?”

  “A bloody great big one!” Jules burst out. “The shit. I should have dug my heel into him when I had the chance.”

  Both men winced.

  “Well, well, well, who’d a thunk it?” Gray remarked and then laughed. “Well, we should, I guess. Jules?”

  She nodded. “Awful Adrian. I never knew his first name was Raymond. Until today. Well, yesterday. Sounds like, oh, a nice hairdresser. No wonder he uses his middle name. Mind you, so does that. Sound like a hairdresser. Oh Jules, wash your mouth out. Meow! Wonder how long he has had a hatred for me?”

  “I don’t really think it’s for you, personally,” Sean said. “More to try to hold us off finding her.”

  “And will it?” Jules asked with a sideways glance at Gray, who shook his head.

  “Nope. Would Awf—hells bells, Jules, you got me saying it now. Would Adrian know about your arachnophobia?”

  “Oh, yes.” She shivered. “He was on the end of a massive pinch on the arm when I saw one dangling from the canvas of the marquee at the wedding. Although,” she continued, gurgling with laughter. “I wasn’t really sure he believed me at the time, because I had just threatened to emasculate him if he didn’t move his hands—fast.”

  Sean looked worried and moved one hand lower in a protective gesture.

  “It’s all right. You took that big, hairy thing out again, so you’re safe. Oops. A bit of a dodgy thing to say. I’ll rephrase that, shall I?”

  Gray wiped his eyes.

  “Jeez, Jules, if I live to get divorced, it’ll be a miracle. You slay me. However, we need to decide what next.” He looked at Sean, who yet again had his mobile attached to his ear.

  Jules followed his gaze and waited until Sean had finished his call.