The incident had been front page headlines in The Sentinel for three nights, news on the local television channels the following evening. No one could understand how a young woman living in a quiet and respectful street could have been so violent. Some of the neighbours had been interviewed. Only Jake Carter, from number thirty-six, refused to speak to the journalist when asked.
Ella had left Jean’s door open in her rush to get back to Charley. The police had gone across to find Jean’s body alongside several notebooks thrown to the floor around her. On reading their contents, they came to the conclusion that Ella, in her warped state of mind, thought she had motive to kill the elderly neighbour. Jean’s home help, Ruby, had been devastated and had insisted on adopting Tom rather than let him be re-homed. It was the least she could do.
Brendan Furnival was out of hospital and recovering from his injuries. Charley had mentioned to the police that Ella had confessed to her but on further questioning, Furnival had refused to say he knew who his attacker was. And, although he’d always have the mental, and some physical, scars after the attack, Charley still couldn’t help coming out on the side of Ella over that. Some things must have been hard for her to bear.
Later, once all the forensic evidence had been gathered, Charley was told by the police that a man found dead in his bath the day before, in the north of the city, had also been linked to Ella. Even now, it was hard for her to imagine she had once shared a house with a killer. She’d read Ella’s notebook again, plus the loose pages she’d seen in the closet, but was no nearer to understanding whether it was all true, partly true, or completely fictional – another thing that would remain unsolved. Charley had her suspicions, but it wasn’t her place to speculate.
The worst thing on the night in question had been not knowing about Aaron. Had she left him dead at the house? She’d raced back across the muddy field, hoping that the ambulance wouldn’t be too far behind.
She’d found him slouched against the back of the settee, eyes closed, head lolling to one side. Blood had soaked through his jumper and his jacket, pooled at his jeans. She’d lifted his head to feel for a pulse, crying with relief when she had found one. Moments later, the ambulance had arrived and he’d gone to hospital and straight into surgery. It had been a long and tense evening but thankfully, he’d pulled through. Seeing him the next day, sitting up in a hospital bed with colour in his cheeks and that smile she knew so well, was the moment that she realised everything was going to be okay.
‘Come on, you,’ she smiled at her passenger. ‘Are you sure you can manage to walk that far?’
‘Of course, I can,’ Aaron replied. ‘I can survive anything.’
‘So all those ouches, ows, oohs, and ahs – they’re all for show, then?’
‘It’s my equivalent to man-flu and I’m using it as long as I can get sympathy.’ Aaron looked at her with the expression of a puppy who wanted a cuddle. ‘She nearly took my spleen!’
Charley indulged him with a tickle under his chin. ‘You’re such a wimp.’
‘I know.’
They’d parked up in a new development of apartments and houses along Wedgwood Terrace, a couple of miles away in Meir Heath. It was another beautiful area of the city. But this time, Charley was going to view a flat with an intercom and a camera and, she hoped, some friendly neighbours.
Aaron released his seatbelt, wincing as it caught across his stomach. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on my offer?’
Charley placed her hand on his thigh and leaned across to kiss him.
‘I’m really grateful, but this is another short-term lease. Six months.’ She smiled at him shyly. ‘And then, who knows after that?’
‘If we get that far, maybe we should start afresh with a new pad? I could sell my house too.’
Charley nodded her reply and smiled.
The estate agent was waiting for them at the entrance and let them into the two-storey building. ‘Service charges are in with the rent. There’s a fully fitted kitchen with all appliances,’ she said, going into practiced sales mode. ‘And wait until you see the view from the lounge area.’
Aaron followed the two women up to the first floor. ‘If it has a walk-in closet, we’re not moving in,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’ the estate agent turned back to him.
Charley giggled. ‘He wants to know if it has lots of storage space.’
‘Yes. And it has ample-sized bedrooms, too.’
Charley turned to give Aaron a warning look. As they drew level to the landing, a face appeared over the banister of the upper floor.
‘Hi there,’ a voice shouted down to them.
They all looked up to see a man, mid-thirties.
‘Are you moving in?’
‘Yes, I might be,’ said Charley.
‘Great.’ He came down the stairs to them. ‘It’s a nice place to live. Not much goes on. We keep ourselves to ourselves, you know. It’s quiet too.’
‘Sounds just how I like it!’ Charley enthused.
‘Marvellous. I’ll probably see you around.’ He continued on past them. At the top of the stairs towards the ground floor, he gave a friendly smile. ‘I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.’
Charley shuddered as if someone had walked through her. Those were the exact words that Ella had said to her on the first day they’d met. Memories of the last few months came flooding into her mind. How lucky she had been to escape from Ella’s clutches. To get out of that closet, to find Aaron and to find him alive. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him too.
‘You okay?’ Aaron touched her arm, a look of concern on his face. ‘You’ve gone a little pale.’
Charley took a deep breath as she pushed her thoughts to one side. Then she nodded at him.
It was all about the future now. There was no need to dwell on the past.
Acknowledgments
My dream has always been to have a traditional deal with a publisher. So I’m often asked what it was like to go from self-publishing and being in complete control of everything to now having a team of people behind me. I can tell you it has been amazing. So these thanks have to be about everyone who is in Team Mel right now.
Firstly, thanks must go to Maddy Milburn, who never ceases to fill me with confidence when I have none left. Who gets my writing for what it is, who encourages me at every opportunity, guides me and above all treats me as an equal. I’m not often lost for words but, well, thank you so much.
Thank you to Emilie Marneur for her friendship, wisdom and patience. Also to the gang at Amazon Publishing, to Sana and Ben, the Thomas & Mercer design team, Paul for his patience and skills creating the interior.
My editor, Charlotte Herscher who added something to my words that I never thought was possible. I’ve learned so much from you and it was a wonderful process to go through. Also my copy editor, Jennifer, who added even more sparkle and glitter.
My biggest confidantes, Talli Roland, Alison Niebieszczanski and my new recruit, Sharon Sant. Ladies, you keep my rocky world steady! For the many authors and writers I now have the pleasure of calling friends. Thank you for all your support.
For all my readers, many of whom I now call friends too. Thank you for the emails and messages and continued support. I love that you enjoy my smutty grit-lit just as much as I love to write it. Also a special mention to Tracy Shayler who sent me my first reader email and made me cry because she liked my writing so much.
Thank you to David Jackson, Matt Hilton, Emlyn Rees, Will Carver, Mandasue Heller, Niamh O Connor and David Mark for offering to give me quotes when they had read Taunting the Dead. You’ll never know how much that meant.
Finally, to Chris. What can I say, fella. You are the man and always will be. I know you have so much to put up with and I thank you for your patience and support too. I got there!
About the Author
> Mel Sherratt has been a self-described “meddler of words” ever since she can remember. After winning her first writing competition at the age of 11, she has rarely been without a pen in her hand or her nose in a book.
Since successfully self-publishing Taunting the Dead and seeing it soar to the rank of number one best-selling police procedural in the Amazon Kindle store in 2012, Mel has gone on to publish three more books in the critically acclaimed The Estate Series.
Mel has written feature articles for The Guardian, the Writers and Artists website, and Writers Forum Magazine, to name just a few, and regularly speaks at conferences, event and talks.
She lives in Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, with her husband and her terrier, Dexter (named after the TV serial killer, with some help from her Twitter fans), and makes liberal use of her hometown as a backdrop for her writing.
Her website is www.melsherratt.co.uk and you can find her on Twitter at @writermels.
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