by Helen Phifer
‘You’re right. I wanted to get the French doors open in the bedroom so I could sit on the balcony to eat my meals and stare at the lake. The only thing is, I think they were painted shut before I was even born, and it’s proved a lot harder than I imagined. I slipped with the Stanley knife.’
‘You’re lucky you didn’t sever an artery. Those things are lethal.’
‘Yes, I guess you’re right. No more dangerous stuff when I’m alone. I’m glad you decided to be nosy.’
He began to pack the contents of his first aid kit back into the bag. ‘Would you like me to drive you to the hospital to get it checked out? You might need a tetanus or a course of antibiotics.’
She frowned. ‘Do you think so? It was a brand-new knife; I only opened the packet about three minutes before disaster struck. Does it need stitching?’
‘Probably not. I’ve used some Steri-Strips to seal the cut. It’s up to you.’
‘I’ll leave it then. I don’t want to spend the entire afternoon in the nearest A&E waiting room. Can I get you a drink? It’s the least I can do.’
‘How about I make us both a coffee and you can show me the offending doors?’ he offered. ‘I might be able to help you. I’m a dab hand with the old DIY; plenty of years’ experience.’
Maddy laughed. ‘Now you’re talking. That sounds like a very good idea. I think I need coffee and cake to stop me from going into shock.’
Seth grinned. He was glad he’d come inside now. He’d helped her out and she was cute, not to mention funny. She might just be the thing to brighten up his currently rather dull life.
Chapter Seventeen
W hen poetry lady finished her last reading, Stella jumped up, cheering and clapping, hoping everyone else would join in. They did, much to her relief, and she couldn’t blame them if they were clapping because they, too, were relieved it was over.
Poor Mr Patel’s mother was sitting on the stool in the corner, her eyes wide and her mouth a gaping black hole, looking as if she’d been transported to another world. Onion guy and a couple of his friends had smirked, nudging each other on more than one occasion, just about managing to hold it together.
Stella determined she would never again agree to an author doing a reading unless she first took notice of what they’d had actually written. Mr Patel waved to her, mouthing ‘You owe me a year of lunches for this one.’ And she couldn’t argue with him. The quiet man had stood next to his wife, mother, and daughters, his cheeks turning pinker with every word the poet had spoken. She nodded at him, mouthing back, ‘Thank you’ as he ushered his family towards the door, desperate to escape.
Aden was doing a very good job of telling Zara or Fara – Stella couldn’t remember the poet’s name – how wonderful she was. Stella decided she was also going to give him a good kick in the pants for getting her into these situations.
She needed fresh air. Her head was a mess, her nerves frayed. She walked outside, where she leant against the window ledge and let out a loud groan.
‘That was different.’
She looked around to see onion guy and tried desperately to remember his name. She was so rubbish with names; faces she never forgot.
‘It was bleeding awful, is what it was.’ She turned quickly to check no one was listening. Traumatised as she was, she didn’t want to upset Zara/Fara. Turning back, she noticed he had one of the offending books tucked under his arm.
‘Oh, no. You really didn’t have to. Wait till she’s left then I’ll give you a refund.’
He laughed. ‘No, you won’t. I’ll give it my sister-in-law for her birthday. She’ll love it, she’s into this sort of crap.’
‘I’m sorry, I really am. I had no idea. And did you see poor Mr Patel’s face? The poor guy will never be the same again.’
Onion guy laughed. ‘At least you put a smile on his wife’s face. You said you’d owe me if I turned up with some friends. Can I take my favour now?’
‘Anything. I’ll even give you a kidney, it was that bad.’
‘Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of you coming out for a drink with me tonight.’
Stella looked more closely at him. He was cute, funny and, apart from the onions, he was nice. Any other time she’d have said yes, but Connor’s face was there in the front of her mind. He’d asked her out for a drink after work and she didn’t know if she wanted to let him down, despite the internal warning that was flashing inside her brain telling her not to be an idiot.
She shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, I can’t tonight. Any other night would be great, though.’
He arched one eyebrow at her. ‘Did the creep with the flowers beat me to it?’
Stella felt a wave of anger fill her mind. Who was this guy to judge her? He didn’t know her.
‘No, he’s an old friend who I just happen to have agreed to meet for a drink. There’s nothing going on. Not that it’s any of your business if there was.’
‘Sorry, you’re right. It isn’t. Maybe some other time.’
He strode away and she immediately felt a twinge of regret. In an ideal world, she’d steer well clear of Connor. Christ, she knew she should stay away from him, he was trouble. So what was she thinking?
Stella stared after him, racking her brains for his name; she had to stop calling him onion guy. He’d already turned the corner when it came to her: Joe. He was Joe. But it was too late to shout him back to say yes, she’d love to, and she was sorry that she’d temporarily lost her mind but it was back now. He’d gone back to the diner, and now she had to go and make small talk with Zara/Fara. Christ, could this day get any worse? And how come she’d had zero interest from the male species for the last two years, yet today she was Miss Popular?
Making her way back inside the shop, she saw Aden and made a swiping gesture across her neck with her finger. He blew her a kiss and she gave him the middle finger. He was the one who bloody owed her after this afternoon. He’d be baking her cakes every day for a year to make up for this disaster if he wanted to get back in her good books.
Chapter Eighteen
W hen he’d come back to visit the summerhouse, he’d got the shock of his life to see a car parked outside the steps to the house. Not only that but there were lights on in an upstairs room.
Instead of heading straight for his destination, he’d had to make a detour around the lake to investigate just what was going on. Was someone living here? He couldn’t imagine it; the house had been empty for so long, who would want to stay here when it was such a mess?
The sky was a fireball of reds and burnt orange, it was beautiful and spectacular. He walked further along to sit on a rock by the lake and think about what he was going to do. Normally, he’d walk out on the rickety, wooden jetty and sit on the edge. But whoever was in the house might be able to see him and wonder what he was doing out there.
He liked to kick off his trainers and dip his toes into the icy, cold water. There was something very satisfying in knowing that a few feet underneath the jetty was his collection of corpses. The fresh water preserved the bodies much better than salt water, and it didn’t matter to him that the manmade lake was used to provide drinking water to Manchester. He didn’t care about contaminating it; there must be hundreds of dead fish and God knows what else in there.
He didn’t expect he was the first person to dispose of a corpse in its murky depths. The water got filtered and treated, so it wasn’t as if it was a health risk. And anyway, what did he care if it was? Not a bloody thing. This was his playing field, his burial ground, his lake, and his area.
What he did care about was how he was going to get the body out of the summerhouse and into its watery resting place, without getting caught. This development was completely unexpected and a troublesome problem; it would mean waiting until the dead of the night.
With a bit of luck, whoever it was in the house wouldn’t be stopping here and would leave soon. He couldn’t risk killing again until he’d disposed of this body, and he couldn’t risk
the smell emanating from the summerhouse becoming too overpowering. One decomposing body smelt terrible enough in this heat, but it could be mistaken for a dead animal. Two might raise questions from anyone passing by as to where the stench was coming from. He wanted to repel people from this area, not draw them to it.
Number four was proving to be difficult in all aspects. The fact that he’d been a lot heavier had caused enough problems. Now, this added complication was going to make it even harder to get his body down to the lake. Supposing whoever was in the house decided to go and explore the grounds and found the summerhouse. Then what? It could all be over in a matter of hours. He might have to take care of this pesky problem before it took care of him.
His mind racing, he pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at the house. He needed to know who was inside. Not tonight, though; it was too risky. And he needed to get rid of the corpse before he got caught snooping around, just in case whoever it was called the police.
Darkness seeped through his body, flowing through his veins and swirling into his mind like a heavy fog. It made it hard to think when he got like this. It wasn’t productive, and he knew that. All he could do now was try to relax, let nature’s beauty fill him with peace and calm before he exploded and did something hasty he might regret a few hours later.
He was cleverer than people thought, so he knew he’d figure it out, eventually.
Chapter Nineteen
S eth had left hours ago, promising that he’d check on her the next morning and bring the right tools with him to get the windows open. Meeting him had been an unexpected bonus; he reminded Maddy a little of Colin Firth in the first Bridget Jones movie. She had a habit of comparing people to film characters. Stella would love it if she told her that she’d met her Mr Darcy on the first day of her adventure. That was what she called this whole thing now: Maddy’s big adventure.
She stared down at her phone, which had no signal bars on the screen whatsoever. Seth had told her the pub had free Wi-Fi, so it looked as if she would have to venture into the village sooner rather than later to message everyone and tell them she was alive. The phone signal must be better in the village or he wouldn’t have been able to phone the police to check on her last night.
Up until now, she’d been in seven large empty bedrooms; the attic she hadn’t bothered with. Staring at the small door, tucked away at the end of the corridor and with a sturdy bolt across it, had sent a cold shiver down her spine. She had no reason to go up there, nor to the cellar, so she was keeping well clear of them both for obvious reasons.
Downstairs she’d found the most glorious library, or it would have been had the books still been stacked on the shelves. It had made her sad to see this room empty. Having a full library to herself was her childhood dream. But how much writing would you do if you had a never-ending supply of books to read, Maddy? Things happened for a reason, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have written another word once she’d started reading.
That was the thing she missed about being a writer; reading was her first true love, and she’d been more passionate about her love of books than any lover. Now she was writing herself, she didn’t seem to be able to fit in reading like she used to. The deadlines, edits, copy edits, line edits, proofreads, all ate up time and took the enjoyment out of the thrill of writing the first draft. She hadn’t expected any of that. But come to think of it, she hadn’t known what to expect at all. Who knew she’d have to rewrite her first draft six times before it became an acceptable first draft? She certainly hadn’t. But she still loved writing, or she would once she got over the fear from the voice inside her head which kept telling her the first one was a fluke and she couldn’t possibly do it again.
She walked past the library, drawing room, and parlour; she’d photographed every room from different angles and written down notes in her journal, which was now tucked under her arm. The day had flown by so fast it had scared her a little, but this was a huge house with lots of rooms to explore. Seth had stayed for over an hour, giving her a potted history of the place and the village.
In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine, then let herself out of the front door and stood on the doorstep to admire the view. The sky was alive with a myriad of orange, pink, and red. Living in the city among the high rises, she’d never really taken much notice of the sunsets. Here, it was impossible not to; the view was magnificent.
Looking around, she noticed a wooden jetty which led onto the lake and headed towards it. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it looked so quaint and picturesque. She was hot, dusty, and in need of a bath. The house had no showers in any of the four bathrooms, but she could cope without one.
Kicking off her boots, she put one foot gently onto the wooden slats, slowly pressing all her weight down to check if it was rotten. She wasn’t bothered about falling in, but it held her weight, so she stepped onto it properly, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet to double check. Satisfied it wasn’t rotten and about to launch her into the lake, she walked along the jetty until she reached the edge.
Maddy put her wine glass and journal down and rolled up her pyjama trousers. Sitting down, she dangled her feet over the edge and dipped her toes into the icy water, letting out a little screech. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so cold after the sun had been burning down onto it all day.
It was cold, refreshing, and wonderful, and she sipped the wine and stared around, wishing now that she wrote romance stories. This was a wonderful setting for a hauntingly beautiful love story. Maybe if she couldn’t write the second in this crime series, she could try her hand at a romance instead?
Turning to look at the house behind her, she was reminded of something from one of the many ghost films she’d watched. Maybe she could write a ghost story, although that might be a bit difficult if she was having to live in the house while writing it. She’d scare herself too much. A contended sigh escaped her lips; this was certainly the life.
The phone tucked into her pocket suddenly began to vibrate as a flurry of text message alerts came through. Pulling it out, she grinned to see several messages from Stella, her gran, and her agent, who she’d forgot to tell she was coming here. Who’d have thought she’d get a signal sat on the edge of a jetty, with her feet dangling in a lake?
She began to work her way through the messages, replying to her gran and her agent first. Stella deserved a phone call. Maddy had so much to tell her, and she’d only been here just under twenty-four hours.
But when she ended the call, Maddy was left wondering what was up with her best friend. Stella hadn’t been her usual bubbly self. She was convinced there was something that Stella was keeping from her, because she was such a dreadful liar and their conversation had become strained. It shouldn’t have done, because Maddy had done most of the talking, but the lack of questions from Stella had given her low mood away.
Kicking her feet gently in the water – she’d become used to the cold – she pondered why Stella might have been out of sorts. Perhaps she’d been to the accountant again and was feeling down. Every time Stella left his office, she went on a two-day binge of eating chocolate and drinking copious amounts of wine.
Maddy should have just asked her if everything was okay. She dialled the number again, but this time she didn’t get through. Glancing at the screen, her signal had disappeared again. Damn, this is going to be a nightmare. Tomorrow she would have to go into the village and use the pub’s Internet, or maybe even their payphone.
She finished the rest of her wine and pulled her feet out of the water, amazed at the shade of blue they’d turned. It must be freezing in that lake.
Grabbing her boots and journal, she walked barefoot back to the house. She needed something to eat before refilling her glass. She also needed a cool bath and to sit at her laptop and write something. Anything to get her back into the routine of working once more.
Chapter Twenty
C onnor checked his reflection for the tenth time in his rea
r-view mirror then got out of the car and ran up the steps to Stella’s flat. He lifted his knuckles to rap on the door, pausing for a moment to wonder if he was doing the right thing. This morning he’d decided to move on, but was moving on with his ex-girlfriend’s best friend actually moving on? The voice in his head taunted him and he couldn’t blame it. Despite trying to convince himself he was turning over a new leaf, he didn’t quite believe it.
He knew that Maddy would find out about him taking Stella out, and that was fine by him. He wanted her to. If that was the only way to seek his revenge, it would have to do…until he caved and carried on with his quest to hunt her down. Their friendship would feel a bit strained if he was dating Stella, but he didn’t care about that. All he cared about was himself. It was all he’d ever cared about, and that suited him just fine.
The door opened and he smiled. Despite his reservations and his previous feelings about the woman on the doorstep, she looked nice. In fact, she looked attractive, and he felt a stirring in his loins that he had to cover with his hands.
‘You came?’
‘Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, no particular reason. Do you want to come in, or should we go straight out?’
‘Let’s go, I’m hungry. Although I could be persuaded to eat you.’
Stella’s mouth dropped open and he laughed. ‘Sorry, that was a bit inappropriate. It was just a joke. Where do you want to go?’
Laughing, she stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. ‘Anywhere you want, I’m not fussy. We could just go to The Magpie. They do decent food and it’s not too far.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
She followed him down the steps and he headed towards his car.
‘We can walk if you want, it’s only five minutes away. Save you messing around trying to get parked.’
