Three For A Girl (Isabel Fielding Book 3)

by Sarah A. Denzil

It’s only now that I notice I’ve been walking towards the old farmhouse again, which seems inevitable. My subconscious always brings me here. Perhaps it has called to Tom, too, with its twisted siren song. Can memories draw you back? Even the worst ones?

  My boots catch on a stone and the sudden jarring takes me by surprise. A few tiny pebbles trickle down the steep slope behind me. The wind whooshes through short reeds of moor grass. I call Tom’s name again, and even though he doesn’t call back to me, I have the growing sensation that my son is inside that dilapidated building. I enter it, always with trepidation, with my heart hammering. My footsteps breaking the silence.

  I follow through the rooms, expectant, knowing by instinct that I’m about to make a terrible discovery. It’s like the time I woke in the night and knew there was a change in the cottage before I found the open door. Something is different. Perhaps it’s the scuff in the plaster on the floor, or the metallic tang in the air. This isn’t the place I remember from my nightmares, it’s much worse.

  “Tom?”

  I consider turning back, but I can’t. My feet are destined for this course. I continue on through the next doorway into the room where Isabel tortured us.

  And there he is, my son, standing still, his head angled down. At his feet is a red stain. An old pool of blood. My stomach flips over, and I almost back away. I almost turn around and run, and not stop running until I reach the farm, like I did that night, but instead I tiptoe up to Tom, and I place a hand on his shoulder, gently moving him away from what he is staring at.

  He’s compliant. He steps back with the guidance of my hand, and finally I see what he’s staring at. I almost crumple to the floor. I almost lose myself. But I don’t, I take it in. The blood, the torn flesh, the nakedness of the body. The head turned up, staring at the ceiling, the horror on the face of the person who is now nothing more than a shell, a body. The hair sprayed out around her, legs at an angle, arms out wide, breasts almost blue in death.

  Jess.

  Jess is dead. Her eyes are glassy, and her mouth is fixed in a grimace. She’ll never smile again.

  Slowly, somehow managing to not be sick, I pull Tom away. We walk out of the ruins. I keep my arm around him. Then I take out my phone, and I call the police, all the while, my mind going over and over one fact: Jess is dead.

  Part Two

  Two months later

  Chapter Nine

  Leah

  A name flashes on my phone screen, the same person who has been calling me for the last three weeks. Neal Ford. The director is determined to contact me, but I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Two months after Jess’s death, and he already wants to carry on with the film. He wants to shoot it in December, in the lead up to Christmas, with the ground frozen up. But I can only think of the friend I made and how soon it is since her funeral. I knew her for a short time, but I still grieve for her.

  I’m guessing he’s found someone who would be perfect for the role and now he wants to continue his magnum opus. No doubt he’ll tell me that he’s going to tell my story and that it will be beautiful. That he’s going to honour Jess’s memory with some pathetic dedication to her. None of it will be enough. None of it will bring her back.

  I told them and they refused to listen to me. As soon as they started filming, Owen Fielding broke Isabel out of prison. Within days, Jess was dead, and both Owen and Isabel were lost to the authorities. I keep thinking about my walk with Jess. Her gentle nature, collecting pebbles from the moors, taking photographs of the leaves as they were turning for autumn. Her humour, too, poking fun at the movie industry, doing impressions of famous directors. I knew her for only a short time and yet I miss her. Perhaps it’s naïve of me to think it, but I saw a genuine friendship building between us both. She was going to play me in a movie and that was special.

  The envelope icon appears on my phone and I open my inbox to find an email from Neal. This dance continues. He’ll call me, I’ll ignore it, and then he’ll send me an email telling me how much he respects me and Tom. How much he’ll ensure that the film will be careful not to attract Isabel’s attention. That he’s found a way to carry on.

  How can he be so stupid?

  It’s morning, and Seb is already at the farm. They have a wedding at the farm in two weeks, and Donna is seeing the bride and groom today to discuss the planning. I’ve been working in the shop and helping at events, but most of the time, I’m here in the cottage. I’m here, and Tom is at work, and Dominic is at work, and I’m alone.

  Despite what happened on the opening day of the pumpkin patch, the event was a success, mainly because the police were incredibly discreet, and because the old farmhouse is far enough away that people at the farm didn’t notice. But once the story broke, even more people came, curious and morbid enough to want to be near the action. Since then, Donna has managed to convince Seb to try the wedding events. But as a compromise, there’s currently no accommodation for the wedding party, who instead will stay in Hutton using a discount with a local hotel, negotiated by Josh.

  As I swing my legs out of bed, a sudden wave of nausea takes over. I hurry to the bathroom to be sick, flushing the vomit quickly away. Afterwards, I take a moment, confused by the sudden onset of the nausea. Could it be a complication from the surgery? If it is, this is a strange time for it to happen – two years later. I brush my teeth and hop in the shower only to be interrupted by Tom knocking on the door, also wanting a shower before he begins his shift at the gym

  “You know I start at ten,” he says grumpily as I slip out of the room in my towel.

  After drying my hair and getting dressed, my stomach demands that it’s breakfast, and seems perfectly fine after the strange sickness, so I wolf down some cereal, pour out a cup of tea, and sit down at the table. Then I finally open the email from Neal.

  Dear Leah,

  Something tells me that you’re reading these emails, so I’m going to carry on sending them to you even though you don’t reply to them or answer my calls. The movie is going ahead. It’s been approved by the production company and we’re going to start shooting soon. I promise you; this film will not be in bad taste. I know you think it will be, but it won’t. Isabel Fielding hasn’t been seen for two months. There have been no further murders. Every expert says that she’s left the country with her brother. That means you are perfectly safe, and so is the cast. I wouldn’t even consider making this movie if I thought any of the cast might be put in harm’s way. Safety is absolutely paramount to my movie set. Ask anyone in the industry. They’ll tell you I’m a consummate professional.

  But I understand why you’re concerned. This is about people, after all. I miss Jess every day. She was an absolute treasure, the best of people. We want to respect her memory. I promise you.

  Please contact me. There’s hardly any information for our actors to go on. If they could meet you and Tom once or twice, they could vastly improve their performance.

  Once again, your loyal servant.

  Neal Ford

  I close the app in disgust. Most of the email is about himself, not Jess. I can’t imagine anyone like that respectfully honouring another human being. No, I’m almost positive that this person is in fact cashing in on Jess’s murder rather than respecting her death. Before his film was going to be a relatively unknown TV movie, now it has publicity. It has a buzz. The main actress died before they could even start shooting. The subject of the film escaped from prison. Of course, he’s trying to rush it now, a “respectful” two months after Jess’s death.

  The thought of it makes me want to vomit again, but I don’t.

  Tom whizzes through the kitchen to say goodbye while I’m opening the web browser on my phone, once again checking for any updates about Isabel or Jess’s murder. By the time Tom found Jess, she’d been dead for a day. Her clothes were found bundled in the corner of the room. There was no murder weapon and, according to articles in the news, very little DNA evidence. She was murdered in the day
time, but because the moors are so isolated, no one saw a thing. The worst part of it all, is that it was the day I was supposed to meet her. She was supposed to come to the cottage. What if I’d walked up to the farmhouse to see if she’d been mistaken and thought we were meeting there? Perhaps I could have stopped it. Or, as Seb reminds me, I might have been attacked, too.

  Or worse, what if I did meet her? What if I wasn’t myself but the dark sleepwalker I know I can be? I’ve forever wondered what really happened to Alison Findlay, and there’s always been a part of me that… that considers… I stop myself before my thoughts go too far.

  It’s widely suspected that Isabel murdered Jess. After all, patterns were carved into Jess’s back, and she was left naked. That’s what Isabel would do to her victim. She escaped from HMP Newmoor in West Yorkshire the day Jess died. Was it luck? Did Isabel go to the house to reminisce her time with me? Was Isabel in the area because she was coming to kill me? Imagine aiming to kill someone and instead killing the actor playing that person in a movie. It feels too far-fetched, too serendipitous. If Isabel wanted to kill me, she would come for me. She would come to my cottage. Unless she planned to kill Jess all along.

  After Jess’s death, it was reported that the actress cast to play Isabel, Cassie Keats, went to visit Isabel in prison. Perhaps that was how Isabel got the idea to kill Jess. In one of the newspapers, Cassie mentioned that she’d told Isabel of Jess’s visits to see me. What if she told Isabel too much?

  But then there is that other theory, one I hate to admit but have to face.

  What if it was me?

  I haven’t stopped thinking it since I saw Jess’s body. I sleepwalk through my days as I sleepwalk through my nights, believing that I’m a murderer.

  My stomach flips again, and I head to the bathroom.

  ***

  A few days after the email from Neal Ford, I get an email from Cassie Keats herself. At first, I consider ignoring it, as I’ve been ignoring Neal’s, but then I decide to respond. Cassie met with Isabel before the prison escape, and I can’t help but wonder whether talking to her might help me process what happened to Jess.

  We arrange to meet on a Friday afternoon in Hutton. I’m recovering from the sudden stomach bug, and I still feel off-kilter. But it’s a sunny day, and there’s a touch of frost on the ground, sparkling, and my mood lifts when I head away from the cottage. The claustrophobic cottage filled with people. All men, too. I’m beginning to feel like an outsider in my own home. Meeting Cassie might be what I need right now.

  I also can’t help but admit that part of me hopes for that instant connection I felt with Jess. That rare and sudden budding friendship that happens once or twice in a lifetime.

  Since Isabel escaped prison, we’ve had a police presence in our lives. For the first month, there was always an officer outside the cottage, which annoyed the rest of the Braithwaites because it blocked access for their tractors. Then it became a checking in situation. Either the police called at the house, or we called them to let them know we were still alive. The police are almost completely gone now, which makes me nervous. Isabel can play a long game.

  There was a discussion about witness protection, but unfortunately, my face is too recognisable to completely disappear. I’d have to have plastic surgery or move to Peru or wherever, and I didn’t want to do any of those things. No, I thought, let her come for me. I’ll fight her. I’ll finish what I started in the cave.

  My nerves jangle when I enter the coffee shop. I order decaf to try and remain calm. Caffeine will only enhance the anxiety. It’s been a while since I left the cottage and met someone new.

  She recognises me immediately and waves me over.

  It’s only as I’m taking my seat that it hits me. This person is going to impersonate Isabel in a movie, and that’s going to be incredibly strange to watch. She doesn’t look like Isabel at all, she’s much more petite, and has delicate facial features. Although she’s sitting down, she could be slightly shorter than Isabel. She has an easy smile and big, open brown eyes. Perhaps it’s the eyes that remind me of Isabel. I suppress a shiver, remembering my first meeting with her. The pity I felt for her. The waste of talent that I saw.

  “Hey, you must be Leah,” Cassie says. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “And you.” I place my decaf down and realise that I don’t know how to start this conversation. Luckily, Cassie takes off.

  “Sorry to badger you with emails. I know Neal has been bothering you for some time.”

  “He calls me about twice a week,” I admit. “No idea how he got my phone number.”

  Cassie rolls her eyes. “He probably nicked it from Jess’s phone. He’s a bugger. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  She bites her lip, and the simple childish motion reveals that she’s younger than I first thought, and that she’s just as nervous as I am. She shakes her head and some pretty curls ripple in the sunlight.

  “I really appreciate you meeting me today,” she says. “I know you’re not a fan of the film, and I completely understand why.” She sighs. “Basically, I wanted you to know that I’m doing this because I’m contracted, not because I want to. I’m not that happy to be working with Neal, to tell you the truth, and I hate the way he keeps calling you, begging for you to meet us.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “I didn’t know you didn’t want to do the film anymore.”

  “The alternative is to break my contract, which makes me difficult to work with in the future. It’s early days and I can’t guarantee my career will ever recover,” she says. “I’m so sorry that it’s going ahead. There’s not much I can do about it.”

  “I heard he cast someone else to play me,” I say.

  “Yes. She’s lovely, by the way, but, well…”

  “She’s not Jess.”

  Cassie nods, wraps her hands around her coffee mug. “Exactly. I can’t believe we’re doing this without Jess. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Have you said that to Neal?”

  She tilts her head to the side in contemplation. “Not in those exact words. I’m pretty positive that he understands the way we feel. But that doesn’t mean he actually cares.”

  “Can’t your agent get you out of it?” I don’t actually know how these things work, but I can’t believe Cassie could be forced into a role she doesn’t want to play.

  “I could be blacklisted, and to be honest, I can’t afford to turn down work, even if it’s something like this. I need to pay the bills. I haven’t taken any other work for about a year because of this film. It needs to pay off.”

  “God, I’m so sorry. It seems completely unfair.”

  She waves her hand. “Don’t feel bad for me. Save that for Jess.” She swallows and stares out of the window, and that child-like anxiety shows again. “That’s the other reason I wanted to see you. Jess.”

  “Okay,” I reply. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Well,” she says. “The fact that her death is all my fault for one thing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Leah

  Her admission takes me by surprise and I shake my head. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because if I hadn’t gone to visit Isabel in prison, she might never have escaped. And she wouldn’t even know about the movie until it came out at the cinema. I sparked a change in her, didn’t I? I made her obsess over the actors. I even showed her a picture of Jess on my phone. It’s all my fault.” She scratches at a spot on her arm, more aggressively than I’d like, and some nurturing instinct inside me wants to reach across and stop her from doing it. However, she stops on her own. “What I haven’t told anyone, is that I went to see her a couple of days before she broke out. I mentioned how you’d been walking on the moors with Jess. I think she must have waited in the old farmhouse for her.” A painful sob breaks through her words. I reach into my bag and fish out a travel pack of tissues.

  “But how would Isabel know Jess would be there?
”

  “Because I told her.” Cassie blows her nose. “I stupidly told her that you were meeting on that day. Maybe she got her brother to ambush Jess and knock her out. I keep picturing him dragging her up the moors.” She shakes her head again. “I know it sounds stupid. It sounds impossible, doesn’t it? A man dragging a woman up the moors to that old farmhouse. I guess I don’t know how she did it. Or… even if she did it, not for sure. All I know is that my friend is dead.”

  Now I remember that I’ve seen Cassie before, at Jess’s funeral. She was at the back of the church and on her own. She hadn’t been standing with the director, which now strikes me as odd.

  “You had no way of knowing what Isabel had planned. This isn’t your fault, Cassie. Okay?”

  “I’ll never not blame myself,” she says. “I can’t help it. Jess is dead because of me.” She crumples the tissue up in her hand.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  She turns to me, as though I’m pulling her out of her thoughts. “What is it?”

  “Why did you contact me now? Two months after Jess’s murder?” If Cassie has been suffocating under her guilt, surely, she’d want to get it off her chest sooner.

  “We’re shooting next week. I dunno, I guess things are more on top of me than ever. I mean, I’m playing the woman who may have murdered one of my best friends. I… What am I supposed to do with that?” She raises her hands as though trying to figure it out. “I’m going to need therapy for years.” She bites her lip and stares forlornly out of the window. “That’s part of the reason, anyway.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  “Neal,” she says, in a matter-of-fact manner. “And… doubt. And the fact that the two go hand in hand.”

  “Go on.”

  “I mean it when I tell you how guilty I feel. I swear I’m the reason Isabel broke out. I sleep with a knife under my bed every night because I’m convinced she’s coming after me next. But sometimes I wonder how much I believe Isabel murdered Jess.” She scratches that spot on her arm again. “Look, you probably think I’m crazy, but hear me out for a minute. Isabel and her brother left the country. Everyone was looking for them. The police, regular people, probably the army. They’re the most wanted criminals in the country. So why would they risk their escape from the UK for the sake of killing someone Isabel hasn’t even met?”