Copyright © 2019 by Dave Blackwell
All rights reserved.
Cover design and Book design by Dave Blackwell
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dave Blackwell
Visit my website at www.facebook.com/DBlackwellNovels/
Printed in the United Kingdom
First Printing: April 2019
SOUL
ONE
Catherine stood by the door looking out at the falling snow, shivering at the gentle ice-cold breeze. She had not been home long, having celebrated her eightieth birthday at a local restaurant. She removed her full-length black overcoat and draped it over the old worn leather armchair in the hallway. Catherine was tall and slim, pale brown skinned and long grey hair which was tied up into a loose ponytail. She wore grey trousers, a white blouse, and a grey jacket. She removed her flat shoes, kicking them under the chair. She laughed to herself when she looked down at her big toe popping out through a hole in one of her black socks.
“Need to get that sorted.” She said to herself and wiggled her toe. “Another sewing job.”
Jackson walked through the door in a hurry, slipping on the wet tiled floor. Catherine reached out to catch him, but he managed to steady himself.
“Always in a rush!” Catherine said with a smile. “Slow down.” She shook her head. “Not patching you up if you slip and bash your brains all over my floor!” She chuckled.
“You know me.” Jackson said with a grin on his face. “So, are you going to be ok?”
Catherine groaned in frustration.
“I am a grown woman so stop worrying. I think I can look after myself.” She said with a hint of sarcasm. “So, go away and enjoy yourself.”
Jackson was slightly shorter than Catherine and was a muscular build. He was in his mid-forties, however, looked much older. His head shaven and his trimmed goatee was greyed. He had a thick scar from his right temple down to his cheek, jagged and deep. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and silver tie. The suit fit him tightly and looked as if it would tear if he flexed a muscle. He had a thick grey overcoat over the top of it which was worn with age. The collar was caught up at the back where he had put his coat on in a rush.
“Come here.” She got hold of his collar and straightened it, pulling it down neatly. “Enjoy the hotel, both of you. I have left you a little gift behind the reception.” Catherine winked and smiled.
“We can cancel if you want us to stay. You have not been well, and I am not happy to…” Jackson was cut short by Catherine who talked over the top of him.
“You have worked for me for many years, so stop it. You need a break.” She sighed. “Both of you do. I will be fine. I promise you.” Catherine assured him. “So, get in the car and bugger off.”
Jackson reached forward and hugged her, rubbing her back.
“Thank you for today, I had an amazing time with you both.” Catherine said. “However.” Shaking her head in disapproval. “The cake was very unimpressive.”
Jackson broke away looking shocked.
“What?” He stuttered. “Why what was wrong with it?” He words panicked. “It was your favourite.”
“It said I was eighty!” Catherine said in shock. “Two big candles with an eight and naught!” She shook her head. “Eighty indeed!” She clicked her tongue.
Jackson was lost for words.
“Lost for words?” Catherine asked with a smile on her face. “Well?” She snapped.
“But.” He hesitated. “That is your age.” He looked up and worked out the date in his head.
“I’m winding you up.” She smiled and shook her head. “You need to get a sense of humour my friend.”
“And you.” He pointed to her sock. “Need to buy some socks instead of repairing them. You can spend some money.” Jackson scoffed. “Right I am going to go now otherwise we will be late if this snow comes down any heavier. Everything is in the kitchen that you asked for. You have no meetings this week.”
“Yes, yes stop worrying and leave me in peace!” Catherine exclaimed. “I am not a child. Get lost go on!” She jokingly pushed him out of the doorway.
“We will be back on Monday afternoon at the latest.” He added.
“Jackson!” Catherine laughed. “Go.” She pointed to the car. “Give my love to Elizabeth.”
Hesitantly he smiled and walked away, briefly looking back as Catherine waved him away. She watched him get into the car and as he pulled away, she waved and slowly closed the door.
Leaning against the door she looked down the brightly lit hall. The black tiled floor, polished and sparkling. The pure white walls and ceiling that had recently been painted. On her left a black door leading to the reception room which was closed. Down each side of the wall were three large frames each with a differently designed dream catcher displayed in them. All mounted immaculately and facing each other. Spotlights from the ceiling aimed at the frames and at the centre of the hall was a large three spoked silver chandelier. At the end of the hall was a staircase leading up and curving to the left. Next to the staircase were three steps that led to the kitchen, under the staircase a door leading to the basement. In front of the banister was a small black metal stand which housed a large slim red antique vase.
“Right.” She sighed. “I’m still hungry.” Her hand went to her rumbling stomach. “Wonder what is in the fridge?” She asked herself and started to walk to the end of the hall when a mobile phone began to ring, a traditional ring tone.
“Damned thing.” Catherine groaned and stopped, walking back to the chair. “This better not be you Elizabeth.” She muttered and felt around inside her coat for the phone.
After a few seconds, she looked at the display and pressed a button, putting the phone onto the speaker.
“Thought it would be you Elizabeth.” Catherine smiled. “And before you ask. I am perfectly fine being left alone for a couple of days.” She sighed. “In fact, I would be more than fine if it was a week. A month or longer.”
“We are just worried Catherine.” Elizabeth said. “You haven’t been well.” Her voice crackled over the bad connection.
“I am a grown woman.” Catherine said. “And you know that I have managed with worse. So seriously. Stop worrying and enjoy yourself.”
“I am happy to come back. We both are.” Elizabeth said with Jackson confirming in the background.
“One more and I will sack you both and change the locks.” Catherine said abruptly.
“I cannot tell if you are serious or not?” Elizabeth asked. “Are you?”
“You tell me.” Catherine smiled. “You have known me long enough.”
“Ok.” Elizabeth was hesitant. “As long as you are ok.”
“I am fine. Have a great time.” Catherine said and ended the call. She then turned the phone off and put it back into her coat pocket. “You are staying in there for the weekend.” She grinned.
Catherine walked down the hall and descended the steps into the kitchen, flicking the light on.
The fluorescent lighting hummed into life, flooding the kitchen with harsh light. Catherine shielded her eyes and groaned.
“Need to get the lighting sorted.” She said to herself. “Never have liked it.”
A large rustic oak table took up most of the kitchen, positioned down the middle with four chairs either si
de and one at each end. At the back was a large ceramic sink and draining board with a window behind it. At the far end was a wooden oak door. To the right were stainless steel worktops, a black hob and oven with a stainless-steel extractor and hood above it. In the corner a large double refrigerator. To the right were cupboards which spanned the length of the kitchen, polished oak with silver handles. Black polished tiles covered the floor. Grey tiles covered every wall and the ceiling white with spotlights around the edges.
“Let’s see what we have.” Catherine walked to the refrigerator and opened it. The light popped into life as she scanned each shelf for something to take her fancy. She smiled and reached in for a light blue plastic container. “Homemade baked beans.” She smiled. Holding onto the square container filled with baked beans, she closed the refrigerator door and looked at the hob, and then at the worktop next to the sink where a microwave cooker was placed.
“Microwave is quicker.” She smiled and made her way to it and attempted to pull the top off the container, struggling and grunting as she tried to get her nails under the tight lid. “Damn these things.” She growled. Leaning against the worktop as she pulled at the container, Catherine grunted as she managed to pull the top off. The force of the lid popping off caused her to flip the container, spilling the contents down the front of her grey jacket and white blouse. The container dropped to the floor, the dark brown beans and sauce splattering the floor and cabinets.
Catherine held onto the counter, her knuckles white as she gripped the worktop. He eyes closed, she took a deep breath and groaned.
“Damn it.” She muttered to herself. “Was looking forward to those.” She complained and wiped the beans off her jacket, feeling them land on her feet.
“This is going to ruin.” She wiped the sauce from the jacket, watching as the stain spread across her blouse. She looked down at the container on the side, the beans still slowly making their escape towards her feet. Reaching for a red tea-towel on the top of the microwave, she brushed the remaining beans off her top and slowly bent down with a groan.
“This old age sucks.” She chuckled to herself and wiped the beans and sauce back into the container. Folding the tea-towel she attempted to clean up as much as she could, before dropping the container and towel into the sink. Reaching for a sponge, she ran it under the tap before wringing it out, she got down warily on one knee and wiped up the remaining sauce, leaving a small wet patch. Gripping hold of the worktop she pulled herself up and threw the sponge into the sink and let out a sigh of relief.
“Toast will have to do after a shower.” She said quietly to herself, feeling the cold sauce soak into her blouse. She pulled up her sleeve, looking at an antique silver water mounted on a wide black strap around her left wrist. “Think a bath will help.” She groaned and stretched her back. Breathing out deeply she left the kitchen, turning the light off as she made her way upstairs.
The car was in darkness other than the spots of streetlight poking in through the gaps in the snow-covered windshield. Martin laid in the passenger reclined passenger seat, his arms folded across his chest and his head tilted backward. Gently snoring as the condensation cloud escaped from his wide-open mouth. He was wearing a black skull cap, a black puffer jacket and black jeans. Fingerless grey gloves that revealed his chapped and worn hands, the nails chipped and dirty.
The door to the silver ford fiesta slammed shut, jolting the vehicle and causing Martin to wake in fright. He shot up in his seat in a panic, looking to the driver’s seat.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Jon snapped. “You are supposed to be keeping a lookout. Not dozing off like that you retard.”
“Sorry Jonathon.” Martin apologised. “I am so tired.”
Jon groaned.
“My name is Jon.” He huffed. “And we are not using names today. I already told you that.” He shook his head. “I am not going to regret this am I?”
“No Jon I promise.” Martin said.
“I cannot have any retard fucking up things.” Jon said through gritted teeth.
“I am not a retard.” Martin moaned. “I am a little slow. That’s all.” He smiled.
“You know what I mean.” Jon explained. “You’re my uncle and I love you but sometimes you are thick.”
“Sorry Jon.” Martin apologised. “Where did you go?” Martin smiled.
Jon sat back in the seat and sighed deeply, coughing heavily as he cleared his throat.
Jon was tall and slim with short brown hair and a rough beard. He was wearing black jeans, black fleece and a long black overcoat. Polished black boots that were wet from the melting snow.
“Went for a walk down the street.” Jon coughed. “I saw two people leave.” Jon sniffed. “Are they the staff?”
“Jackson and Elizabeth.” Martin said. “They are married.” He explained.
“I don’t really give a shit Martin.” Jon sighed in frustration. “Is it just the old girl there now?”
“Miss Catherine yes.” Martin smiled and grinned.
“You cannot use any names tonight.” Martin snapped. “Do you understand?”
Martin nodded, still grinning.
“I am serious.” Jon growled. “Where does she keep the money?” Jon turned around and faced Martin.
“I think she keeps it in her study.” Martin said.
“What do you mean you think?” Jon exclaimed. “You said you knew.”
“I saw it.” Martin argued. “In her cabinet.”
Jon groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“Don’t tell me she has a safe?” He asked.
“No, it isn’t a safe. It is a wooden cabinet.” Martin nodded and smiled.
“Who keeps money in a cabinet?” Jon scoffed. “Was it a lot?”
Martin nodded.
“Are you sure?” Jon asked.
Martin giggled and smiled.
“Don’t do that.” Jon sighed and turned around, putting his knee on the dash. “Makes you look retarded.”
Martin stopped smiling.
“Do you know a way in then? Do you still have a key?” Jon questioned him.
“The back way. In the kitchen.” Martin gave Jon a thumbs up who shook his head to say no.
“How do you know it hasn’t changed?” Jon asked him. “Most people change the codes on a regular basis.”
“Jackson used to change it every two weeks, but it was always the same numbers.” Martin said. “He made me memories them in case they were out.”
“Right.” Jon smiled unsurely. “Well I hope that they haven’t changed it. Otherwise this is all for nothing.”
“No.” Martin said shaking his head. “There is another way.”
“This is the kind of information you should have told me before. What is the other way?” Jon asked.
“They have a basement.” Martin coughed. “It leads to the shed in the back garden.”
“Is that locked?” Jon asked.
Martin nodded.
“Well that is no fucking use is it?” Jon was angry.
Martin stuttered, trying to speak. Something he did when he was nervous.
“Chill out will you.” Jon was getting impatient.
“Old lock.” Martin forced his words. “Rotten door.”
“That is good. When did you leave?” Jon rubbed his hands together.
“Four weeks.” Martin said sadly.
“Why?” Jon asked. “Thought you liked it there?”
“Jackson said I had to go.” Martin stuttered. “Made too many mistakes.”
“Wow. What an arse.” Jon snapped.
“And I killed Miss Catherine’s cat.” Martin snorted.
“You what?” Jon wasn’t sure he heard his uncle properly. “You killed what?”
Martin started stuttering, struggling to find his words.
“Cat.” He forced the word out, breathing heavily.
“You love cats.” Jon shook his head in disbelief. “Why did you kill it?”
“Accident.” Martin
said. “Didn’t mean it.”
“How did you manage that?” Jon questioned him with a smile on his face.
“There is a walk-in fridge in the basement. I was loading a delivery and the cat got in. I forgot to check it before I closed it.” Martin groaned. “Jackson always told me to check.”
Jon burst into fits of laughter, the car rocked slightly as he leaned forward and sat back heavily in his seat. Martin shook his head nervously.
“Didn’t mean it.” Martin said sadly.
“That was an accident mate. Don’t get why they got rid of you so quickly.” Jon shook his head in disbelief.
“Crashed Jackson's car.” Martin muttered.
“You what?” Jon looked around suddenly. “You don’t drive!” He was curious.
“I wanted to park it neatly for him.” Martin stuttered.
“Right?” Jon waited for the rest of the story.
“I got confused over the pedals and crashed into the wall.” Martin explained.
“Yeah that would do it.” Jon began to understand why Martin was asked to leave.
“Miss Catherine was so good to me.” Martin nodded.
“No, that good for letting you leave.” Jon scoffed. “Right. Focus.”
Martin took a deep breath and sat forward in the chair.
“What way is better?” Jon asked.
“That way.” Martin pointed to the drive.
“No. Retard. The back door or the basement?” Jon groaned.
“Don’t call me that.” Martin moaned, clearly hurt at the constant comment from Jon.
“Then don’t act like one.” Jon said harshly. “Back door or basement?”
“Basement.” Martin nodded. “I know where the padlock key is.”
“What the fuck?” Jon snapped. “Why didn’t you think to mention that earlier?!”
Martin shrugged his shoulders.
“Only just remembered.” Martin smiled.
“Oh jeez.” Jon rubbed the sides of his head. “You give me a constant headache.” He groaned.
“Sorry Jon.” Martin apologised. “The key is under a pot.”
Soul Page 1
