ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) (14 page)

“Stacy, I wanted to come before. I thought you might want to talk,” Susan began, and Cassandra winced and wondered why Stacy looked so murderous.

The woman’s jaw dropped open. She leant forward, arms akimbo, and hissed in Susan’s direction. “Why the sodding hell would I want to talk to you, you cow? And is this the sister you mentioned? I suppose she’s come to gloat too? What a fucking pair.”

Cassandra recoiled and stepped back. Susan blurted out, “I just want to say how sorry I am.”

“Sorry? You say you’re sorry? You’re nothing but an interfering bitch. I know all about your little visits, trying to get Nat to talk to you on the sly while you were pretending to take sketches. You couldn’t let things go when I told yer we were fine, could you? Nah, snooping into decent people’s lives. You think we’re scum, but I tell ya one thing, you’re nothing but dog shit on the sole of my shoe.” Stacy shook her fist in Susan’s face. “I’ve a good mind to throttle you. It was you and your filthy interfering mind. Natalie tripped on her nightdress and fell down the stairs. She was always bleeding falling over. She had no sense of balance, that girl. But you…you didn’t believe that, did ya? Nah, you went and told them all your fucking lies. Now they’ve taken my Wayne from me…they think he did it. First my Nat and now my man.”

“But Stacy! I was only—”

“Only what? Aw, piss off. You make me sick, coming here with your nerve. I know what happened. Go on shove off, and take this other cow with ya.”

“Stacy, I only wanted to say how sorry I am about Natalie. I really liked her—”

“Are you still here? Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? You came here for one reason. Your own guilt, you bloody bitch. You know what you’ve done to me, to us. Fucked up our family. Me and the other kids can’t go out now. Everyone’s saying my Wayne’s a child killer. I can’t walk down the street without someone taunting me, threatening me. You don’t care, tucked up at night in your nice little house, no doubt. Have you thought about me breaking my heart over my dear little Nat? And where’s my man, eh? Where’s their father? How will we manage now? I’ll tell you where he is, you cow. Banged up, Miss bloody Potter. Locked up.”

Cassandra swallowed and clutched at Susan’s arm to attract her attention. “Come on, Susan.” She thought it might be wise to leave. Her sister battled on, “Stacy, I want to help. I can go to the social services for you. I’ll explain, and I’m sure they’ll send someone round to help you out, see you through this time. The NSPCC are very good.”

Stacy’s face went red. “NSPCC? I don’t want their fucking help. I want my man. Everyone blames me, and do you know why? They’re saying I’m the wife of a child killer and I must have known what he was doing. I turned a blind eye and let him kill my daughter. They’re blaming me, saying I did it by ignoring the facts. What fucking facts?”

“But Stacy, you know I believed your other children might be—”

“Aw, for Christ’s sake, bugger off. I’m not letting you near my other kids. I’m coping and nobody is going to tell me how to bring them up. So on your way, you sodding bitch.” She slammed the door in their faces, in a temper.

Cassandra was already backing away, trembling all over. She felt sick inside and tears threatened. She blundered from the house, pulling her confused sister along by the arm and hurried towards the car park, fishing for her keys in her pocket. Poor Stacy; neither of them had given enough thought to how she felt about her husband’s incarceration at Her Majesty’s pleasure. All Susan worried about was Natalie and retribution for her death. She never considered what Stacy’s reaction might be and neither had Cassandra. Susan convinced her younger sister she
knew
Natalie had
not
tripped and fallen down the stairs.

Cassandra recalled what Susan said about the father. The few times Susan had met Wayne Hodges, the man greeted her in an aggressive and defiant manner. He remained seated when she entered the room, legs sprawled, T-shirt stretched taut across his belly. He had shaved his head in between the times she visited the home, and somehow this deed made Susan feel it was an act of defiance somehow. A sort of ‘Look at me…I may want your money for using my daughter, but you don’t frighten me with your airs and graces, Lady.’ Susan said his very being suggested dishonesty.

When Susan mentioned the bruising, Wayne Hodges reacted as she expected. He was belligerent, argumentative, and complained about Susan and people like her ‘poking their noses in with nasty bleeding suspicious minds’.

Susan tried to explain how she was merely concerned, especially as Natalie suffered bumps and bruises and non-attendance from school before. Wayne wasn’t convinced and whined about the authorities and how ‘nothing satisfied them these days’.

Chapter 19 January, 2013 , Inverdarroch

Cassandra cuddled the throw around her chilled body and huddled nearer the fire. A fox yipped outside her window, making her jump, and as she closed her eyes, she once again thought she heard a distant drumming…

Cassandra managed to snatch the odd half hour of sleep on the settee for the remainder of the night. Every time she felt herself drift off, her nightmares brought her back to the present. By eight o’clock she decided enough was enough and got dressed. The first thing she did was to unlock the shed and rake through the ashes in the paint tin.

Apart from her ruined jeans and top there was little else to see. She looked round the wood store and found nothing except, curiously, the old crumbling sculptures she had thrown out from the second bedroom were missing. She
knew
she put them on the workbench, which proved somebody entered her premises and almost certainly set the paint can on fire.

But did she really put them there?

Should she tell Angus and get him involved? What about Mr Triggs, the solicitor? She was troubled—it was only to be accepted. Apart from the fire, she was puzzled about the missing childish sculptures. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was they were made by a child. But there was no mention of Susan ever having married, let alone ever having given birth to any children. According to the inquest, Susan took her own life. If she wanted someone other than Cassandra to inherit, wouldn’t Susan have changed her will?

Determination flooded through Cassandra’s veins. The cottage was hers. If Susan had intended someone else to have it, there was ample time to either give it away or to have sold it. Cassandra felt saddened. Ever since seeing Susan’s work, Cassandra was convinced that if they had known each other better, in time they would have become proper friends—kindred spirits, perhaps.

Thinking of Mr Triggs raised the question of who had made the first offer for the cottage. If it was Donald, wouldn’t he have said? Cassandra remembered back to when her mother died and her parents’ house, which she always loathed, became hers. She couldn’t wait to sell it and put it on the market at once. Cassandra recalled mentioning the old family house to Susan, but the older woman swiftly changed the subject, and Cassandra hadn’t wanted to upset her. She obviously still felt bitter and hurt.

Larchfield was never a home to Cassandra, with or without siblings for company. As a child she rattled around the empty rooms looking for something interesting to play with. There was little comfort to be found in any of the downstairs rooms; they were too formal and artificially decorated. If a young girl had dared and skated down the hallway or painted in any room other than the kitchen, all hell would have broken out.

Meals were often the worst times Cassandra spent with her mother and father. The talk was cold and false, bordering on argument and sarcastic comment. When Daphne Potter ridiculed her husband one more time, Cassandra wondered what on earth the pair had seen in each other, much less how they managed to conceive!

The tight bickering, veiled criticism and the final, “I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

The replied, “You don’t have to…you know where the door is, Daphne.”

A cold laugh like chips of ice, controlled quiet and clenched fists on the spotless white table cloth, thin lips, the smell of boiled cabbage and overdone roast potatoes.

Then, the ensuing stony silence as they both sat and thought, reminding themselves why they were there in the first place.

Cassandra wondered why their staff—not the housekeeper, just the maid—never stayed more than a few months. And why were they all from Ireland? She knew Liverpool had a huge Irish population, but why did they seem to gravitate to Larchfield? Who were these young girls with their strong accents and sad eyes? Why did they choose to live there?

It wasn’t until later, when Cassandra was a young woman herself and read the reports about the stolen childhoods, she understood why the girls became fatter, but it could have been worse. Cassandra learnt that over a period of seventy years, an estimated ten thousand young women were sent to the ‘Magdalene laundries’ in Ireland to carry out unpaid manual labour under the supervision of nuns.

At least her father paid them a wage. He had wanted to give them something other than just a house where they could hide their shame.

Shaking off her childhood memories, Cassandra returned to the present and looked around for a rubbish bag in which to put the ruined clothes and charred paint tin. She needed to put some more paint and rubbish bags on her shopping list. Damn it! Why couldn’t people leave her alone? Just when Cassandra was wavering in her resolve and considering abandoning the cottage and belting back down to the city, the telephone rang. She hurried into the house for her mobile.

“Julian!” she cried and immediately wished she hadn’t sounded quite so relieved to hear a familiar and trusted voice. “How nice to hear from you.”

“That’s good.” He laughed. “Are you missing me?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“Excellent, so you won’t mind me staying for a few days.”

“Er…no, but when? What exactly do you mean?” She sensed something wasn’t right. “Julian! What have you done?”

“I got up very early and have driven through the wee hours to be with you. Take a look outside.”

Mouth open, Cassandra hurried to the front door and flung it open. Standing by her gate stood Julian, and for the first time ever she dashed down the path and flung her arms around him.

“Goodness me. I am indeed honoured. I must surprise you more often.” He looked down at her from his five foot ten inches. A broad, amused smile lit up his face as he bent his head and kissed her cheek. “Perhaps being apart does us good.”

Cassandra laughed. “I’ve only been up here for a short while, and besides, we’re not an item! You’re not my type.”

“So this is your unexpected inheritance,” Julian said a little later, after admiring the view from Cassandra’s garden. “I’ve always wondered what a Highland cottage was really like.” They stood just inside the dwelling; Julian nodded as he paced around the room. “Not overly large but plenty big enough for two people. You know you might have fallen on your feet for once. At first, I thought it was a daft idea of yours to scurry away up here, but seeing how quaint and peaceful it all is, I can’t blame you. This is an incredible setting and so Scottish! Talk about thistles and sheep droppings. Those hills are just calling out to be climbed and explored.”

Cassandra smiled. It really was nice to see him after she got over her initial shock. “Well, if you like, we can have breakfast, sort out your room, and then go for a long walk.”

“Splendid. Coffee and toast will be fine. I’ll just get my bag in while you make it.” As he left the cottage, whistling some favourite country-and-western tune, Cassandra filled the kettle and cut bread for toast. Julian’s arrival surprised her in more ways than one. Ever since she had known him, Julian was utterly predictable. To turn up without warning was completely out of character. It crossed her mind that Cynthia and Rosie might have put him up to it. She knew they worried about her, and more than once, both had tentatively asked where their relationship was going. She grinned. Nowhere! Julian was a friend and nothing more. It got her thinking. She hadn’t finished clearing the second bedroom, Susan’s old studio. If Julian wanted the privacy of a bedroom and to not have to doss down on the settee, she needed to get the room ready.

“So…apart from the marvellous walks around here, what else is there for recreation? What are your neighbours like?” Julian asked on his return from the car.

Cassandra smiled. “Not a lot, quite honestly. I did go to an art exhibition with a neighbour yesterday.” God, was it really only yesterday? Since then, there had been a fire and now this huge surprise with Julian’s arrival. “There’s a pub about two miles away, which we can walk to if you fancy a pint. The neighbours are a mixed bunch. One or two are okay, and I’ve met them all now.”

Julian eyed her with interest. “Was the exhibition anything to do with your sister?”

“It was. It was in Edinburgh.” For some reason, she didn’t admit she had gone with Angus. Even though it wasn’t a date, Cassandra loved spending time with Angus and wanted to keep it her secret. If she as much as mentioned to Julian there was a single male living in Inverdarroch, he would have made it his business to inform Cynthia and Rosie before the day was out.

“I looked her up on the internet you know. She was well thought of in the sculpture world. What was her work like in the flesh?”

“Pretty amazing. Susan seemed to specialise in animal art, using different mediums. Some of her pieces are quite lovely.”