ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) (2 page)

“It’s hardly going to make you a fortune,” Cynthia grumbled. “There’s no central heating, acres of adjoining heathland, an overgrown garden, and it’s miles from the nearest decent shopping centre. Not what you’d call a metropolis.”

“There’s a huge fireplace, and I saw a massive pile of logs when I looked in that sort of woodshed thingy.”

Rosie swivelled round on the sofa and hugged her knees. She was dressed in pale-green thick trousers and a cashmere turtleneck sweater. “What Cyn and I really mean is…we’re worried you’re going to be lonely and depressed tucked away in the Highlands of Scotland. You’ll be completely out of your depth. You’ve never lived in the country.”

Cynthia nodded, helping herself to half a glass of wine. “We don’t think you’re thinking this through. Don’t you think your reasons might be a bit muddled?”

Cassandra rose from her chair and wandered to the window. The rain had eased to a thin drizzle, and she watched it slide like oil down the glass. She knew Rosie and Cynthia had her best interests at heart, and everything they said made sense. All her arguments were full of holes, yet she felt compelled. Something was making her seek solitude, and she didn’t know the real reason. Was she trying to prove something?

The last few weeks and months of her life had been unbelievable. She had gone from living a—what she thought— perfectly normal existence to one where she was scurrying around feeling nervy and depressed. After her sister’s sudden death, all her confidence had disappeared in one quick blow. But she needed something to cling to. She wanted to use the time to come to terms with past events and find the strength to be the old, robust, and resilient Cassandra. She turned back and smiled at her friends.

“You know me. I’m strong, tough. I’ll be fine in a few months. You wait and see.”

Rosie and Cynthia exchanged glances.

“It could have happened to anyone,” Rosie started, stopping when Cassandra held up a hand.

“But it bloody well happened to me because of
Susan
. Please don’t go into that again. I can’t stand it.” Her voice rose and her face paled.

“We do understand. You’ve been demoralised, and the newspapers haven’t helped.”

“Too right they haven’t.” Cassandra felt her palms sweating, her heart racing.

“They went too far. It could have happened to anyone, but Susan—” Cynthia stopped as Cassandra raised her hands to her head and spoke through clenched teeth.

“I said, don’t say that again. I can’t bear hearing it.”

She turned away, her mind reeling. What she really wanted was time on her own to think and to grieve for her sister: the sister she had only recently met and with whom she had spent such a short time. Susan had tracked her down, and when they finally caught up with each other eight months previously, they tried hard to get along. But because of the circumstances of their separate lives and the difference in their ages, it hadn’t really worked. Susan was eighteen years older—another generation entirely. It was some time before Susan actually admitted she lived in Scotland most of the time. She was a sculptor, although Cassandra never saw any of her work because she lived miles from Cassandra’s home town of Liverpool. But what Cassandra didn’t understand was why Susan had become so involved with the Hodges family in the first place. Cassandra remembered their stilted conversations about the child, Natalie: the innocent little child with the pale-grey eyes and mid-brown hair. The girl who’s solemn face once graced the
front page of every tabloid across the nation. The child whom Susan said
she
had allowed to die through her own ignorance and unawareness. It wasn’t until much later that Cassandra realised why Susan felt compelled to help the child.

There was little point in saying any more to Rosie and Cynthia. They understood only too well. It could have happened to them—or anyone, for that matter. The saddest thing was it should never have happened, but it would. Again and again.

Cassandra’s thoughts drifted back to Susan’s account of the weeks leading up to Natalie’s death seven months previously. While Cassandra had no personal experience of children, after listening to Susan, she suspected there was cruelty in that miserable home. Susan described everything so clearly, it was as if Cassandra had become an unwilling part of the tragedy.

It transpired Susan was using Natalie as a model for her work. She was making a large sculpture of a group of children from different ethnic backgrounds and home environments throughout Britain. Susan said that every time she called the parents to discuss the project, she sensed something wasn’t right. The mother, Stacy, had a new infant, as well as Natalie and her little brother Darren; sometimes when Susan knocked, she was ignored, even though she was certain someone was at home.

Cassandra did her best to listen to Susan’s fears, but she had her own busy life and accompanying problems. It wasn’t her business. If only she had made it more so, perhaps she could have helped. Afterwards, Cassandra’s friends were unstinting in their support. Yet, for one fleeting moment, she wished that she was in their shoes, that it had happened to one of them, and that it was she who was sitting there offering advice and sympathy. Cassandra shook away her diabolical and uncharitable thought; she was the worst of friends and they were the best, but she was only human.

Cassandra couldn’t forget the idea that although she wasn’t the one who had given evidence in court, the prosecution had been aimed at her, by her association with her sister. Cassandra got drunk one night and pathetically blurted out her fears to her friends.

“That’s rubbish and you know it. The whole inquiry board weren’t there to find your sister guilty. Susan did everything in her power to help that family. She couldn’t foresee what was going to happen. The inquiry found her blameless and said the social services could perhaps have done more.”

But how could a child be murdered and any one of them be blameless? Could Susan have done more? Should
she
have listened more closely to her sister? Cassandra couldn’t get it out of her mind; even sleep was hard to come by, and when it did, she had nightmares.

Cynthia and Rosie tried hard to support her with kindness and help. But Cassandra felt awkward, and worried they were overdoing the kindness bit. Was their well-meaning support preventing her from healing herself? Being alone in the Scottish cottage would rid her of such thoughts. It was time to stop torturing herself. A stay in Scotland was the right thing to do, and Cynthia and Rosie just had to accept it.

Chapter 3 June 2012, Liverpool

“Cassandra!  My God, it’s so terrible.” Susan had phoned Cassandra in a panic and was sobbing. “I don’t know what to do. It’s Natalie Hodges…”

She knew, she knew
! But how did she die? The solemn child with the knowing grey eyes.

“Susan, slow down, what are you saying?”

“Nothing’s been proven yet, but a possible blow to the head…tripped over her nightdress—” Cassandra heard the indrawn breath as Susan inhaled on her ever-permanent cigarette.

“When? Where was she?”

“Last night.” There was a silence as Cassandra took it in.

“What about the other children? The new baby and the boy—what’s his name?”

“Darren. They’ve been placed in care…a placement of safety order. There’s no sign of abuse.”

Cassandra felt deathly cold. As cold as the dead child.

“I’ll come to you…stay where you are. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

My God. There it was…yet Susan had
known
it was going to happen. Hadn’t she? Susan had said as much. Was she as guilty as the father? Susan had described the rough-looking, gold-earringed, tattooed Wayne Hodges, who had sworn blind his five-year-old stepdaughter had tripped over her nightdress and fallen down the stairs.

Cassandra closed her eyes and pressed her hand to stop her trembling mouth. Poor little Natalie. Poor Susan…

Chapter 4 January, 2013, Inverdarroch, Scotland

Inverdarroch was hardly mentioned as an area of outstanding beauty on the internet, but Cassandra considered the retreat of the glen possessed an impossible splendour. Wild, rugged, and remote, this part of the Scottish Highlands was among Europe's last great areas of untamed wilderness. With charm and grandeur, it was a place where nature ruled supreme. Apart from the forested area near her cottage, the rest of the glen and surrounding ridge was dotted with birch trees under a vast, changing sky. It was an ancient place of austere rock-hewn landscapes, windswept summits, of wild moorland, and high cliffs. The remoteness and purity was
breath-taking and the perfect place for Cassandra to spend hours taking photographs.

Cassandra had first seen Inverdarroch the previous autumn. She had spent an uncomfortable first weekend camping in the cottage because she hadn’t brought enough supplies with her. Later, after mulling over her idea of spending time alone in the glen, she had driven up there a few times, taking some odds and ends from her city flat to brighten the austerity of the stone cottage.

Christmas came and went; she hardly noticed the usual festivities. It was mid-January, and she had finally persuaded Cynthia and Rosie she needed an extension of leave due to ill-health. She suspected her absence would inconvenience them for a time, but she needed to get back on her feet. Cassandra was free to do what she wanted in order to claim her life back. She wanted to lay her own ghost.

Not long after the tragedy of little Natalie’s demise the year before, Cassandra had to contend with the death of a member of her own family. Her sister, Susan, had returned to Scotland and passed away. She was about eighteen years older than Cassandra: fifty-seven. It wasn’t old by modern-day standards. The solicitor’s letter explained Susan died suddenly of an overdose of anti-depressants. She had also been diagnosed earlier with a brain aneurysm. Cassandra knew all about aneurysms: an abnormal widening or ballooning of a portion of an artery due to weakness in the wall of the blood vessel. Her father had also suffered from one. Cassandra knew they could be hereditary due to a genetic link; she wondered whether she should be screened.
Later, when I feel more at peace,
she told herself.

Despite the uncertainty of why aneurysms occurred, she knew certain things were thought to exacerbate the condition. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, and cigarette smoking were all considered to be predisposing factors, and judging by the smell and evidence of nicotine around the place—stained curtains and ceilings—Susan had definitely been a heavy smoker. Cassandra wondered why Susan took the overdose; perhaps Natalie’s death and the aneurysm hanging over her had led to depression. She could imagine Susan all alone and despondent, wondering if and when the condition would kill her. Why hadn’t Susan contacted her again? Cassandra would have been glad to visit her older sister and explore where she lived. They should have got to know each other better. Cassandra had been stunned when she received the solicitor’s letter. It was so impersonal. Susan died intestate, and as Cassandra was her only known relative, the cottage and contents in Scotland were hers. It was as cold and as matter-of-fact as that. She thought back to her friends’ first reactions to her stunning revelations.

Chapter 5 August 2012, Liverpool

“How amazing,” Rosie exclaimed upon hearing Cassandra’s news last year. “A romantic cottage tucked away in Scotland. You can use it for your summer holidays.”

“Everyone knows Scotland’s swarming with ferocious mosquitoes in summer,” Cynthia chimed in. “Far better to sell it and buy a bigger place down here. Fancy you not knowing about it.”

“Well, I knew she lived in Scotland, but I didn’t know where exactly, and that’s because I knew nothing about her life. She never told me about this place until much later, and before Susan contacted me, I had no idea where she lived or even if she was still alive,” Cassandra cried.

Her friends looked at her with wrinkled noses and frowns. “What?”

Cassandra felt embarrassed because she had never fully explained Susan’s sudden appearance in her life until after Natalie’s death, and it certainly wasn’t the time to explain in depth how odd both her parents had been throughout her life. “Susan was eighteen years older than me. I…I can’t remember ever meeting her. My parents never mentioned her because she left home when she was a teenager. I grew up thinking the worst. I imagined she was a drug addict or an alcoholic and had decided to turn her back on the family and live as a recluse.”

“Wow. How crazy.” Rosie sat down next to her. She placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “So until a few months ago, you never knew you had an older sister?”

Cassandra shook her head. “No. You see, apparently, she ran away from home, and my parents cut her off. Can you imagine? They had nothing more to do with her, and I only found out by accident I had a sister when I came across some old photographs tucked away in a leather-bound book one day.”

“But what about when you found the photos? Didn’t you ask your parents about them? Like, who the person was?”

“Of course I did. My father said ‘ask your mother’, and she was about as open as a clam. She told me practically nothing, except that Susan didn’t want anything to do with the family. I did think about trying to trace her, but Mother was so awkward, and time just flew. It’s dreadful. I’m just happy we did finally meet before this.”