ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) (9 page)

A knock on her door roused her from her reverie. She wondered if it was Angus coming to see if she had survived the night. Like the ones before, she woke at least four times after disturbing dreams. Cassandra glanced in the mirror before seeing who it was and gave a start. Her face looked pale and tired, her peaty-brown eyes, smoky and clouded. But what shocked her most was realising how much weight she had lost recently. Cassandra had been so preoccupied during the previous few months, she hadn’t given her looks any thought. She recalled how her newest jeans were tight when she first bought them. Now they slid over her bottom without any bother.
Thank heavens for small mercie
s, she thought as she drew back the bolts.

“Hello there. Remember me? Sorry to bother you this early. Donald and I saw you were here for a visit and wondered if you’d like to come round for coffee this morning.”

Cassandra was surprised to see Fiona on her doorstep. So far, she had exchanged only a few words with her and her partner. She hesitated for a second as she remembered the opened tin of paint and the day’s planned painting. Did she actually want to be sociable? She thought back to Rosie’s and Angus’s well-meant words and her own catechism. She needed to be active and get her mind onto new things. Being gregarious was one of them.

“Of course, if you’re too busy or have something else planned.” Fiona hopped from one foot to the other. She was tall and skinny and dressed in a three-quarter length coat over fur boots and black leggings. On her head, she was wearing a pale-blue ski hat with false pigtails. Her dirty-blonde hair hung down her back. Despite Fiona being in her late twenties or early thirties, Cassandra thought she dressed as if she was sixteen.

“No, nothing that can’t wait. It would be very nice. Thank you.” She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly ten o’clock. “What time?”

“Whenever you like. We’re always awake and up and about early.” Fiona laughed and rolled her eyes. “You know what men are like.”

Cassandra didn’t, but smiled anyway. “Okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll be over.” She thought if she went immediately, she would still have time to get on with her painting.

Fiona hopped off the step and skipped up the path. “See you later, then. I’ll go and put the kettle on. It’ll be nice having someone new to chat to.”

Cassandra didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh. She couldn’t see Fiona and her becoming bosom pals, but maybe she was being unkind.

Donald and Fiona lived beyond the farm, and as Cassandra passed, she could see at least two of the brothers in the yard. Both were muffled in donkey jackets; one was lugging hay bales around, while the other was stacking wood. Neither responded to her wave, although she knew they had seen it, as she saw them exchange comments. They paused in their work and leaned over a five-bar gate. She felt a fool and shrugged to herself. She wasn’t as needy as that! Their loss, not hers. It was strange but she never saw their sister, Carol. She wondered if she was as bad as the rest of the family.

She moved on up the hill until she could see the last cottage of the hamlet. Just before it, stood a church—or kirk as she knew they were known up here. The kirk was typically made of granite; its square tower loomed high above the few trees dotted around the grounds. Cassandra noticed just inside the churchyard grounds there stood a two-metre block of gneiss, carved on both sides. On one face of the stone there was a cross, taking up the entire surface and decorated with interlaced knotwork. At the top of the cross were two carved circular projections. In the angles of the cross were symbols which she had previously been told were ancient Pictish.

Against the grey sky, the churchyard looked sheltered and peaceful. There was a scattering of tombstones, many lying at oblique angles, all covered with yellowing lichen. Cassandra paused at the wicket gate and on an impulse walked inside. She had never visited the grounds or the kirk, and she thought a few minutes exploring wouldn’t matter before she went to Fiona’s for coffee. Most stones were unreadable, but here and there she deciphered a few dates and names, not recognising any which tied in with the current village inhabitants. She wandered round to the other side and discovered she wasn’t the only person visiting the churchyard that dull morning.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you there. I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” she said, backing off in embarrassment when he opened his eyes and looked momentarily dazed.

He was sitting on a wooden bench sited under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree. He was thin and angular, his face surprisingly lined and pale, and Cassandra guessed he was probably in his early forties. The man was dressed in an old-fashioned heavy tweed jacket and black wool trousers, a tartan scarf wound round his neck and tucked inside the front of his jacket. He started upon seeing her, then seemed to gather himself and raised a hand in greeting. “No, not at all. You’re not disturbing me. I come here for the peace and views across the heather. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

Cassandra looked across the expanse before them and agreed. “It is.” Curious, she turned round to study him more closely. “I’m not sure if I’ve seen you in the village before. Are you visiting or do you live hereabouts?”

“Visiting. Aye, that’s right.”

There was something about his manner, his subtle movement, and the shape of his head which reminded Cassandra of someone. She couldn’t place her finger on it because the feeling was so tenuous and ephemeral. It was like a fleeting glance into another life. Shaking her head of the notion, good manners dictated she had no right to question him further. She must have seen him around the village on a previous trip to the Highlands.

“Enjoy your peace and quiet. Bye.” Cassandra left him in the churchyard and proceeded up the hill. The impression stayed with her until she reached Fiona and Donald’s cottage only a few steps away.

Their place was about the same size as Shadow Vale, but in a far worse state of repair. She wondered why it was so tattered and rundown. The front garden was hardly a garden at all. It was completely neglected and overgrown with untidy bushes and prickly briars. She saw that round the side and back there was a motley collection of junk ranging from a discarded three-legged chair to a rolled-up threadbare carpet. A few loose hens pecked desultorily in the dirt, clucking forlornly as Cassandra pushed the rickety gate open.

Fiona must have been watching from the window, as the door opened before Cassandra had time to knock. “Come in, come in and meet Donald,” she said, clutching hold of Cassandra by the arm and leading her into the living room. “Oh, silly me! I forgot you’ve already met. Never mind, sit down. Shall I take your coat, even though it’s a bit cold in here still?” She looked doubtfully at the small fire smouldering in the hearth. She looked up and gave a bright smile. “Never mind. It’ll get going in a minute, and a cup of coffee will warm us up nicely. Ah, here you are, Donald. Cassandra’s just arrived.”

Donald walked into the room and nodded. “Nice to see you again. Fiona will see to the coffee. Please sit down. How are you settling in?”

Cassandra noticed Fiona had no Scottish accent at all, but Donald possessed a slight burr. She guessed neither were born in Scotland and wondered idly where they were from. Cassandra glanced round the room and saw it was similar in size to the one at Shadow Vale but contained very little furniture. Apart from a small wooden table and two pine dining chairs, there was a two-seater sofa along one wall and one armchair nearest the fire. Cassandra chose the chair and sat perched near the edge while Donald moved towards the sofa. The walls were devoid of colour and badly in need of paint. A couple of framed pictures hung lopsidedly: reproductions of Scottish scenes depicting stag and wild mountains.

“Okay, thanks. There’s a bit of decorating I’d like to get done.”

“Here we are,” Fiona breezed into the room, carrying a tray of coffee mugs. “There’s milk and sugar, if you want it, and some shortbread.” She beamed at Cassandra. “I made it myself. Do try it.”

Cassandra returned the girl’s smile and helped herself, feeling Donald’s eyes upon her hands and face. When she looked up, his eyes slid away, and he picked up his mug.

“So, now that you’ve returned to Inverdarroch,” he said between sips, “how long are you intending to stay this time? Not that we want to get rid of you. It’s always nice to see new faces around the place.”

Cassandra looked from Donald to Fiona. “I’m not sure. I thought for at least a month, maybe longer.”

Donald raised his eyebrows a fraction. “A month, you say. Well then, you’re likely to be seeing some raw weather before too long. The snow we’ve just seen may not have lasted, but we’ll be having more before the week
’s out, I’ll ken.”

Fiona nodded. “We often get late snow and sometimes get snowed in, it’s all very romantic! Of course, the lads at the farm help us out, when they can be bothered.” She threw a look at Donald and beamed. “We’ve needed a tow more than once.”

“It’s just as well I’ve got some supplies in, although I will need some more vegetables.” Cassandra agreed.

“A vegetarian, are you? I’ve always wanted to be one, but Donald likes his meat, don’t you, Donald? It would be too much bother making two different meals in the evening.” Fiona squeezed his shoulder in passing before flopping down on the rug in front of the fire. Cassandra guessed from Fiona’s manner and the looks she gave Donald, she was completely smitten by him.

Donald was slightly taller than Fiona. She was blonde and skinny; he was dark-haired and wiry in build. He was quite handsome in a happy-go-lucky sort of way, Cassandra thought, and around the same age as she was. He leaned forward and smiled at Cassandra, although she noticed his eyes looked shrewd and cunning. “I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so soon about it, but I have a proposal to put to you.”

Cassandra opened her eyes and nodded. “Try me,” she said wondering what on earth he was going to say. “I’m a big girl.”

“I thought you might like to sell me Shadow Vale. You’ll not want to live here. There’s nothing for you. It’s miles from anywhere and needs complete refurbishing.”

Cassandra blinked and glanced round the room. “But you already have a place.”

“Ah! But I don’t own it, and the owner doesn’t want to sell. Too old and set in her ways. I thought if you were going to sell, you’d give me first refusal,”

“Well, I haven’t considered it,” she said, remembering Mr Triggs’ telephone call that very morning. How strange! Two offers in one day and the cottage wasn’t even on the market.

“You understand the place won’t fetch much since there’s considerable wood rot in the roof timbers. But we’re prepared to make an offer.”

He sat back with his elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled together, and looking, Cassandra thought, smug and expectant. Fiona looked from one to the other with an eager look
upon her face. When Cassandra looked surprised and wrinkled her brow, Donald leaned forward and named his price.

“It doesn’t seem very much, even if it does need a new roof as you’ve suggested,” Cassandra said, her frown deepening.

“Oh, but it is. Nobody wants a cottage way up in the Highlands these days. Think of what you’d have to do to make it comfortable. For starters, you need a new roof, central heating, complete rewiring, and an up-to-date bathroom and kitchen. Surely a woman such as yourself, on your own, wouldn’t want the bother. To say nothing of the costs.” He sat back and licked his lips.

“But if it’s got that much wrong with it, why would
you
bother?” she countered, puzzled and feeling put out by Donald’s explanation.

He took a slurp of his coffee before answering. “The cottage belonged to my folk some years back. I simply want to return it to the family. I’m prepared to add another two thousand pounds on top of my offer, but it’s all I can manage.”

Cassandra replaced her coffee cup onto the tray and found her hands were shaking. “Thank you for the coffee. I really must go now. I’ll give it some thought, but I don’t think so, all the same. It’s too early for me to decide.” As the words left her mouth, she wondered why she said them. Wasn’t it her plan to sell it anyway?

She stood up and walked towards the door way, realising she hadn’t even removed her coat. Fiona trailed after her, looking concerned. “You don’t have to go. I’m sorry if we’ve upset you. We just thought we’d ask in case someone else got in first. Donald really has set his heart on getting the cottage, and I hate seeing him despondent.”

Cassandra turned and looked at Fiona. Donald was still lazing on the sofa, watching the two women. “It’s okay. I’m not upset, just surprised, and I really do have to go. I need some eggs for lunch, and I thought I’d stop by the farm.”

Walking back towards Shadow Vale, Cassandra was astonished by her reaction to Donald’s proposal. It wasn’t the low offer which upset her, nor his explanation that it once belonged to his family. She decided that was a
complete
fabrication. No, she was sure Donald had leapt at the chance of getting a property cheap. She knew that when done up, Highland cottages were often highly desirable holiday homes. She came to the conclusion she was annoyed and upset because the cottage had belonged to her sister. Neither Donald nor Fiona even mentioned her! So much for caring neighbours! Susan’s death was still raw to Cassandra. Here in this quiet valley was where Susan had made her home after leaving the family. If she sold the place she would have nothing left of her but a few sculptures. A sale might be the best thing over time when Susan’s shocking death was out of her system, but certainly not immediately.