“Oh! Well I just wanted to check that young Veronica Summers was well.”
I gave Will my best, most exasperated look. “Why would I know anything about that?”
Mrs Teasdale paused, smiling to herself knowingly, almost smugly. I’d obviously just confirmed something she’d probably already been gossiping about. “Well I know you two have been best friends since you were tiny little things. But I haven’t seen you round her house recently.”
I could feel the anger rising in me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but how would you know unless you spent every second of the day sitting in your window seat and peering out of your hideous net curtains?”
Will started choking on his drink as I gave Mrs Teasdale my best smile. I didn’t feel particularly bad about it; she’d received much worse from the subjects of her spying in the past.
“There’s no need to be like that, young lady. I only ask as I know you’ve, let’s say, fallen out with your parents recently.”
I wanted to ask her how on earth she knew that, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I just looked at her with what I hoped was a straight poker face.
“Well, it just seems a coincidence, what with Veronica having that awfully loud argument with her parents. Multiple times, in fact.”
Is there anyone V hadn’t been arguing with? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs Teasdale.”
“Well,” she said, settling into her story, “it started one morning a few weeks ago. I thought young Veronica was going to shout the house down! I nearly called the police; I thought it was a domestic dispute.” She smiled, adding proudly, “I’m with Neighbourhood Watch, don’t you know.”
Will spoke for the first time since we’d been joined by Little Miss Gossip. “I think everyone in Covershire knows you’re with Neighbourhood Watch.” He said it in a slow, bored drawl. I tried to stop myself from laughing.
Mrs Teasdale moved her attention across to Will. “That’s enough of the old cheek out of you, young lad!”
I watched, amused, as Will tried to think of something to say, gave up, and went back to staring at his drink.
“Look, Mrs Teasdale. I appreciate your concern but I’m not really friends with Veronica anymore. I’m sure you heard about our little disagreement at the Diner. I don’t know what her argument was about.”
Mrs T stared at me for a few seconds then nodded to herself. “Something about a photograph if I recall. I didn’t get much more than that; my hearing aid was on the blink.”
I gave Will a knowing look. I was surprised Mrs T hadn’t been outside Veronica’s front door with a glass pressed to it.
“I don’t know anything about a photograph.” Or did I? I tried to rack my brains but nothing was standing out. I didn’t see why V would fall out with her parents over a photo, and I certainly didn’t see how it would have anything to do with me.
Mrs Teasdale must have guessed she wasn’t going to get anything juicy out of me and started standing up. “It’s just a shame, is all. I don’t like young ladies fighting with their parents, you should have more respect!”
I stared at her, not saying a word.
“Well, I’d better go and check on my nephew. I once gave him the job of changing a few light bulbs and he nearly ended up burning the whole house down!”
Will laughed into his drink again as Mrs T shuffled off towards the door.
“That was… enlightening.”
Will nodded. “Do you think her fighting with her parents has anything to do with you?”
I shrugged. “I doubt it.”
“What about the photo thing?”
“I bet Mrs T just heard wrong. She said so herself - her hearing aid was dodgy.”
Will nodded, going back into deep thought mode.
I was just about to ask him to describe in detail what Connor and Norman were doing in the woods when Norman himself entered the pub. I didn’t have to gesture to Will - who had his back to the rest of the Inn - as Norman soon made his presence known.
“My usual please!” he shouted at the bar, not even bothering to walk over to it. He took residence at the table in the middle of the room and then noticed John Walker sitting on his own at the next table. He moved to join him, seemed to rethink his request, and yelled out, “Actually, bring over two, would you?”
John shook his hand in appreciation.
John Walker was the local GP and my dad’s best friend, and he often hung around the pub after finishing work at the Little Forest Surgery. I’d never seen him be friendly with Norman before, but then again, until recently I hadn’t exactly been a regular at the Inn. I wondered how many strange friendships and illicit romances I’d been missing by hanging out in the Diner instead of here; I was beginning to see that people my own age weren’t anywhere near as interesting as the older generations.
Will looked at his watch and sighed. “I’m really sorry, Beth, but I’ve got to get to work. Unless you want me to try and get it off?”
I shook my head. “Thanks, Will, but I’ll be fine. Really.”
I finished my tea before following him out of the pub, rolling my eyes as Will handed me the investigation notebook. “Write down last night.”
I nodded and said bye to him as he hugged me gently - obviously mindful of the arm - before he walked off towards Main Street. My feeling of safety vanished as he disappeared round the corner.
I thought about going back inside for another tea, but seeing Norman through the window - who seemed to be settling in for the day - I decided against it. Since my dream, I no longer thought of him as the kind old grandfather figure. Not his fault, by any means, but I couldn’t look at his face without seeing that dual image of him, grinning widely at himself.
So, instead, I put the notebook in my bag and started off towards home, hoping my parents wouldn’t be out for much longer.
I ran into Connor as I rounded the corner. Great.
“Beth.”
I looked behind him, but the Garden Man was nowhere to be seen. “Connor.”
“Are you OK? You left in a hurry earlier.”
“I’m fine.”
He pointed at my arm. “Does it hurt much?”
I shook my head. “I got some pretty strong painkillers.”
“Good, so you can help me.” He grabbed my other arm and started walking me in the opposite direction to where I’d been headed.
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Alarm bells were going off in my head. Major bloody alarm bells.
He ignored my question. “You said you met Will at the Inn. Was Norman there? He usually is at this time. Generally for hours.”
I nodded, bewildered.
“Good. I need you to come with me to Hill Top Farm.”
I stopped walking. “What? Why? I just told you, Norman’s in the pub. He won’t be there.”
He rolled his eyes, which I now realised were glinting with excitement. “Well, yeah. Breakin’ and enterin’ usually works better when the person isn’t at home.”
My stomach did a little flip. Hell, it did a cartwheel. “Are you insane?”
Connor turned to face me, standing a little too close for comfort. I thought of him obliviously standing this close to the Garden Man and shivered. “I know you don’t trust me, Beth. And I don’t blame you, but I need your help. You know the farm, you’ve been there before, right?”
I nodded reluctantly.
“I need someone who knows the layout, I need someone to watch my back.” He stepped even closer, running his hand down my left arm and letting it come to rest on my hand. “I need you.”
I shivered again, but this time for a different reason. Man, this guy wasn’t above using his charms to get what he wanted.
I tried to clear my head - which was hard to do with his hand stroking mine - and tried to remember the Connor from Main Street; the angry, scary Connor. The potential murderer.
I pulled back from him, shaking my head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
/>
He closed his eyes for a second, nodding slightly to himself. “OK, I’ll cut the seduction crap. I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I like you. I want to be your friend. I know I’ve been actin’ a little…” he smiled bitterly, “crazy, but I’m just not used to this. I’m not used to the police bein’ on my back, I’ve never even been in a fight before, let alone been questioned for hours about a missin’ person. I wish you could have seen the person I was back in Ireland…” He took a deep breath. “I realise I’m not handlin’ this well, but I’m beggin’ you to help me.”
This Connor seemed sincere. He seemed kind. And he seemed frightened.
“OK, let’s say for argument’s sake that I agreed to come with you. What on earth are you expecting to find in Norman’s house?”
Connor smiled, that sparkle of excitement coming back into his eyes.
“Evidence.”
***
Fifteen minutes later we arrived at Hill Top Farm. Neither of us had said much on the walk; I was feeling much too nervous to make small talk and by the looks of it, so was Connor - he kept peering at his watch and messing with his hair.
Fortunately for me, as soon as we got there and were greeted by the ominous black iron gates, the adrenaline kicked in and I started to feel a little excited myself. I just hoped I wasn’t doing something incredibly stupid by coming here with Connor (apart from the obvious illegality of it, but I was trying hard not to think about that).
I couldn’t, however, say that the adrenaline was kicking in for Connor - he was standing gazing at the gates with a look of uncertainty lurking over his features.
A dirt-encrusted sign sporting the words ‘Hill Top Farm’ had definitely seen better days, and the old brass letter box that had been built into the wall was now stuffed with grass, dead leaves, and rubbish. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the place was no longer home to anyone.
The gates - though large and imposing - were just for show, and I reached out to touch one of the rusty yet ornate handles. Sure enough, as soon as I put a tiny amount of pressure onto it, the gate swung open with ease, and I pulled a still nervous-looking Connor through before shutting it behind us.
The driveway leading to the farm was everything a large, country house’s driveway should be: long, grand and sweeping.
Unfortunately, due to years of neglect, the once perfectly spaced trees lining either side of the gravel drive were now unkempt and overgrown, giving the previously pristine farm entrance an ancient and withered look.
The farm, like its owner, was slowly crumbling and decaying.
Connor and I ran up the path, gravel crunching noisily beneath our feet, eager to be away from the main road and any prying eyes that may pass by. It only took thirty seconds or so before we stopped in front of the main building.
I hadn’t seen the farmhouse for years (I’d been here several times when I was younger, both with my mum and with school on some kind of environmental learning exercise), and like the path, it had seen better days. It was in a serious state of disrepair and as it was no longer a working farm, the empty animal pens and stables I could see in the grounds made it look like no one had lived there for decades.
I could just about make out the huge barn in the distance, looming over all the little stables and outhouses that were forever in its giant shadow, and pointed it out to Connor. The barn had always scared me as a kid; there used to be massive hay bales piled right to the top, some of them arranged so they created a kind of hollow space in the middle. Veronica had once tried to force me into climbing a particularly large tower of hay bales and I’d refused; I was terrified of falling from the top or getting lost in the dark, dirty labyrinth of farm feed.
I laughed to myself as I watched Connor walk across the cobbled courtyard towards the barn. I bet if I went in there now, in my grown-up body of 5 feet 7 inches, it would seem tiny. I’d experienced the strange memory effect of childhood sizes before; every time I visited the primary school I marvelled at how small the chairs were, how tiny the tables, how petite the classrooms. They’d seemed huge as a child, and the hay bale barn at Hill Top Farm had seemed absolutely monolithic in comparison.
I watched Connor disappear into the barn, had a brief moment of wanting to run away, and then started looking in the windows of the main building. Now I was here, I was curious myself. Maybe I could get something out of Connor to note down in the investigation book.
Despite my previous visits, I’d never been into the Carters’ living areas of the farm and I wasn’t sure what to expect. What I saw through the grimy glass seemed to be a normal country kitchen - if a little dated - with a large wooden table in the centre and an old, black AGA along one wall. I moved round the outside of the building and eventually came to the door. Without really thinking I tried the handle and, to my surprise, watched as the door opened with a loud creak. Pausing, I hovered in the doorway, too scared to go in but wanting badly to look around. I yelled Connor’s name at the top of my lungs so it would carry over to the barn, and after a couple of minutes he came running over.
“Jesus that barn smells bad, looks like he doesn’t do anythin’ with it, he’s just left it with animal shite everywhere. I had a good rummage in the hay, anyway.”
I frowned. “Well I can’t smell it from here; he must just stick to the house these days, he probably doesn’t even remember what’s in most of those buildings. What exactly were you rummaging for?”
He just shrugged as we both walked inside.
The room wasn’t as normal as it had seemed through the dusty windows.
I looked around the kitchen, taking everything in, silently wishing I’d said no to Connor, after all.
He was obviously thinking the same thing as me. “How long’s ‘is wife been dead?”
I cast my mind back to her headstone. “About five years.”
We looked at each other in disbelief and after a few indecisive seconds, I reached out to hold his hand, wincing slightly at the pain in my arm. It seemed my pills were beginning to wear off.
The kitchen was undeniably sinister, and with its mounted stuffed animal heads and hunting paraphernalia adorning the walls, it had the air of an old horror film set. All of these things were unquestionably disturbing, but it was something else that made the hairs on my arms prickle with a morbid excitement; I hadn’t been able to tell from the outside, but the large oak table was perfectly set for a meal. For two.
There were two plates, two sets of cutlery, two bowls, two glasses, two napkins, and two newspapers set out on the table. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and the glasses were eternally linked to the bowls and cutlery by many intricate cobwebs. I walked closer and my stomach churned as I noticed the front of the newspapers; the date on them was 5th February 2006.
I looked at Connor, who - after a second of staring at the table - raised his eyebrows and made a ‘Psycho’ stabbing motion with his free hand. I didn’t appreciate the humour.
I wanted to say something, to express my fear as well as my sympathy for Norman, but nothing would come out. It was as if I was too scared to put my thoughts into words, to make them as real as the horrifying meal set-up.
Stepping away from the table, I looked around the rest of the kitchen, dragging Connor with me as I went. I tried to avoid looking at the stuffed deer’s head above the sink and winced when I saw a long, black rifle mounted over the door. I loved animals and people who went hunting made me sick. But this wasn’t the time to get into that debate.
Apart from the hunting trophies, the main theme in the room was Doris Carter; the kitchen was filled with a wide array of photographs. Some of when she was a girl, some on their wedding day, and some where she looked so old she didn’t even slightly resemble the woman in the other pictures.
I started to feel sorry for Norman again; I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to spend your entire life with someone, only for them to go and die, leaving you totally and unavoidably alone. I glanced at
the Addams Family style breakfast table again before pulling Connor through a door into the long, wood-panelled hallway.
There were six doors leading off from the hall. I looked questioningly at Connor. “I take this side, you take that side?”
He nodded and started walking towards the first door on the right, but I pulled on his arm before he could get there. “You still haven’t told me what it is I’m supposed to be looking for.”
He hesitated, but only for a second. “Well, I’d start with a small piece of red fabric. Somethin’ that might have come from a lady’s dress?”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Emma’s dress?”
Connor nodded before quickly going into the room and closing the door behind him.
It took me a few moments before I could get myself moving towards the door on the opposite side. Whether Connor was involved with John and Emma or not, he’d do himself no favours by trying to pin it on a much-loved eighty-year-old man.
I reluctantly headed into the room on the left, which seemed to be a bit of a dumping ground.
One wall was covered with shelving, on which stood an array of ceramic ornaments, decorative knick-knacks and small wicker baskets. Each basket had a hand-written label stuck to the front: Batteries, Paper Clips, Buttons, Possessions.
My eyes lingered on that last label, so vague compared to the others. I thought I could see a driver’s licence poking out of the top and I laughed to myself; my muddled brain had read ‘Possessions’ and immediately jumped to an image of some kind of medium being possessed by an unearthly voice.
On second thoughts, that wasn’t very funny at all.
I heard a door slamming, making me jump; Connor must have been onto the second room by now.
I started my search of the room, being careful to use the sleeve of my jacket if I needed to touch anything. Not that I could really imagine the local police fingerprinting Norman’s house, but stranger things had happened.
The room was full of… ‘stuff’ was really the only word for it. Plastic bags, padded envelopes, piles of newspapers. There was also an interesting-looking purple bag in the corner of the room, possibly made of velvet or some other rich fabric. I was about to walk over to it when I heard another door slam. Reminding myself that I was here to look for a piece of a dress, not a bag, I went back to the corridor.