Parcels of Doom (Chapel End Mysteries, #1)

by Lown, Anne

  The edge of the village. One short hop across the lane and over the stile into the farmer’s field, the dirt track full of bumps and ruts, slowing the progress even more. Deeper into the darkness, the woodlands enveloped all that dared enter—not even a hand could be seen in front of a face.

  A few steps in and a light flicked on, invisible from the outside world. Footsteps counted to a tree marked by a knife, a symbol no one would know unless they’d put it there. Noises of the night proclaimed eerie goings-on, but not more frightening than a steel toe-capped shoe kicking at the ground for a resounding metal ding. Satisfaction came at the find, the person bending low to sweep away loose soil, a tin box dug up and brushed off. They sat on the cool, damp earth, and the lid popped off, revealing a store of ancient lore.

  Pipe cleaners joined and bound, mummified with white wool. A head, made from a hollowed-out bead, gagged as if wearing a shroud to cover a face not yet there. More wool, black in colour, to clothe the doll and a noose around its neck. Words were chanted, prayers spoken, incense burned to complete the ritual. Another doll made, ready for its victim’s eyes that signified the last of their days.

  JENNY WOKE, BROUGHT around yet again by the weak morning sun slinking its way between any crack it could find in the curtains. Jason was already up. She knew he’d not slept during the night, his mind undoubtedly playing back the horror of being presented with his past, that of Annalise’s death and the accusations he’d killed Paul to cover things up. Nothing he’d said had made a blind bit of difference because most of the torment had come from within. It was enough to remind him of the details and question his relationship with Annalise, suggesting he’d killed her out of jealousy because she’d wanted to see another man. Jason had denied it all, but hours of the same questioning had eventually taken its toll. He hadn’t admitted to anything, so Jenny knew they’d be back for another go.

  She tiptoed down the stairs, alerted to his whereabouts by the boiling kettle and the click when it switched itself off. Jason sat at the kitchen table, staring at his hands. The right thumb had been picked until it bled, smears of blood under the left hand’s nails. He didn’t look up when she entered, his mind clearly someplace else, and not a happy one.

  Jenny crossed the room and retrieved two clean mugs from the draining board. It wasn’t hard to find the coffee and sugar as there weren’t enough places to hide them in his spartan kitchen. Filling the cups with hot water, she brought them over to the table. She slid one in front of him and sat opposite, cradling her own. The heat penetrated her skin, comforting until it got too hot.

  Silence crept between them. It was too soon to ask more about what had gone on in the interview. She hoped he’d tell her, but from the look on his face, aged by the strain, she wasn’t sure it would happen. She didn’t know him well enough yet to second-guess his behaviour. Now, if it were Scott, that would be easy. He’d be living it large, telling the world every morsel of his experience.

  Slowly, she slid her fingers across the table and slipped them between his. His skin felt cold to the touch, but then he hadn’t picked up his cup yet. In the other room, a carriage clock chimed, and she counted them off until they hit eight. It was eight o’clock in the morning. On a Thursday that was considered too early to go visiting Manor House, so she’d have to wait until after work if she didn’t have any post for them. She needed to get her uniform; she’d have to nip home before she went to work.

  Leaning forward, she tried to meet his eyes. “I need to go home.”

  It felt like she’d said the words to herself because Jason didn’t respond. He seemed closed off and in a world of his own. After a while of no response, she let go of his hand and went to find her jacket. Standing just inside the doorway, she watched him as she put it on. He made no move to acknowledge her leaving, so she turned away and left the house.

  She’d call on him again later, make sure he’d had something to eat and was taking care of himself. That was what she told herself. The reality was, she didn’t want him to drift away from her again after they’d been getting on so well. They could get past this and then they’d see where things took them.

  The streets were busy, people bustling about as they started their day. It took longer to get home than she’d wanted—she’d have to be quick if she was to get to work on time. Finally, her garden came into view, and she breathed a sigh of relief. A quick shower and then drive into Bishop. Breakfast could wait for later.

  The first thing she noticed the nearer she got was her living room curtains were closed. She was sure they’d been open when she’d left the house, so that could only mean Scott had managed to get in and stay the night. She’d presumed he’d return to Bishop by taxi before his shift started. After all, they were expecting him at the Mail Centre. Unfortunately, she was wrong.

  Jenny opened the door quietly and slipped inside. The living room light was on, but no Scott lay on the sofa. There could only be one place he’d be, and that was upstairs. She hooked her jacket over the banister and went into the kitchen to look out of the window and into the back garden.

  It dawned on her she’d not been out there since she’d moved in. So much was happening that the normal things of life had been shelved in favour of drama. That wasn’t what she’d moved here for. The quiet time she’d needed hadn’t materialised. It made her wonder if she was the problem, if everything going wrong in her life was more to do with herself than she’d realised. She shook her head to get rid of the thoughts. Soon things would calm down, and then she could work on herself. Be the woman she wanted to be and find someone worthy of the new, improved Jenny.

  Above her head, the floor creaked. He must’ve heard her come in after all. She stayed where she was, gazing out into the garden beyond. Slowly, footsteps on the stairs were replaced by a stretching, yawning mess appearing in the kitchen doorway. She flicked the kettle on even though she’d had a drink already. She knew he’d ask for one so anticipated the request.

  Rubbing his torso, Scott was just coming alive. “Where’d you go last night?”

  “Why’d you want to know?” Jenny deflected the question with another question because she really didn’t want to answer to him right now.

  “I came back here, and you weren’t home.”

  “So how did you get in then?” That’s when Jenny saw the extra key on the worktop. He must’ve picked it up before they’d left the house, having no intention of going to work at all. If she’d left him in the pub and come straight home, he’d have let himself in if she hadn’t answered the door.

  A smile spread across his face when he saw she’d worked it out. “You know you love me really.”

  The kettle boiled, and Jenny made coffee for them both. When bread popped up in the toaster, Scott helped himself to butter from the fridge. He seemed to feel at home even though it was the first time he’d stayed over. She guessed it was because they were together in the same space, and anywhere she was seemed like home.

  “I need to speak to that Ben Vickers about how the pass got in my room. You going to come with me?”

  “Lover boy not up to it?” A twinkle played in his eye as he said the words.

  Jenny knew he was teasing, but there was an underlying issue in there, too. “No, not today. Anyway, with you being from the job, he might talk to you.”

  “Okay, so what do we want to know?”

  Jenny thought for a moment. “If he isn’t in the job, how come he’s still got his pass, and when did he leave? How did it get left in my room? Things like that.”

  Scott wrinkled his nose at her suggestions. “That’s a bit crap. Leave it to me, I’ll get him talking.”

  As much as she wanted to think he was being arrogant, she had to admit he was good at getting people to open up. “All right,” she said. “I’ve got to get changed, so we’ll go later after work.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The closed Manor House gates loomed large in front, stopping them in their tracks. Jenny stepped out of the car an
d rang the buzzer on the wall. She was too embarrassed to speak into the intercom entry system in front of Scott, turning her back to him so she couldn’t see him staring. At first it seemed like no one was home, and she was about to get back in the car. Then came a voice asking her who she was.

  “Hello, my name’s Jenny Reid, and I’d like to speak with Ben Vickers if he’s on the premises.” Jenny cringed as she spoke the words but was determined to keep a brave face or Scott would never let her live it down.

  “Why d’you want to speak to him?” The woman’s voice was firm but not hostile.

  This gave Jenny a slight bit of confidence. “It’s about how his security pass ended up in my bedroom.”

  The voice on the other end fell silent for a moment. “Your bedroom?”

  “Yes,” Jenny said. “Someone broke in and left his pass in my bedroom.”

  A moment later, the gate clicked open, and she had to swing it wide enough to enter. The house came into view around the side of some trees that hid it from the road. She pulled up near the house in time to see the front door open. A young woman in her twenties stood waiting for their arrival and asked them to follow her. They walked in single file along the hallway to the back of the house where they were introduced to a woman in the living room.

  “Thank you, Dawn,” the woman said before introducing herself, “I’m Sarah Rake.”

  Scott looked around him and took in the room they were in. “It’s all pink.”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, “my favourite colour.”

  A smile passed between them, a special moment Jenny wasn’t a part of. It seemed like Scott had found a kindred soul in his need to be his wacky self. No doubt, they were going to be great friends.

  “How can I help you?” Sarah relaxed as they took their places on the nearest chairs. She was sitting in her wheelchair covered by a blanket, again a shade of pink that clashed with the other shades in the room.

  “We need to speak to Ben Vickers,” Jenny said. She wanted to get straight to the point because her nerves were getting the better of her.

  “You’re the second person in a week who’s wanted to speak to Ben,” Sarah said, appearing perplexed.

  Scott stepped in. He seemed to be intrigued at the mention of someone else taking an interest. “Who’s the other person?”

  “Paul Worthers,” she said. “He spoke to Ben just a few days ago.”

  “You do know Paul is dead, right?” Jenny felt it only fair to be upfront. She didn’t want to be underhand in anyway in case it came across badly.

  “Dead?” Sarah put her hand to her mouth. “How’d that happen?”

  “We’re not sure of the details, but he was murdered.”

  Sarah sat for a moment, gazing into thin air. She seemed shocked by the revelation, not something Jenny had been expecting. “Do they have any suspects?”

  “Only one as far as I know.” Jenny cringed as she said it. “Jason Kettle.”

  “Paul spoke to Ben just the other day, but I don’t know what he asked him.”

  “Probably about Annalise Jessop. He was investigating whether she was murdered or if she actually did commit suicide.” She didn’t enjoy relaying the information but she had to find out why Ben’s pass had been in her house.

  Sarah looked thoughtful, like she was considering this new information along with what she already knew. She shook her head. Maybe she’d found a discrepancy, and to Jenny’s delight, she wasn’t afraid to ask direct questions. “Why did Paul die?”

  Scott must’ve been feeling left out because he chimed in, “We think he got too near to the person who killed her. There’d be no other reason we can think of for his murder.”

  “A voodoo doll turned up in the charity shop with his name on it, and it gave Carmie, who works there, quite a stir,” Jenny said. “She warned him, but he took no notice. I think I was the last person to speak to him, and he died that night. The police haven’t said the cause of death yet, but we should know soon. Carmie thinks he drowned in the bath.”

  “Why was Carmie bothered by the doll?” Sarah was asking more questions than she was answering; she seemed intrigued by their conversation.

  Jenny told her about the beliefs Carmie had grown up with and how witchcraft was a big part of her culture.

  “So Carmie knew he was in danger?” Sarah was agog with the news.

  “Yes, and when the shop was broken into, she knew straight away it was the diary that was taken as everything else was left intact.” Jenny carried on describing the horror of finding out she’d been broken into and the writing on the wall. It was only as she got to talking about the cat hair on the sofa below the writing, and how brushing up against someone in the pub had also transferred cat hair to her, that Sarah’s demeanour changed.

  “You know I have a cat, right?”

  “Really?” Scott asked. “What sort is it?”

  “A blue-grey Persian. I got it from the local cat home.”

  Jenny balked at the news. If Ben had been in the pub that evening when cat fur had transferred onto her after changing her trousers, he could be the intruder. “Does he ever come into contact with your cat?”

  “Absolutely adores it,” Sarah said. “It follows him everywhere.”

  Scott and Jenny glanced at each other without saying a word. They didn’t need to as it was clear they were both thinking the same thing.

  “We really need to speak to him,” Jenny said. “It’s a matter of urgency.”

  With that, Sarah rang a bell, and Dawn came back into the room. “Where’s Ben today?”

  Dawn was quick with her reply. “He’s visiting his mum but will be in the pub tonight for his usual Thursday evening drink.”

  “That settles it then,” Scott said. “We’ll catch him later in the pub. He might be more inclined to talk after a few beers.”

  Jenny would’ve sighed, but Scott was right. Some men after a few beers couldn’t help loosening their tongue and outdoing each other in the ‘who knows what’ game. That’s what Scott was likely banking on, another man like himself who couldn’t keep his trap shut when he thought he had an audience.

  As Jenny and Scott went to leave, Sarah spoke up. “I’d like to help if I can. I have a friend, Graham, he’s disabled, too, and people dismiss him easily, but he’s more astute than anyone realises. We’ll be in the pub tonight and can keep an eye on things, if you want. He’s very good at collecting information.”

  “That’d be great,” Jenny said. “The more help the better.”

  The pair of them left the manor. Jenny felt they’d got somewhere, even if they hadn’t been able to talk to Ben yet. Still, time would tell if he’d been in her house or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The pub was quieter than Tuesday evening. Jenny pulled the heavy wooden door towards her and wrestled past it. Scott and Jason made it seem easy, not the mammoth task she found it to be. She’d agreed to meet Scott there after he’d had a wander around the neighbourhood. Why he’d wanted to do that, she didn’t know, but he seemed to think it was a good idea.

  She looked around the room, and the only face she didn’t recognise was a man in a wheelchair sitting at a table with Sarah.

  That must be Graham.

  They were deep in conversation. Sarah appeared to listen intently, clearly giving him the time he needed to say his words. Jenny resisted the impulse to go over and say hello. Instead, she walked to the bar where Martin slouched in his usual spot.

  Her fingers found the buttons of her jacket, and she undid them one by one. The sleeves slid off gently due to the light jumper she’d decided to put on. It’d be cold walking home, a stark contrast to the room she was now in. It was far too hot for her liking, but that, no doubt, was to make the patrons drink more.

  Martin greeted her with a friendly smile and called Tracy over to serve them. Dave was nowhere to be seen, but Tracy was sporting another bruise, this time on her upper arm where her short sleeve ended. The woman was rather subdued, her convers
ation with Martin more stilted than usual. Something was going on between husband and wife, that was for sure.

  Ordering her drink, Jenny leant against the bar. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth—she’d been biting at it since she’d left the house. She jumped at the first taste of blood in her mouth, her incisor cutting too deep. Jenny picked up her glass and sipped, the wine stinging the fresh wound. She sighed, not sure what to do with herself until Scott arrived.

  Jenny flicked her gaze to Martin and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t seem his usual laid-back self. Something had got him wired, and he was trying hard to hide it.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, course. Had a win yesterday in the bookies, not a big one, but still a win.”

  If Jenny wasn’t so apprehensive she might’ve asked him about it. Scott burst through the door in his usual flamboyant style, followed by Jason.

  “What the hell?” Jenny was shocked to see the two of them together.

  So that’s where he’d gone, to Jason’s house.

  “Hey, babe,” Scott said. “You know my mate?” His wink told her he was playing a game and not to give it away.

  “Hi, Jason, how’re you feeling now?”

  Jason shrugged and looked around the room. He glanced at the two in the corner but gave no sign of recognising either of them. Bringing his attention back to the group now gathered by the bar, his first thought seemed to be a drink. “What’re you having, Scott?”

  Jenny’s mouth nearly dropped open as the two of them acted like old friends catching up on an evening out.

  Tracy saw to the drinks, providing any refills needed, while they all propped up the bar. Martin seemed to be enjoying the unusual company, the conversation turning to matters of who knew what about whom at work. It was jovial enough, and soon they settled in for a story-led evening with Scott doing his best to put on the entertainment. Even Tracy came over to listen between serving customers—it must’ve taken her mind off the domestic troubles that had caused another bruise.