Stranger in the Woods: A tense psychological thriller

by Anni Taylor

  “I wasn’t, but the light was perfect. Alban did say I could take photos of her whenever I had the chance. I think you’ll like the portraits I got of her.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sure I’ll love them,” she said. “I was just surprised to see her so untidy. Thank you all for minding her while I was away.” She shot Stella a thin-lipped smile. “It’s been quite a while since you’ve been around.”

  Stella folded her arms defensively. “I should of come before, to see the baby. I meant to.”

  “Well, you’ve seen her now,” said Jessica. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “Yeah,” Stella answered. “I guess I should.”

  I noticed that Stella didn’t respond to Jessica with any of her usual smart-talk.

  Jessica walked off to the house. Rhiannon had already shot upstairs and she was gazing out at us from her bedroom.

  I waved at her.

  “Well, I have some work to attend to this afternoon,” Greer told me. “I’ll come back tonight. I’ll bring soup. How about just you and me tonight, Isla? In the cottage. If Jessica is feeling poorly, we’ll give them some breathing space.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said.

  “I better go, too. But I’ll get my twenty first,” Stella said unflinchingly.

  “Twenty?” Greer chirped. “I hope you know that’s thirty-five Australian dollars, Isla. I know because I’ve been busily converting currencies in order to pay you.”

  Stella gave a small smile. I guessed that she’d held back on discussing money for a reason. I was lucky she hadn’t asked for a fifty.

  I walked back to the cottage with Stella. Without an invitation, she stepped inside and sat at the table. “I used to play in here with Elodie. Back when I was a kid.”

  Like, two years ago, I thought. She obviously didn’t consider herself a child any longer. Either that, or she didn’t want me to see her as a child.

  I went to fetch my wallet from my handbag, then hesitated. She’d brought up Elodie’s name. This could be the perfect time to ask what she’d been going to tell me about Elodie before. I didn’t expect to get another chance, but now that I had it, I should make the most of it. If I handed her the money, she might grab it and run. In fact, I was sure she would.

  I took my wallet to the table but then stalled. “Stella, there was something you were going to tell me yesterday? About Elodie. Just before Rory walked up to us.”

  She picked up the pine cone she’d left on the table earlier, spinning it like a top. “I don’t remember.”

  “It was about something that Elodie told you. Something strange.” I realised I sounded too intense. I exhaled, giving a small shrug. “You just got me a little curious.”

  “Oh, that. I don’t know if I should say it. Because I don’t want you to go telling people. Because then people will wonder why I didn’t say something sooner.”

  “I don’t know anyone here very well. Who would I tell?” The first part of that was true, but the second part wasn’t exactly true. Some things had to be told.

  “You seem to know Rory,” she said. “I saw you walking back on the path with him.”

  “Oh, he came to the house the other day. Just because he’d found some paintings of Elodie’s that’d been stored away in the school hall. That’s all.”

  “They weren’t stored away at school.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The paintings. I bet I know which ones they were. He kept a bunch of her work at home. And newspaper clippings about Elodie.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I saw the paintings and stuff at home, in the garage.”

  “Okay. Well, I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’d think on the puzzle of Rory and the paintings later. Right now, I wanted to know about Elodie. I closed my fingers over my wallet. Was this even ethical? Sitting here and keeping back the money I’d promised Stella was starting to seem a bit like bribery. Still, I felt desperate to know.

  “Would you mind telling me what Elodie said?” I asked her gently.

  Stella looked uncomfortable, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Weird stuff, I guess. She said stuff like…love comes from respect. Being scared of someone just means you respect them. And you have to prove that you love someone, or it isn’t love. Sometimes you have to be tested.”

  The skin on the back of my neck and shoulders felt like it was crawling. “Tested how?”

  “Anything the other person wants. If they don’t test you, they don’t love you.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not right.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “That’s what I thought. But I wasn’t sure.”

  “Do you know what kind of tests she was talking about, specifically?”

  “I don’t know. She said that the tests are supposed to make you feel bad, but if you’re brave, you’ll get through them.”

  “Can you remember anything else that she said about all this?”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “You’re going to tell the police, aren’t you?”

  “What if this helped find the person who hurt Elodie?”

  “The police say it was a stranger.”

  “But what if it wasn’t? I mean, they don’t know for sure. Look, if I do tell, the police might want to talk with you. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll just say that you’ve lost your mind. Can I have my money now?”

  “Of course you can.” Quickly, I took the money out. “Here. Twenty pounds. Maybe you can be my assistant again on another day.”

  “I might be going back home tomorrow.” She stuffed the money into her jeans pocket.

  My gaze was drawn to her wrist, as her sleeve rode up. I noticed scars—thin, crisscrossing lines.

  “Stella, what’s that?” I gestured towards her wrist.

  She dug her hands into her jacket pockets. “Cat. Kelly’s got a wee bitch of a cat. Scratches you if you try to pat it.”

  “Better stay away from it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, if I don’t see you again, I just want to say I’m glad I met you. And thank you for helping out today.”

  She stood just looking at me for a moment as if she had more to say, then turned around and left.

  23

  ISLA

  The next morning, I worked on sorting out my photographs I wanted to put into the portfolio. A hum of excitement buzzed in my chest as I saw the best of the images together as a package. The portfolio was really starting to come together.

  What I was missing was photos of Alban. And photos of the family together. I also wanted a few more landscapes, especially pictures of Braithnoch under a covering of snow. I hoped it would snow before my time here was up.

  Sipping on my hot tea, I paused on the photographs of Stella and Rhiannon together. There should be photographs of Elodie and Rhiannon like this—together as sisters. But Elodie had never even had the chance to hold her sibling before she died.

  I was glad though that Stella had finally met Rhiannon. I could tell that spending time with Rhiannon had meant a lot to her.

  A thought struck me.

  Stella had run away soon after Elodie died. Could there be a connection between Stella and Elodie that everyone had missed? Stella wasn’t giving any clear reasons why she’d run away.

  The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. A connection. Those strange things that Elodie had said to Stella—did Stella know or guess who had put those ideas into Elodie’s head?

  I needed to talk to Rory.

  Digging in my handbag I found his number and called him.

  “Yo. Rory speaking.” I hadn’t picked him for the type of guy who’d respond with a yo.

  “It’s Isla. Could I talk with you for a minute?”

  “Ah, yes, just a tick. I’m driving. Call you back in ten.”

  I waited patiently unti
l my phone rang.

  “I’m out with Camille,” he told me. “Just getting a few groceries and things.”

  “Oh. We’ll talk later, then?”

  “It’s okay. I’m sitting here waiting in the car. Camille wanted to browse a couple of clothing shops first. So, what’s this about?”

  “It’s a bit personal, so please tell me if I’m treading too far in. It’s about Stella.”

  “Yes?”

  “You remember how Stella had told me about odd things Elodie had said? Well, yesterday, Stella related a little of those things.”

  “She did?” He sounded surprised.

  “Yes. She didn’t want me telling anyone. But you’re a teacher and her step-father. And, also, I feel like this shouldn’t stay hidden.”

  “You’ve got my interest, Isla.”

  “Okay, apparently Elodie said things like…love comes from respect. Being scared of someone just means that you respect them. And…you have to prove that you love someone or it isn’t love. Sometimes you have to be tested.”

  A dead silence stretched, making me wonder what reaction Rory was having.

  “That does sound odd,” he said finally.

  “Yes, it does. It’s not something an eight-year-old would say.”

  “Perhaps she got it from a movie or something?”

  “According to Stella, Elodie was being directly told this stuff by someone.”

  “Have you considered that Stella might be telling you what she thinks you want to hear?”

  “No, why would she?”

  “Because she’s a wee bit lonely and you’re giving her attention?”

  I chewed my lip, thinking that he might be right. She had sought me out yesterday. Perhaps she was lonely.

  “There’s something else,” I said. “Something that I’ve been thinking about. It’s about the reason why Stella left town.”

  “We don’t know exactly why Stella left.”

  “Yes, that’s what I was wondering about. She ran away soon after Elodie died, right? And she won’t tell anyone why? What if there’s a connection between what happened to Elodie and something that only Stella knows? I mean, she told me about the odd things that Elodie was saying, but I also get the sense that she’s holding something else back.”

  “What do you think she’s holding back?”

  “I don’t know. I could be wrong. But when I talk to her, it feels like there’s something else she wants to tell me. I can’t really explain it any other way than that.”

  A heavy sigh came through the phone line. “Isla, you weren’t around in the months before Stella decided to up and leave home. She was rude and belligerent. She’s a difficult girl. She made life very hard for Camille.”

  “I was a teenage girl once, and I went through a very messy phase.”

  “Then you know exactly what I’m talking about. Stella left because she thought she knew better than her mother.”

  “Running away is a pretty major step though. And refusing to come back. Is it…I mean, is it at all possible that she knows something? About Elodie? Just something small?”

  “Look, I really don’t think the two things are connected. I can’t see Stella holding back that kind of information. She was really fond of Elodie. I don’t honestly know what got into her head to make her run off like she did. Teenage hormones running crazy maybe. There were a couple of boys she liked at school. Big, stupid types with fight me written all over them. Petty criminals. She left here with one of them, but he dumped her, and he slunk back after a week.”

  “You think that’s all there is to it? Teen hormones?”

  “Well, I don’t have a better explanation. I tried going to see her on my own and convince her to return. No dice.”

  A deflated silence followed. My theory had gone nowhere. I imagined that Rory wasn’t feeling too good either after I’d dragged all of this stuff up.

  “Okay, Rory. Thanks for talking with me. I might try to talk with her again—see if I can get her to tell me anything more.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” came the swift reply.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to step on any toes. I—”

  “It’s just that Stella rarely comes back here. This is the longest she’s stayed at her grandparents’ house. Camille and I were hoping that she’s starting to want to return home.”

  “I understand. But, I might have to tell someone about this—about the things Elodie told Stella, I mean. It might be all made up, but on the other hand, it might not be.”

  “I didn’t want to say this, but I have a good reason to think she might have made it up. Look, do you want to meet me later? I have something to show you. In Brigg’s cafe in town, at two?”

  “Briggs? Okay. I’ll be there.” I tried to sound like I wasn’t disappointed. I’d thought that maybe I’d discovered something that might lead somewhere. But Rory knew Stella a lot better than I did. I’d have to wait until this afternoon until I’d find out what it was he wanted me to see.

  The more that I found out, the more it seemed that walls went up—even with Rory.

  With the call ended, I went back to sorting out the photographs for the portfolio. Once I had the portfolio together, I’d start editing it, making each photograph magazine-worthy.

  I kept the pictures of the playhouse and mysterious person in a separate folder. Would I ever find out who that was? I doubted it. No one was going to admit to following me in the forest that day.

  For the next few hours, I took some more landscape shots from aspects I hadn’t taken photos from previously. The changing light and mood of each day brought new perspectives and inspiration and I found myself enjoying the morning. The wind today was intense, bending the trees to its will.

  As the time grew close to one in the afternoon, I dressed myself for brisk weather and set out on the bicycle.

  Choosing a window seat in the cafe, I ordered stew and a couple of bread rolls. They called the rolls baps.

  I was stirring my tea when I noticed a tall man jogging down the street, head down against the wind, clutching his jacket lapels. Rory.

  He looked gaunt and tired as he sat opposite me in the cafe.

  It occurred to me that the cafe wasn’t the most private of places to hold a conversation of this nature. But at least it had an old-fashioned booth-style layout. If we kept our voices down, it was highly unlikely anyone would hear us.

  Rory ordered himself a tea, his face pinched with cold.

  He blew out a sighing breath. “Thanks for coming. You were good enough to relay to me what my stepdaughter has been telling you. And I felt that I needed to get you clear on something.”

  “Certainly,” I said.

  It seemed that was how Rory and I operated. We exchanged pieces of information—a piece for a piece. It was a little ridiculous, when I let myself think on it. Neither of us were police officers. We were just an Australian photographer and a Scottish school teacher. But at the same time, it felt as if we were working on this thing together, the mystery of what happened to Elodie.

  “So, Stella just started talking about this stuff out of the blue?” he asked me.

  I nodded, not wanting to admit that I’d practically bribed it out of her.

  He rubbed his eyes blearily and blinked before speaking again. “Well, that’s something. Hard to get Stella to talk at all.” He took his tea from the waiter and then gulped a mouthful. “I’ll show you what I brought here today.”

  Setting the cup down he drew out a small pile of school books from his satchel.

  The books had doodles scrawled all over them—the work of a bored child. Flowers and monstrous faces and winged love hearts. At first, I thought they must be Elodie’s. But when he turned them over and set them down on the table, the name on them was clear. Stella Keenan.

  Rory flipped through the first one—an English grammar book—until he found a certain page. Rotating it around to me, he raised his eyebrows. “Take a look at this.”

  I quickl
y read it: Everybody tests you. The one who loves you most will test you the most.

  He flipped forward another few pages. I read: Stephanie Dougall is a big-nosed slut face. I’ll make her show me some respect.

  Rory drew out another book and opened it up on a page. Stella had drawn a page of tattoos she apparently planned to get when she was older. Most of them were love hearts designs, with the name of one particular boy in them—Eddie Dougall. I guessed that he was Stephanie Dougall’s brother. The capital letters underneath the hearts said, LOVE IS RESPECT.

  “Do you see what I mean?” said Rory quietly. “There’s more, but I think you might have the picture. Lots of talk about love and respect and tests. These were her books from when she was twelve.”

  I exhaled a tightly held breath. “It does sound a lot like the thing that Stella told me.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

  “How did you know she wrote these things in her books?” I asked curiously.

  “When she ran away, Camille and I were looking for clues as to where she’d gone. Understandably, Camille was hysterical. This was a very young girl we’re talking about. Camille tried calling all her friends, but none of them knew anything. The only thing I could think of was to look through her school books for clues. Something I’d noticed as a school teacher is that kids often scribble angry messages to the world in their books. They don’t feel they can talk to anyone for whatever reason, so they put it down in the margins of their work or right at the back of the book.” He sighed wryly. “Of course, the other thing they scribble in their books are dick drawings.”

  I shot him a cringing smile in response to the last thing he said. I remembered the boys at school drawing penises over everything. “So, did looking through her books help find her?”

  “Yes. Pretty quickly, too. You can see the name of a boy there in those love hearts. Camille and I went to see his parents—the Dougalls—and they discovered that he hadn’t gone to school that day. They were terrified then that their son had run off with Stella because he was fifteen and she was only twelve. They were pretty scared he’d get charged by the police. We told them we wouldn’t press charges if they got him to tell us where he and Stella were. Anyway, you know the rest of the story. They contacted Eddie and he broke it off with Stella and left her behind. We went and picked Stella up. But she refused to come back home, and she ended up going to live with Camille’s sister, Kelly.”