by T. H. Hunter
“She is one, though, right?” asked Val.
“Undoubtedly,” said Barry.
Mrs. Haughton was beginning to stir again, though I didn’t think she had heard anything of what we had said. Her eyes were closed, though her breathing was becoming faster and more shallow now. She murmured something incoherently for a while. I moved in closer to her, until I was very close, trying to catch what she was saying. Suddenly, her eyes opened, and she gazed right into my own eyes. For a moment, I was transfixed.
“Great danger,” she said, staring at me without blinking. “Miss Sheridan. Great danger.”
An icy chill ran down the back of my spine. I looked at Val and Barry, who both looked extremely unnerved.
“Why is she in danger?” asked Val.
“Miss Sheridan stands against the future,” she said softly, her eyes focussed on the ceiling. “Death awaits.”
Chapter 6
“She… she’s going to die?” asked Val weakly.
But Mrs. Haughton’s head fell to the side without another word. She was unconscious again. Val and I exchanged dark looks, but there was nothing further to be done. Mrs. Haughton was indeed the real thing, though extracting information from her seemed impossible. Barry, apparently, had come to the same conclusion.
“Come on,” he said. “No point hanging around here any longer. Mr. Brown might find us.”
“But what about Mrs. Haughton?” asked Val. “Shouldn’t we wake her or something?”
“No,” he said. “She will simply have a long sleep until the morning, most likely. By then, the effects should have worn off.”
Val opened the door and we let ourselves out of the room again, closing the door quietly behind us. I was disappointed and felt unnerved at the same time. I had never been one for soothsayers and the like, but Mrs. Haughton had been proven right once before. And having your own death foretold by a clairvoyant wasn’t my idea of the prologue to a good night’s sleep.
At least, we didn’t encounter Mr. Brown or Dr. Linton on our way back. We sneaked up the stairs and down the corridor as quietly as possible. As we entered our room, a bolt of lightning flashed across the horizon, clearly visible through the round window above my bed, illuminating the sea in a bright white for just an instant. The storm was gathering.
“Do you mind if I sleep on the couch in here tonight?” asked Val, sounding rather nervous herself. “It’s creepy alone in my room. Especially if there’s… you know, a killer on the loose.”
“Of course,” I said, absent-mindedly. “No... no problem.”
“Amy…” Val began.
“What?”
“I wouldn’t pay too much attention to Mrs. Haughton. You know, what she said about you.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “And why not?”
“Well, because, you know, Barry said that clairvoyants were very inexact. They get things wrong all the time, don’t they, Barry?”
“She got it right before, though, didn’t she?” I said, still unconvinced. “About the death, I mean.”
“We’ll just be extra careful,” said Val. “All of us. But especially you, Amy.”
“Indeed,” said Barry solemnly.
He had remained uncharacteristically silent until now. As mad as it sounded, I yearned for him to make some sort a snide remark about clairvoyants and the ludicrous prophecies they usually made. It would have been his way of saying that he didn’t believe what he had just heard. But Barry’s face remained stony and serious.
“Take your wand with you from now on at all times, Amy,” he said. “There’s something sinister going on here. And until we can get to the bottom of this, we will have to take every possible precaution.”
I nodded appreciatively. Val, standing next to me, squeezed my arm affectionately. It was good to have their support. I knew I could depend upon them if the worst came to the worst.
“I wonder what she meant about the future and the past,” Val said, breaking the silence. “Did that make sense to you?”
“Perhaps it related to Anita Brown’s past in some way,” I said.
“Or Mr. Brown’s,” Val said, cocking her head thoughtfully. “He’s such a nasty person, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had done some pretty bad stuff in the past.”
“Yes,” said Barry. “And now he’s also prevented Dr. Linton from examining the body. He’s definitely hiding something. As I said, we’d better get to the bottom of this before… before Mrs. Haughton next prophecy is realised.”
He looked at me with an expression I’d never seen there before. Barry was concerned for me, almost fearful. I felt touched, but it wasn’t reassuring at all. But at that moment, Val put her hand on my arm.
“We won’t let anything happen to you, Amy,” she said. “We promise. Don’t we, Barry?”
He nodded solemnly.
“But the sooner we find out who killed Anita Brown,” he said, “the better for all of us.”
***
Unsurprisingly perhaps, I wasn’t able to sleep that night for a long time. And even when I finally was able to doze off, awful nightmares haunted my dreams once again. They were invariably filled with lighthouses and wheelchairs, though the gaunt face of Mrs. Haughton now appeared regularly, too, telling me that nothing would be alright, or asking me whether I had set my affairs in order just in case. I flailed around, entangling myself in the bed covers, until first light broke.
A few hours later, after managing to snatch just a bit of sleep before a late breakfast, I thought that the dreams had been unnaturally real and vivid. There had been something life-like about them that stuck with me even after being awake for hours. By the time we had gone downstairs, most of the other guests had already had their breakfast. Mrs. Haughton, who seemed to have recovered well from our little visit, was doing her best to keep the place running on her own. She greeted us as if nothing had ever happened. Evidently, she couldn’t remember a thing from the previous night.
Then, Mrs. Highgarden stood up in order to address us, staring over her pointy glasses at each of us in turn to ensure our silence. It wasn’t particularly difficult to do so for once, however, since we had all been wondering what was going to happen next after the death of Anita Brown.
“My fellow members of the committee,” she began. “I’m sure that yesterday’s tragedy was a great shock to all of us. To be torn from life so early is terrible, and our sympathy goes out to her loved ones whom she leaves behind.”
She paused briefly to rearrange her glasses.
“There are also some practical matters we have to attend to, however,” Mrs. Highgarden continued. “The question is whether we should continue our meetings or not. Now, as terrible a tragedy it was, I believe we would do the deceased a great disservice by not continuing our normal lives. A second meeting that accommodated all of your busy schedules or otherwise time-consuming activities –”
Mrs Highgarden looked sternly at Patrick Urquhart over her glasses.
“– Would simply be impossible to arrange before the next year. With the pressing financial troubles of the committee, however, I therefore feel that our only choice is to push ahead.”
“But a woman has died,” said Dr. Linton, his voice strained. “We can’t just pretend nothing has happened. Think of the hotel. She was practically running the place on her own.”
“I haven’t had the chance to speak to Mr. Brown yet,” she said. “But I am sure that we could arrive at some sort of agreement…”
But at that moment, the door to the dining room opened. A tall, elderly man in a grey suit entered. He bowed his head stiffly, before stepping aside and holding open the door. Behind him, Mr. Brown wheeled into the room, his face as red and as blotchy as ever. Naturally, the death of his daughter had left its marks on him. But I thought I detected a glimmer of something else in his eyes. He looked crazed, somehow, perhaps even paranoid, as his gaze swept the room multiple times, his eyes darting from face to face in suspicion.
The tall man in the suit waited
politely for Mr. Brown to make the introductions, though decided to do it himself when it was clear that they weren’t forthcoming.
“Good morning,” he said. “I am Inspector Campbell, from the Galloway Police. I arrived here earlier this morning with our medical examiner. The fatal incident involving Anita Brown was reported to the procurator fiscal yesterday, and – due to the circumstances of the case – he has tasked us to investigate the case.”
He paused shortly to impress the point upon us all.
“Until the cause of death has been determined, I am afraid I must ask you to remain here on the island.”
There followed a great deal of muttering. Vanessa McQuinn, who was for once not glued to her smartphone, said:
“But I don’t want to stay in this ghastly place anymore.”
“Vanessa,” her sister Jane hissed from across the table. “Please, don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”
“I’ll say what I want to. I’m not going to be held prisoner here.”
The inspector lifted his hands up in an attempt to calm the situation.
“Nobody is being held prisoner, I can assure you,” he said. “We are having our people on the mainland conduct a full examination of the body as we speak. We will have more information for you in due course.”
“But I don’t want to stay!” Vanessa yelled, almost close to tears. “This place is horrible.”
“I am afraid that is my last word,” Inspector Campbell said patiently. “Please stand by until further notice.”
And with that, he left the room again. Mr. Brown, who had remained silent all the while, simply scanned the room again, making sure that everybody understood that he remained as convinced as he had been the day before that one of them was responsible for his daughter’s death. Then, he slowly wheeled himself out.
As soon as he was out of sight, the room erupted into a frenzy of quarrelling and arguing.
“I’ve got a business to run,” said Randolph Bolton importantly, slapping his hand on his belly. “Can’t be expected to hang around here for weeks and weeks until those provincial people from the police come up with the obvious solution.”
“And what might that obvious solution be?” asked Dr. Linton acidly.
“That it was murder, of course,” Mr. Bolton answered.
“It might well have been an accident,” said Dr. Linton.
“Is that your professional opinion, doctor?” asked Mrs. Highgarden from across the room, a note of hopefulness in her voice.
“Well, if I had been allowed a glimpse, I might have been able to make that pronouncement,” Dr. Linton said. “As it stands, however…”
At the other end of the table, the twins were close to exchanging blows.
“Of course you want to stay here,” Vanessa was saying. “This place is just as boring as you are.”
“At least,” Jane said, struggling to find an adequate retort. “At least I want to keep my word to mother. She’d turn in her grave if she knew how you’d been behaving.”
“How dare you bring mother into this,” Vanessa spat, turning on her. “You were always her sweet little favourite, never in any trouble. No wonder you want to stay here with a corpse. You’re basically one yourself.”
Finally, Jane – who had tried to remain as calm and collected as possible so far – went white as a sheet and screamed:
“You arrogant b…”
“Ladies, please!” said Patrick Urquhart, rushing to stop them from fighting and catching the first few blows that the sisters had intended for each other. “This won’t help anyone.”
Mrs. Highgarden, meanwhile, was trying to convince the committee members that this was the ideal opportunity to continue the meetings. Nobody, however, was particularly interested in listening to her justifications anymore.
“Are you a doctor, sir?” said Dr. Linton, pointing a shaky finger at Randolph Bolton.
“No, but I’ve got a killer instinct – I mean, in the business sense, of course – an intuition, you might say. And I know foul play when I see it. No woman that age dies like that, no matter how hard she’s working. It’s clear as daylight.”
“Nonsense,” said Dr. Linton.
“So what is the take of our esteemed doctor, then?” Mr. Bolton said sarcastically. “I noticed you haven’t been voicing any professional opinions.”
“As I told you, I haven’t been allowed to see the body,” Dr. Linton said angrily. “But there are many natural causes that may be fatal. It is rare, but only a fool would jump to conclusions.”
Randolph Bolton turned to him aggressively.
“Are you calling me a fool?” he said.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Mrs. Highgarden intervened. “Don’t forget, we share a common goal. A vision for the committee. Do not let petty squabbles get in the way of it.”
I leaned over to Val, who was sitting at the corner of the table, so that Barry could hear me as well.
“She doesn’t even care Anita Brown’s dead,” I said. “She just wants to continue with the meetings as if nothing ever happened.”
“Yeah,” Val agreed. “She’s a fanatic, that’s for sure.”
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s catch some fresh air. I can’t stand the squabbles any longer.”
“OK,” said Val. “Come on, Barry.”
We went up to our rooms to get our coats and then stepped outside through the heavy lounge door next to the reception desk. We were greeted by an icy cold, harsh wind that viciously ripped and yanked at our hair. Barry was having trouble moving, though he refused our offer to carry him on the grounds that it was ‘too undignified’.
Above us, the clouds were moving as if they had been set on fast forward. I was surprised that the Inspector dared to go back to the mainland in this weather, though as a local he was probably used to it. And luckily, the rain was a mere drizzle so far, though I’m sure the wind would have made any boat trip a nightmare. Val, who had also been observing the sky, stepped on a shovel that was lying around on the ground just outside of the workshop. It missed her by an inch or two.
“Why do you wear those things in a place like this?” Barry asked in an exasperated tone. “You’re going to get yourself – and probably us along with you – killed if you’re not careful.”
“I like the shoes,” said Val defensively. “They happen to make me feel good about myself.”
Barry looked at them disdainfully but decided to switch the topic.
“I’m with the haughty twin on this,” said Barry sourly. “Wish we could get off this island as fast as possible.”
“You’re just moaning because Anita Brown isn’t there anymore to make you cooked tuna,” said Val.
“Nobody makes it like Mrs. Faversham at home, anyway,” said Barry, hastily adding when he caught our eye: “Aside from you two, of course.”
“That’s very gracious of you, Barry,” I said. “So, was it murder or not?”
“I don’t know,” said Val. “Nobody has ever felt animosity towards her. Not as far I could tell, anyway. Just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I think I’m inclined to agree,” said Barry. “But even if it was murder, it’s still a heb affair. I thought perhaps that Mrs. Haughton might have picked up on something else but… I must have been mistaken.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“Well, that she picked up on some form of magic. That would have made it a magical affair. Then, we could get the MLE involved and be on our way.”
I grumbled slightly, though I couldn’t put my finger on what was actually bothering me.
“I suppose we have to wait for the report from the police,” I said. “We’re not allowed off the island before then, anyway.”
“Yeah,” said Val, sounding rather depressed. “Feels a lot different now, somehow, when you’re not allowed to go anymore. No freedom.”
“Shall we go to the lighthouse?” I said, half-heartedly hoping that Mr. Brown might have left the door unlocked
in his present state of mourning.
“There’s no point,” said Val. “Anyway, I get headaches when I’m up there.”
“Headaches?” I asked. “At the lighthouse?”
“I know it sounds weird but that’s the way it is. Maybe it’s the technical equipment in there or something. Makes me dizzy.”
It didn’t sound like a particularly good explanation to me but I decided to drop the matter for the time being. Instead of going to the lighthouse, we aimlessly strolled around the other buildings next to the hotel, still struggling with the rough winds.
“And what do you think you’re doing here, snooping around?”
All three of us swung around immediately, though I was sure who it was from the surly grunt of a voice. And indeed, Williams was standing a few feet away, his hands inside his pockets. As was to be expected, he looked very different from when I had seen him last. He had deep, purple bags beneath his eyes. He looked gaunt, and most of the colour had drained from his leathery face.
“We didn’t mean to…” Val began, but he interrupted her immediately.
“You people don’t care, do you?” he spat bitterly. “Nobody cared, except Anita. Best thing that ever happened to me in my life. And now… now she’s gone.”
There was a moment of silence as he struggled to supress his boiling emotions in front of strangers.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said sincerely. “I know what she meant to you.”
“How would you know? How would anyone have known?” he lashed out again. “I was just the handyman, after all. Nobody knew that I loved her and she loved me back. And now … now it’s all gone forever.”
His eyes swelled up, though I think he was well beyond tears in his grief for Anita Brown. I decided that honesty was the best approach.
“I… I knew because we accidentally overheard you in the kitchen. On the first night we arrived here,” I said. “We didn’t mean to, though. It just happened.”
“You heard… everything?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Yes. The important bits, anyway. Enough to understand that Mr. Brown opposed your being together.”