Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  Scurrying to the door, Leanne fumbled in her pocket, feeling the soft woollen texture of the fabric in her fingers, and extracted the key. She had to throw herself against it before it opened, and then it swung in, causing her to stumble.

  Feeling like a trespasser, she peered through the doors and into the downstairs rooms. It was difficult to see anything, as little light filtered from the doorway across the lobby, but she could tell that there was furniture within, increasing her bewilderment. It was puzzling that Janet would leave the property in such a manner. What kind of person would not want to live there?

  ‘Hello?’

  The voice startled her. She spun around and looked towards the outer door. The man’s figure was shadowy and indistinct.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw the car and wondered if everything was okay.’

  She stepped towards him. He backed away into the light and her body rippled with excitement. He was gorgeous with dazzling eyes, high cheekbones, and dishevelled hair. And he smelled sensational. Her eyes wandered down his frame, noting his wide shoulders and strong slender legs.

  ‘I’m Steven,’ he said, stretching out his arm.

  ‘Leanne.’

  I’ve been keeping an eye on this place for years. We walk past every day.’ He looked down to his dog. ‘Don’t we Tansy?’

  The dog, a scruffy mid-brown short-haired mongrel, looked to him, panting emphatically.

  ‘I’ve just inherited it.’

  ‘You knew Janet?’

  ‘She was my Gran. How did you know her?’

  ‘Just in passing. She kept the place in order. I only saw her a couple of times but she seemed a nice lady. Sorry for your loss.’

  Suddenly, it didn’t seem that important. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I never understood why she didn’t live here,’ he said. ‘I thought that maybe it was too big for her.’

  ‘It is rather grand. It’s all a bit of a mystery to me too. I thought I knew everything about her, but she never even mentioned this place. She never even told me that my mother . . .’ Leanne gulped. He was staring; he was holding onto her every word. But it was too soon to share the news that she still processed in her mind. ‘. . . never mind. How often did she come down?’

  ‘Not often. Roy used to keep the place in order. I take it he was your grandfather.’

  Leanne nodded.

  ‘I assume he died.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘I used to see him a couple of times a year, and then . . . well, that was it. He was a friendly guy.’ His eyes glazed. ‘It must have been about five years before Janet paid a visit. I once believed, a few years ago, that they were planning to move here. They had a heating system installed and the whole place was modernised.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You’ll love it inside. I guess you’ve already found out it’s furnished?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know anything about the original owners?’

  ‘No, afraid not. It wasn’t your grandparents’ house then?’

  ‘It was.’ She hesitated. ‘They did live here for a while, but they inherited from a Mr and Mrs Coombs. I’ve no idea who they were.’

  Steven leaned against the wall and held her in his gaze. Her heart fluttered and she could sense her eyes widen, absorbing every flicker and every breath.

  ‘Well Leanne,’ he said, ‘I must say you have brought a bit of excitement to my day. Are you planning on staying?’

  ‘I . . . I think I might.’

  She traced his muscular tone, studied his slender boyish fingers, and gazed adoringly at his rosy cheeks, and her blood surged, rising up through her collar to her face. She could barely breathe, besotted by his presence, and gawked.

  ‘Great. I’ll look forward to seeing you again. I’ve got to go, Andrea’s expecting me.’

  Her heart sank. His wife? It had to be. He was far too nice to be single.

  He spun around and passed her a twisted smile. ‘My ex.’

  Chapter 4

  Steven ambled along the path, his gait loose; his left arm swung at his side, his feet pointed outwards, and his head bobbed. She visualised his smile, his beautifully symmetrical face and his dazzling eyes, and she imagined running her fingers across his body and through his hair.

  He turned his head, caught her looking. Embarrassed, she looked away, but then, unable to resist, peered out of her eye corner. He had a glint in his eye and a hint of pink in his cheeks, and slowly and almost seductively, he smiled. Holding her breath, she felt her heat rise and her pulse vibrate across her body. She lifted her head, too wrapped up in her tingling emotions to maintain any aloofness, and smiled back. With one easy swing, he threw a ball for his spirited dog.

  The teasing look in Steven’s eyes remained with Leanne as she watched him disappear from view. There was now no doubt in her mind that she would have to stay, in the least to assess the property and furnishings, and maybe, just maybe, they could form a friendship. Did he pass every day? Would he come in for a coffee? What did he think of her?

  Subconsciously, she squeezed her arms across her front, hiding her podgy middle, and gazed down at her figure. Her loose jeans made her legs look fat, as did her extra layers beneath her jacket. Her hair was a mess, unkempt in the breeze, and she wore no makeup or perfume. Anxiously, she breathed in her scent, regretting her earlier sorrow and lack of desire to maintain a sense of worth. What must he think? Did he notice that she was fat and scruffy?

  Drawn back to the moment, she strode to the car to retrieve a torch from the rear. Catching sight of a first aid kit of Phillip’s, her heart grew heavy and her recent losses surfaced. It was ridiculous to believe that Steven could ever come close to replacing her late husband; their relationship had been special and their love intense. She pushed him from her mind.

  Once back inside the lobby, Leanne scanned the walls, ceiling, and floor, following the circle of light. It was clean and well maintained, yet needed an airing, the fustiness lingering within her nostrils. Displayed upon the walls were a large rectangular mirror set in a brass frame and two oil paintings of the countryside, and hanging in the centre of the ceiling was a light fitting with a glass floral shade. It was surreal and difficult to accept she owned such a beautiful house. She entered the rooms.

  Each one was furnished, some more so than others, and from what she could see with the torchlight, the décor was neat although old fashioned. She opened a cabinet and gazed at the piles of crockery, glasses, and a vase, and then looked in an adjoining drawer. It contained an assortment of kitchen implements, from carving knives to skewers. It was surprising to see that so much had remained untouched and unused for decades.

  Feeling like a burglar, she pushed open the door to a room that proved to be the kitchen. It was a large size, with windows on two sides, cupboards and units all around the edge, and a table in the centre. Upon the rustic surface were a newspaper, a polystyrene cup, and a scrunched up piece of paper. Driven by curiosity, she walked across, her heels clicking on the tiled floor, and shone the light onto the text. It was a short piece about the death of her grandmother. Her nerves danced.

  The chair scraped on the floor as she pulled it away from the table and then sat down, her body heavy with bewilderment. Upon the next chair was a jacket, shiny black with glistening studs and padding. Someone had been prowling, and maybe they still were and hiding in the darkness. She held her breath and listened for any unwelcome noises. Only the faint whooshing sound of the wind was audible.

  Feeling rather silly, she cried out, ‘hello?’

  Silence.

  She moved to the bottom of the staircase and gazed into perpetual darkness.

  ‘Anyone there?’

  Tiptoeing, she headed upstairs, the light preceding her. She called out again, her voice quaking and lacking conviction as the words slipped from her tongue. There was no reply, no sounds to affirm her fear. She flung open each door, scanned each room, and then hurried back downstairs and outside.
The light was welcoming, and the breath of wind refreshing upon her face.

  Security was foremost in her mind. With no tools in her car, she was helpless, and could not board up the broken window. She folded her arms and scanned the trail Steven had taken, but she could not see him. She should have got his number, but he had appeared eager to depart and she had no time to consider her plans. Hoping to catch him to draw his attention, she wandered towards the barn at the rear of the garden. The air was chilling. She tightened the grip upon her jacket collar and glanced to the sky, seeking out the elusive blue gaps. A figure caught her attention. In the field, the man she had spoken to earlier was bent over and studying something in the ground.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she called.

  He looked up.

  ‘Have you got a minute?’

  His eyes flitted and he frowned. He seemed suspicious of her request, so she sauntered to the edge of the field and forced a light gait and a broad smile. More than anything, she wanted to ask about her mother, but given his continuing unease, she dismissed the idea of an interrogation, unwilling, just yet, to alienate him.

  ‘I need to find someone who can remove those boards from the window, do you know anyone?’

  ‘It’ll cost.’

  ‘Yes, I know. There’s also a broken window and the board has come away. I need that fixing too.’

  ‘I’ll sort it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘So long as you pay in cash.’

  ‘I’ll do that. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days, can it be done by then?’

  ‘Aye lass.’

  ‘I’m Leanne Stark by the way.’

  He nodded. ‘Ted Moore.’

  ‘Please to meet you, Ted.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  She nodded, biting back the questions about her mother, and after a brief exchange, she watched him stroll away. He seemed a reasonable sort, and she had no choice but to trust him. It wasn’t as if there was anything valuable in the house, and if there was she was unaware of it. The place had been vacant for decades; it could survive a bit longer.

  She turned back to the house, ready to lock up and return home, when a noise at her rear, possibly coming from the barn, startled her. It sounded like metal crashing onto concrete and her heart leapt, but there seemed to be nothing there; Ted was back in the field and there was no sign of animals fleeing from the barn. Curious, she stepped towards the sound and trampled the tall weeds and grasses as best she could with her slim heels.

  A shrub limited her view. She stepped closer, waiting for the full view of the brick building to emerge. When it did, her discovery daunted, and her legs wobbled and her head swam with nausea.

  As a small child, Leanne had peered into the barn, hiding behind that bush. There were blood-curdling screams, a crashing sound, and voices, lots of them, shouting, panicking, and enriched in terror. Her body convulsed and she could not move. Someone grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to drag her away, but her legs were leaden, trapping her in an incomprehensible nightmare.

  Fighting her quivering body, she edged forwards. Evidence of a fire remained, and the charred beams lay untouched since the incident. Magnetised by the haunting memories, she peered through the open door at the ruined hayloft, and the cobwebs and debris. Despite her best efforts, she could not remember anything else, as the actual event lay shrouded in mist. Trembling with icy cold skin, she leaned against the doorframe, gawking and desperate to remember something else, yet she was equally fearful of the truth. Whatever had happened had caused her grandmother to tell her the most atrocious lie. Perhaps she should forget it; perhaps she should return home and forget Honeysuckle Cottage ever existed.

  The rain pounded the car, striking the windscreen and tapping the metal in a fast regular motion. Darkness had arrived, despite being mid-afternoon, and the air was chilling, aided by a cold northerly wind. Leanne searched the skies, peering through the streams of water on the glass. No end was in sight, and the menacing clouds rolled and sank. The café beckoned.

  She trotted to the doorway, dashing through the persistent rain and into the warmth. It was busier than earlier and a few families gathered. Thankfully, though, the prattling woman had gone home, and she breathed a relieved sigh.

  At the counter, Leanne looked at the selection of sandwiches and cakes, and then to a menu on the blackboard at the rear.

  ‘Back again!’ the café assistant said. ‘It looks a bit nasty out there.’

  ‘It is.’ She ordered a sandwich and coffee. ‘I see business has picked up.’

  ‘The weather has helped. Did you get done what you needed to?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I went to see a house on Fen Lane. You might know the one. It’s boarded up.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been empty ever since I’ve lived here.’

  ‘Do you know anything about the family that lived there?’

  ‘No, afraid not.’

  A hefty man appeared at Leanne’s side with a tray containing a large scone and a piece of lemon cake. Uncertainly, she glanced towards him. He paid little attention and gazed at the menu and then the counter.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ The assistant continued.

  ‘I’m trying to trace someone. I’ve been told she often stays around here. Her name is Karen Jefferson.’

  ‘I don’t know the name. What’s she look like?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.’

  Despondent, Leanne took her cheese and ham sandwich and coffee to a table in the centre of the room, perched on a chair, and feeling isolated and self-conscious, listened to the cacophony of sounds from the mumble of voices of the adults to the excited cries of the children. At the next table, there was an expectation in the air; the family were taking a trip somewhere, just as she and Phillip had done during Tyler’s younger days. They had been a family back then.

  Leanne and Phillip had met at the library. She had been with Tyler, searching for a suitable children’s book, and he had been looking for a crime thriller to read. Tyler, exuberant as he was, grabbed a book and toddled across the library straight into Phillip’s legs. She apologised, but rather than receiving a stiff glare, he offered to buy her coffee, saying she looked as though she needed one. She knew she looked haggard and was conscious of the dark patches under her eyes, but wished it wasn’t so damned obvious to everyone. As she searched for an excuse, her mouth opened and shut; she was too tired to form new friendships, and her life as a single mum was far too complicated. Phillip smiled sweetly and spoke in a gentle, unassuming manner, and her concerns melted.

  Over the coming weeks, it was as though all her problems had vanished, as Phillip eased his way into her life, sharing in her journey with Tyler. Almost every night, when she had lain in bed, she wondered what she had done to deserve such a caring and loving man. He had been her saviour, helping her through a difficult time, and within months, they had married.

  Leanne munched on her sandwich and contemplated her loss. For a while, after his death, she had been inconsolable and could do nothing to try to discard her forlorn existence. Now, even though he still pulled at her heart, her sorrow was controllable and she even managed to smile at their shared memories. No matter what, she would not have been without those years, despite his sudden and tragic ending; he had provided Tyler with the father he needed, and he had given her, even though it sounded trite, the best years of her life.

  The café assistant stepped from behind the counter with a tray and cloth and approached a nearby table. She placed the dirty cups and plates onto the tray and wiped the surface. ‘I’ve been having a think,’ she said, ‘about Karen Jefferson.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I know someone who might know who she is, although I’m not sure it will be to your liking.’

  Leanne’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Mrs Wilkinson.’

  ‘Mrs Prattler!’ Leanne raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry.’

  The woman chuckled. ‘She certainly i
s. I’m Emma by the way. Emma Moss.’

  ‘Leanne Stark.’

  ‘Mrs Wilkinson knows everything about everyone, so she’ll know if she lives locally. The only problem is, everyone else will know your business too.’

  ‘That’s what worries me.’

  ‘I can ask around if you like, discreetly of course. Are you related?’

  Leanne nodded.

  ‘When did she last live in the village?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Something strange happened years ago, and until I know what it is, I would rather keep it quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  She did not reply and strode away.

  Had it been wise speaking out? She would feel terrible if she uncovered a dreadful family secret and then it became common knowledge. The gossiping, sniggering and pointed fingers would not be to her liking, and she would feel as though she was smearing her family name. Her grandmother would have been furious.

  However, her grandmother was no longer alive, and her own desires were strong and innate, or so it seemed. Searching for an answer to her dilemma, she glanced at the young family on the next table and considered what she might miss if she chose to walk away. Karen might have a family of her own; Leanne may have brothers and sisters, or even nieces and nephews. Surely, it was worth a bit of effort.

  She opened her handbag resting on the next chair, and pushing aside a notebook, keys, debit and credit cards, searched for a scrap of paper. With her apprehensions mingling with excitement, she tapped a number into her phone, held her breath and waited for Luke Adams, private investigator, to answer her call.

  Chapter 5

  Luke walked towards the changing booth, clothes in hand. He could feel Imogen’s eyes press into his back as she watched and waited with either an amused glint in her eye or a hint of pride, he couldn’t be sure which. She was doing him a good turn, or so she had said, speaking in her usual self-assured animated tone.