Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  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 t
owards 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 is. 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.

  He closed the door and placed the shirts on the hook on the right-hand side, his eyes everywhere except at the mirror. Standing in a bright cubicle, he caught a glimpse of his fine mousy hair and pallid skin tone. She had said he needed a makeover, needed to do something to attract women. Did he look that bad, really?

  The first shirt he had agreed to try on was not to his taste. She had said it might arouse his more adventurous inner-self. It was a bizarre statement and he wasn’t sure where her strange ideas came from; it wasn’t from him. He was not adventurous, either inside or out, and he was proud of it. Nonetheless, he had promised to make an effort.

  The shirt was a fluorescent blue in a crinkled fabric and far too gaudy for his liking. He placed his jacket onto another hook, removed his white cotton shirt and navy-blue tie, and reached for the coat hanger. The colour was eye-catching, for sure. Maybe it wouldn’t look too bad, presuming, that was, that he had the courage to wear it.

  Imogen’s voice rang out. She was talking to the store assistant, demanding he let her through. Luke fastened the buttons, her voice preying on his mind.

  ‘He needs my help,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry miss, you have to wait here.’

  ‘He’s not got anything I’ve not seen before.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll come out if he wants your opinion.’

  ‘He’s my boyfriend. He needs my opinion.’

  Luke spun around, unlocked the door, and peered along the corridor to Imogen. She caught sight of him, weaved past the assistant, and grinned.

  ‘That’s fantastic darling!’ she said and winked. ‘That colour suits you.’

  Colour rose to his cheeks. He felt ridiculous standing there letting her scrutinise his outfit and checking the fitting.

  ‘Turn around,’ she said.

  He did so, although stiffly.

  ‘We’ll have that one. Go try the other one on.’

  He stepped into the cubicle to change. Her odour, her delicious scent, only a breath away, stimulated his nostrils and stirred his pulse. He thought of her blue eyes and wavy fawn hair clipped away from her face, and he thought of her attire, so colourful, so crazy.

  The second shirt was black with a multicoloured floral pattern. He gazed at it with suspicion, as though it may somehow influence his personality, but actually, once he had fastened the buttons, he did not think it looked as hideous as he’d first thought. He opened the door expecting her praise.

  She collapsed into a fit of giggles. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘I quite like it.’

  ‘Really Luke, that style is so not you!’

  He stepped towards a full-length mirror and smoothed out his collar. ‘It looks smart.’

  ‘You’re having me on, right?’

  His confidence slipped. Downcast, he stepped back into the cubicle to change, his skin hot and slippery with beads of perspiration dripping from his brow. He decided there and then, as he donned his work attire, that it was a bad idea to shop with Imogen. Their tastes were worlds apart; he should never have agreed. He was happy with his boring clothes and boring life.
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  He eased open the door and walked towards Imogen. She was making easy chatter with the store assistant and turned and smiled.

  ‘Come on then darling,’ she said, ‘must get on.’

  She linked his arm.

  He pulled it free. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.

  She had a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’re so uptight.’

  ‘I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of all this flirting.’

  ‘Are you forgetting my Mark’s seen you? He knows you’re no competition!’

  Luke gawked. ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘Not that you're not funny and intelligent . . . quite a catch for someone!’

  ‘I’m not funny.’

  She giggled. ‘You so are.’

  ‘And like you’re perfect! You dress like you’re still in primary school.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘I can’t believe you just said that!’

  Amused by her shocked expression, he joined the queue to purchase the shirt.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you must fancy the younger woman because I know you think I’m hot.’

  His cheeks flushed. He turned away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You’re blushing.’

  Dismayed, he shook his head.

  She edged closer. Her breath was hot on his ear, her voice a whisper. ‘I’ve seen you looking at my boobs.’

  An electrifying ripple surged through his body. Silenced by her statement, he stared at the cashier, urging her to hurry up. Out of his eye corner, he could see her smiling. Her lips were wet and her tongue hovered on the tip of her mouth.

  The customer in front of him departed. He handed his shirt to the cashier, watched her tap the keys, and then he offered his credit card. Imogen was still smirking, her eyes flitting between him and her fingernails.

  He turned his head and whispered into her ear. ‘I look at all women’s boobs, yours are nothing special.’

  ‘I’ll remember that . . . next time we have a female client.’

  She skipped away, bouncing across the store with an untainted innocence, and then, stopping suddenly, she turned her head. She was waiting for him. She had a teasing look in his eyes.