Highland Peril

by Amy M. Reade

  “How long did you get to visit with him?” I asked.

  “Not long. The inmates are only allowed a short amount of time to see visitors, and his sister was already there when I got there. I had to wait for them to finish their visit.”

  “Did he have anything else to say?”

  “He asked me to bring some books from his office. I think he’s already bored to death. Sorry—wrong choice of words.”

  “So you’ll visit him again soon?”

  “Not for a few days. He’s only allowed visitors every so often, and I think he’s used up his allotment for this week.”

  “Ring me up when you see him again. I’d like to stay in the loop.”

  “Absolutely. Talk to you soon.”

  Eilidh and I went to the pub that evening for dinner. I told her to bring her new darts along so I could start teaching her how to play. I was already at the pub when she arrived. She walked in with the pouch of darts clutched in one hand and smiled broadly when I waved her over to the table.

  “When can we start?” she asked as soon as she sat down.

  I laughed. “Let’s eat first, then we’ll play. There’s a game going on now, anyway,”

  She clearly didn’t want to wait. “All right,” she said with a loud sigh. We arranged our chairs so we could watch the game going on. I instructed Eilidh to watch the hand movements of each player as I explained what they were doing right or wrong.

  “It sounds cliché,” I told her, “but it’s all in the wrist. You have to flick it just right to get the dart to go where you want it to go. Ideally, that’s the bull’s-eye.” She nodded.

  Our server brought our orders and I continued to critique the players while we ate. Eilidh gobbled her meal quickly, probably hoping the quicker she ate the quicker I would show her how to play.

  Finally the men playing the game sat down. Eilidh and I walked over to the dartboard and I showed her the basics. The concentric rings, each worth differing point values, the size of the bull’s-eye up close, and where darts had gone astray and poked holes in the wooden frame around the board.

  “Okay, okay,” Eilidh said impatiently. “Let’s get started.”

  For the next thirty minutes I stood behind my cousin, positioning her hand just right and demonstrating how to flick her wrist so that she could aim the dart directly at the middle of the board. Eventually she was ready to take a break. “My wrist hurts,” she complained.

  “That’s enough for one night anyhow,” I said. “Ice your wrist when you get home, and if it feels better tomorrow we can come over tomorrow night and try it again.”

  She agreed, and we parted ways at her house. I walked the short distance to Gorse Brae by myself, looking over my shoulder constantly for anyone who might be lurking nearby. I would have loved someone to walk home with me, but I didn’t want to ask Eilidh. If she walked me home, then she would have to return to her own house by herself and she might not be safe.

  I slept well that night. I had enjoyed my evening out with Eilidh; Callum and Seamus had probably enjoyed a men’s night at Eilidh’s house. I was learning how easy it was to have fun without a man around.

  The next day Eilidh said the ice on her wrist had worked and she was ready to try again. I didn’t want to eat dinner at the pub again, so I suggested she eat at home and meet me at the pub afterwards.

  I ate dinner by myself—a can of chicken noodle soup. After I had cleaned up the few dishes I had dirtied, I fetched my own darts from the closet next to the front door and set the alarm. The system was set up to give me thirty seconds to leave the house before disturbing the entire village with its keening wail, so I hurried to lock the door behind me. I didn’t see anyone standing next to the rowan tree beside the door.

  Just as I turned the key in the deadbolt, a hand reached from behind me and gripped my wrist with an iron-like strength. I gasped and turned around.

  CHAPTER 18

  Alice was glaring at me, pure malice in her eyes.

  “Get back inside,” she ordered.

  “What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

  “I want you to get back inside,” she growled, pushing me with a strength that surprised me.

  Once inside, she closed the door behind us and demanded that I give her the alarm code. “And don’t even think of giving me the wrong one or I’ll kill you right here, right now.” My mind warred with itself—did I dare give her the wrong code? I didn’t know what would happen if I did. The alarm might keep beeping and alert Alice that I had lied. Then what would she do?

  I gave her the correct code. She punched it in and then ordered me into the kitchen. She turned on the light and motioned me into one of the kitchen chairs, where I sat down slowly, my eyes never leaving her face.

  “You know more than you’ve been telling me,” she snarled, sitting down across from me and folding her hands before her on the table.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The painting. It’s always been about the painting. I know you know where it is, and you’re not leaving here unless you tell me.”

  “I’ve never lied to you about the painting, Alice. I have no idea where it is.”

  “Stop it!” she shrieked, slamming her fist on the tabletop. She rooted through a bag she was carrying over her shoulder and held up a roll of duct tape, a triumphant look in her eyes. She stood up and moved to the side of the table where I sat. I didn’t know if I dared to try to run.

  I did. I leapt to my feet, the chair falling backward onto the floor with a loud crash. All I had to do was get to the back door so I could get outside, where I would be safe. There was no telling what Alice was capable of. She had surprised me every time I’d seen her since she first visited Gorse Brae after Florian’s death.

  But this time I surprised her. She blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. She must have expected me to sit still and obey her commands, but I had no intention of letting her decide how this would end.

  She tripped over the fallen chair in her haste to reach me. That gave me an extra second to reach the door, but she recovered herself quickly behind me. My hand trembled as I tried to unlock the small lock, and I fumbled once.

  That was all Alice needed to reach me. In a shocking display of strength, she yanked my arm behind my back just as I twisted the lock to the open position. I had almost made it to freedom. I had a feeling she was going to make me regret having tried to escape.

  I was right. She slapped me hard across the face. I put my hand to my cheek where it was stinging. She still held my free arm behind my back and she wrenched it upward. The pain was blinding. Holding my arm, she propelled me toward the living room. She had surprising strength for such a slight woman. Once in the living room, she pushed my back with such force that I fell, knocking my shoulder against the edge of the coffee table. I could feel her let go of my arm as I pitched forward.

  The pain in my shoulder was terrible. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Alice wasn’t going to see me cry. I was at her mercy on the floor, so I tried to struggle to my feet. But she was not going to give up her advantage. She leaned over me and punched me in the mouth. I saw blood spatter on the floor even before I was aware of the pain.

  “Now tell me where you’ve hidden the painting!” she yelled.

  My only choice at that point was to try to buy some time, so I tried to think of a place to send her to search to give me time to escape.

  “It’s in the studio,” I said. “Seamus hid it in there, but I don’t know where.”

  She produced the roll of duct tape again and I tried scrambling away, only to find that the arm she had wrenched behind me was useless. Alice saw immediately what I was trying to do and she kicked me into position against the leg of the coffee table. When I was seated to her satisfaction, she used her teeth to rip a long piece of tape from the roll, then she taped my arms behind me and then to the leg of the table.

  I couldn’t move. My mouth was still
bleeding, my cheek hurt, and my arm was probably broken. It was useless to me, of that I was sure.

  She turned off the lights and used a torch to make her way into the shop and toward the studio. I cursed myself for not locking the door between the kitchen and the shop, because I would have had an additional few precious seconds to try to extricate myself from the duct tape if she had needed to take the time to unlock the door. I wished I had the use of both arms. I struggled in vain against the tape, trying to rip it by twisting my arms against the edge of the table leg, but it didn’t work. I tried pulling the table along the floor to the front door, but the pain in my arm was crippling and I was only able to move a few inches. I vowed to get rid of the coffee table if I made it out of this alive and in one piece.

  I stopped struggling to listen for Alice; I could hear her footsteps approaching. She was moving slowly, probably because it was so dark in the house. After only a few seconds the beam from her torch cut through the darkness and shined directly into my eyes. I ducked my head to avoid being blinded.

  Alice came over to the table and squatted down next to me. She squeezed my useless arm, causing me to cry out in pain. I hated to show any weakness in front of her.

  “You lied to me, Sylvie. You knew all along that painting wasn’t in the studio.” Her voice was calm, deadly. I was terrified of what she might do.

  “I thought that’s where Seamus had it. He must have moved it,” I lied, my throat constricting.

  “I don’t believe you. I’m going to leave you in here whilst I have a look around. I’m not worried that someone will interrupt me now that your dear husband isn’t living here.” She barked out an ugly laugh.

  How did she know Seamus and I were living apart?

  Leaving the lights off and taking her torch, Alice returned to the shop. I could hear her moving paintings around. My head slumped against my chest. Alice had defeated me. I couldn’t reach my mobile phone to call anyone, and every part of me hurt.

  It took Alice several minutes to go through the paintings in the shop since there were so many. I willed my brain to think of a way to keep her talking, to keep her from hurting me again—or worse.

  After she finished searching the shop, she moved to the kitchen. I could hear her opening cupboards and knocking their contents onto the floor. She probably emptied every cupboard. Next I could hear her in the laundry room. She shuffled around the laundry closet, obviously not finding anything of interest. I could hear her muttering to herself. I was becoming more and more worried as each second ticked by, as Alice’s mental state appeared to be deteriorating as she searched.

  When she didn’t find the painting in the laundry room, she went into the guest bedroom. The closet was directly behind the bedroom door, so Alice had to close the door in order to open the closet door.

  She had just closed the bedroom door when I heard the front door handle rattle. Someone else was at Gorse Brae. I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. Was it someone who meant me further harm, or was someone here to help?

  The door opened slowly. I could see Eilidh’s silhouette outlined against the moonlight.

  “Eilidh,” I called softly.

  “Sylvie?” she asked.

  “Shh,” I whispered. “Alice is in the guest room. I’m tied up over here by the coffee table.”

  “Are you all right?” I could hear the alarm in her voice.

  “I’m okay, just banged up a little.”

  “I’ll get Seamus,” she said, and started to turn away.

  “No,” I whispered urgently. “There’s no time. Try to get me out of this.”

  Leaving the door open, she came and knelt next to me, setting a small package on the sofa. We could hear Alice tossing things aside as she searched through the closet in the guest bedroom.

  “When you didn’t show up for darts, I got worried,” she whispered. “I’m so glad I came over to find you.”

  “Hurry,” I urged.

  Just then Alice slammed the closet door shut. Eilidh scrambled behind the sofa, leaving me slumped against the coffee table leg. Alice opened the bedroom door and came over to where I sat.

  “I’m running out of places to look, and you’re running out of time to tell me where the painting is,” she said in a low voice. “I may have to take a look around the kitchen again. Maybe you’ve got a nice sharp knife I can use to convince you to talk a little faster.”

  “It’s got to be around here somewhere,” I said in a rasping voice, hoping she would leave the room quickly so Eilidh could help me.

  “You’d better be right,” Alice said. She gave me a swift kick in my shin. Wincing, I shot a glance in the direction where I knew Eilidh was hiding. It was reflexive; it was dark enough that I couldn’t see anyone. So far Alice didn’t seem to realize there was someone else in the house.

  When Alice went into my bedroom, Eilidh clambered out from behind the sofa and felt her way to where I sat on the floor. I could hear her groping for furniture. When she reached me, she tried ripping the duct tape with her hands.

  “My hands are verra sweaty,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.” She continued tugging fruitlessly.

  “Can you get a knife?” I asked, wishing she would give up trying with her bare hands and move onto another solution.

  “I’ll look.”

  “Hurry,” I urged her.

  She stood up and I could hear her moving toward the kitchen. But before she got more than a meter away from me, Alice appeared in the bedroom doorway.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Who’s here?”

  Silence. I prayed Eilidh would stay still and that Alice would decide to keep the lights off.

  “I asked, who’s here?” Alice demanded in a rough voice. I could hear her walking toward the front door. I knew what she was doing.

  The room lit up as Alice touched the switch on the wall. Before I even glanced in her direction, I raised my head to see Eilidh standing in the kitchen doorway, looking like a hunted animal. Her eyes darted this way and that, seeking an escape from what she knew was about to become an even more dangerous situation.

  Eilidh locked eyes with Alice. “Who are you?” Alice asked.

  “A friend of Sylvie’s.”

  “You picked the wrong time to visit your friend,” Alice sneered. Eilidh said nothing.

  “Alice, let her leave. She has nothing to do with the painting,” I pleaded.

  “She can’t leave. What do you think will happen? I’ll tell you. She’ll call the police before she can get down your front walk, that’s what. Of course I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “No she won’t,” I insisted. “You won’t, right, Eilidh?” I asked, looking at her. I meant it. If Eilidh could get out of Gorse Brae unharmed, I would trade that for police help.

  “Of course I’d call the police!” Eilidh declared. I groaned inwardly. If there had been the slightest chance that Alice would let her go, it evaporated before my eyes. But I should have known Eilidh would remain loyal to me no matter what.

  Alice started to move slowly around the perimeter of the room toward Eilidh, just as a hunter might stalk prey. Eilidh saw what Alice was doing and started moving, too, away from Alice. The two women stared at each other. The room was strangely silent as I watched this bizarre dance between my cousin and my captor. Suddenly Alice lunged at Eilidh.

  Eilidh’s courage since finding me on the floor, duct-taped to a table, had been surprising. I wouldn’t have expected her to exhibit such strength in the face of danger. But she had another surprise in store for me.

  Before Alice could reach her, Eilidh swooped toward the sofa, where she had left her pouch of darts. Alice and I figured out what was happening simultaneously. Though the darts wouldn’t have been useful to cut through the thick tape that held me in place, they were just the right tool to put a stop to Alice’s reign of terror.

  Eilidh untied the pouch, her eyes never leaving Alice’s face. The pouch fell to the floor and Eil
idh held the darts in one hand. She held out the other hand as if she were trying to keep her balance, but I think she was feeling for furniture. Even though it was light in the room, she was so focused on Alice’s movements that she probably didn’t see the furniture in her peripheral vision and wanted to be sure she didn’t stumble over anything and give Alice an advantage.

  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. I desperately wished I could help Eilidh, but there was nothing I could do.

  Or was there?

  I may have lost the use of my arms, but I still had power of my voice. I used it.

  “Alice, the painting is in the bedroom, under the mattress.”

  When Alice jerked her head to look at me, Eilidh took the opportunity I had given her and lunged toward Alice. Stepping onto the corner of the coffee table, Eilidh jumped off and landed on the floor next to Alice. Alice took her eyes from me again and, realizing she had been duped, swung her arm wildly toward Eilidh and connected with Eilidh’s neck. Eilidh let out a grunt and stepped back; I feared she had lost her courage to face Alice. But she hadn’t. She stood up again and swung her own arm in a long arc, grazing Alice’s shoulder. Alice continued as though she hadn’t even felt the punch. Glancing behind her, she reached for a heavy wooden candlestick on the mantel. I cried out, “Watch it, Eilidh!”

  But she was already watching. When Alice thrust the candlestick toward Eilidh’s face, Eilidh dodged out to the side, narrowly missing being hit on the side of her head. And that’s when Alice made her mistake. She threw the candlestick at Eilidh, probably hoping to hit her hard enough to stun her and make her drop the darts. But Eilidh jumped out of the way and the candlestick dropped to the floor with a thud. Now Alice had no ready weapon and Eilidh knew it was time to press her advantage. She lurched to one side and Alice mirrored her movement, probably hoping to meet her in a hand-to-hand fight, but, quick as lightning, Eilidh lunged in the other direction, leaving Alice to stumble forward in surprise. And when Alice stumbled, Eilidh reached out and plunged a dart deep into her shoulder.