ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense)

by Faith Mortimer

  “Of course, if you’re too busy or have something else planned.” Fiona hopped from one foot to the other. She was tall and skinny and dressed in a three-quarter length coat over fur boots and black leggings. On her head, she was wearing a pale-blue ski hat with false pigtails. Her dirty-blonde hair hung down her back. Despite Fiona being in her late twenties or early thirties, Cassandra thought she dressed as if she was sixteen.

  “No, nothing that can’t wait. It would be very nice. Thank you.” She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly ten o’clock. “What time?”

  “Whenever you like. We’re always awake and up and about early.” Fiona laughed and rolled her eyes. “You know what men are like.”

  Cassandra didn’t, but smiled anyway. “Okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll be over.” She thought if she went immediately, she would still have time to get on with her painting.

  Fiona hopped off the step and skipped up the path. “See you later, then. I’ll go and put the kettle on. It’ll be nice having someone new to chat to.”

  Cassandra didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh. She couldn’t see Fiona and her becoming bosom pals, but maybe she was being unkind.

  Donald and Fiona lived beyond the farm, and as Cassandra passed, she could see at least two of the brothers in the yard. Both were muffled in donkey jackets; one was lugging hay bales around, while the other was stacking wood. Neither responded to her wave, although she knew they had seen it, as she saw them exchange comments. They paused in their work and leaned over a five-bar gate. She felt a fool and shrugged to herself. She wasn’t as needy as that! Their loss, not hers. It was strange but she never saw their sister, Carol. She wondered if she was as bad as the rest of the family.

  She moved on up the hill until she could see the last cottage of the hamlet. Just before it, stood a church—or kirk as she knew they were known up here. The kirk was typically made of granite; its square tower loomed high above the few trees dotted around the grounds. Cassandra noticed just inside the churchyard grounds there stood a two-metre block of gneiss, carved on both sides. On one face of the stone there was a cross, taking up the entire surface and decorated with interlaced knotwork. At the top of the cross were two carved circular projections. In the angles of the cross were symbols which she had previously been told were ancient Pictish.

  Against the grey sky, the churchyard looked sheltered and peaceful. There was a scattering of tombstones, many lying at oblique angles, all covered with yellowing lichen. Cassandra paused at the wicket gate and on an impulse walked inside. She had never visited the grounds or the kirk, and she thought a few minutes exploring wouldn’t matter before she went to Fiona’s for coffee. Most stones were unreadable, but here and there she deciphered a few dates and names, not recognising any which tied in with the current village inhabitants. She wandered round to the other side and discovered she wasn’t the only person visiting the churchyard that dull morning.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you there. I hope I haven’t disturbed you,” she said, backing off in embarrassment when he opened his eyes and looked momentarily dazed.

  He was sitting on a wooden bench sited under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree. He was thin and angular, his face surprisingly lined and pale, and Cassandra guessed he was probably in his early forties. The man was dressed in an old-fashioned heavy tweed jacket and black wool trousers, a tartan scarf wound round his neck and tucked inside the front of his jacket. He started upon seeing her, then seemed to gather himself and raised a hand in greeting. “No, not at all. You’re not disturbing me. I come here for the peace and views across the heather. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

  Cassandra looked across the expanse before them and agreed. “It is.” Curious, she turned round to study him more closely. “I’m not sure if I’ve seen you in the village before. Are you visiting or do you live hereabouts?”

  “Visiting. Aye, that’s right.”

  There was something about his manner, his subtle movement, and the shape of his head which reminded Cassandra of someone. She couldn’t place her finger on it because the feeling was so tenuous and ephemeral. It was like a fleeting glance into another life. Shaking her head of the notion, good manners dictated she had no right to question him further. She must have seen him around the village on a previous trip to the Highlands.

  “Enjoy your peace and quiet. Bye.” Cassandra left him in the churchyard and proceeded up the hill. The impression stayed with her until she reached Fiona and Donald’s cottage only a few steps away.

  Their place was about the same size as Shadow Vale, but in a far worse state of repair. She wondered why it was so tattered and rundown. The front garden was hardly a garden at all. It was completely neglected and overgrown with untidy bushes and prickly briars. She saw that round the side and back there was a motley collection of junk ranging from a discarded three-legged chair to a rolled-up threadbare carpet. A few loose hens pecked desultorily in the dirt, clucking forlornly as Cassandra pushed the rickety gate open.

  Fiona must have been watching from the window, as the door opened before Cassandra had time to knock. “Come in, come in and meet Donald,” she said, clutching hold of Cassandra by the arm and leading her into the living room. “Oh, silly me! I forgot you’ve already met. Never mind, sit down. Shall I take your coat, even though it’s a bit cold in here still?” She looked doubtfully at the small fire smouldering in the hearth. She looked up and gave a bright smile. “Never mind. It’ll get going in a minute, and a cup of coffee will warm us up nicely. Ah, here you are, Donald. Cassandra’s just arrived.”

  Donald walked into the room and nodded. “Nice to see you again. Fiona will see to the coffee. Please sit down. How are you settling in?”

  Cassandra noticed Fiona had no Scottish accent at all, but Donald possessed a slight burr. She guessed neither were born in Scotland and wondered idly where they were from. Cassandra glanced round the room and saw it was similar in size to the one at Shadow Vale but contained very little furniture. Apart from a small wooden table and two pine dining chairs, there was a two-seater sofa along one wall and one armchair nearest the fire. Cassandra chose the chair and sat perched near the edge while Donald moved towards the sofa. The walls were devoid of colour and badly in need of paint. A couple of framed pictures hung lopsidedly: reproductions of Scottish scenes depicting stag and wild mountains.

  “Okay, thanks. There’s a bit of decorating I’d like to get done.”

  “Here we are,” Fiona breezed into the room, carrying a tray of coffee mugs. “There’s milk and sugar, if you want it, and some shortbread.” She beamed at Cassandra. “I made it myself. Do try it.”

  Cassandra returned the girl’s smile and helped herself, feeling Donald’s eyes upon her hands and face. When she looked up, his eyes slid away, and he picked up his mug.

  “So, now that you’ve returned to Inverdarroch,” he said between sips, “how long are you intending to stay this time? Not that we want to get rid of you. It’s always nice to see new faces around the place.”

  Cassandra looked from Donald to Fiona. “I’m not sure. I thought for at least a month, maybe longer.”

  Donald raised his eyebrows a fraction. “A month, you say. Well then, you’re likely to be seeing some raw weather before too long. The snow we’ve just seen may not have lasted, but we’ll be having more before the week’s out, I’ll ken.”

  Fiona nodded. “We often get late snow and sometimes get snowed in, it’s all very romantic! Of course, the lads at the farm help us out, when they can be bothered.” She threw a look at Donald and beamed. “We’ve needed a tow more than once.”

  “It’s just as well I’ve got some supplies in, although I will need some more vegetables.” Cassandra agreed.

  “A vegetarian, are you? I’ve always wanted to be one, but Donald likes his meat, don’t you, Donald? It would be too much bother making two different meals in the evening.” Fiona squeezed his shoulder in passing before flopping down on the rug in front of the
fire. Cassandra guessed from Fiona’s manner and the looks she gave Donald, she was completely smitten by him.

  Donald was slightly taller than Fiona. She was blonde and skinny; he was dark-haired and wiry in build. He was quite handsome in a happy-go-lucky sort of way, Cassandra thought, and around the same age as she was. He leaned forward and smiled at Cassandra, although she noticed his eyes looked shrewd and cunning. “I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so soon about it, but I have a proposal to put to you.”

  Cassandra opened her eyes and nodded. “Try me,” she said wondering what on earth he was going to say. “I’m a big girl.”

  “I thought you might like to sell me Shadow Vale. You’ll not want to live here. There’s nothing for you. It’s miles from anywhere and needs complete refurbishing.”

  Cassandra blinked and glanced round the room. “But you already have a place.”

  “Ah! But I don’t own it, and the owner doesn’t want to sell. Too old and set in her ways. I thought if you were going to sell, you’d give me first refusal,”

  “Well, I haven’t considered it,” she said, remembering Mr Triggs’ telephone call that very morning. How strange! Two offers in one day and the cottage wasn’t even on the market.

  “You understand the place won’t fetch much since there’s considerable wood rot in the roof timbers. But we’re prepared to make an offer.”

  He sat back with his elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled together, and looking, Cassandra thought, smug and expectant. Fiona looked from one to the other with an eager look upon her face. When Cassandra looked surprised and wrinkled her brow, Donald leaned forward and named his price.

  “It doesn’t seem very much, even if it does need a new roof as you’ve suggested,” Cassandra said, her frown deepening.

  “Oh, but it is. Nobody wants a cottage way up in the Highlands these days. Think of what you’d have to do to make it comfortable. For starters, you need a new roof, central heating, complete rewiring, and an up-to-date bathroom and kitchen. Surely a woman such as yourself, on your own, wouldn’t want the bother. To say nothing of the costs.” He sat back and licked his lips.

  “But if it’s got that much wrong with it, why would you bother?” she countered, puzzled and feeling put out by Donald’s explanation.

  He took a slurp of his coffee before answering. “The cottage belonged to my folk some years back. I simply want to return it to the family. I’m prepared to add another two thousand pounds on top of my offer, but it’s all I can manage.”

  Cassandra replaced her coffee cup onto the tray and found her hands were shaking. “Thank you for the coffee. I really must go now. I’ll give it some thought, but I don’t think so, all the same. It’s too early for me to decide.” As the words left her mouth, she wondered why she said them. Wasn’t it her plan to sell it anyway?

  She stood up and walked towards the door way, realising she hadn’t even removed her coat. Fiona trailed after her, looking concerned. “You don’t have to go. I’m sorry if we’ve upset you. We just thought we’d ask in case someone else got in first. Donald really has set his heart on getting the cottage, and I hate seeing him despondent.”

  Cassandra turned and looked at Fiona. Donald was still lazing on the sofa, watching the two women. “It’s okay. I’m not upset, just surprised, and I really do have to go. I need some eggs for lunch, and I thought I’d stop by the farm.”

  Walking back towards Shadow Vale, Cassandra was astonished by her reaction to Donald’s proposal. It wasn’t the low offer which upset her, nor his explanation that it once belonged to his family. She decided that was a complete fabrication. No, she was sure Donald had leapt at the chance of getting a property cheap. She knew that when done up, Highland cottages were often highly desirable holiday homes. She came to the conclusion she was annoyed and upset because the cottage had belonged to her sister. Neither Donald nor Fiona even mentioned her! So much for caring neighbours! Susan’s death was still raw to Cassandra. Here in this quiet valley was where Susan had made her home after leaving the family. If she sold the place she would have nothing left of her but a few sculptures. A sale might be the best thing over time when Susan’s shocking death was out of her system, but certainly not immediately.

  Chapter 15 January 2013, Inverdarroch

  Cassandra passed the kirk, and glancing over the stone wall into the grounds beyond, she saw the visitor must have left, as the place was empty. She fleetingly wondered whom he was visiting and whether it was as a friend or a relative. She knew next to nothing about the inhabitants of Inverdarroch.

  Cassandra didn’t return home immediately after her brief morning visit with Fiona and Donald. She had told the truth about braving the farm again. Privately, she was working on the principle that by buying some eggs she might curry favour from Mrs Campbell. She could but try.

  The same two brothers were still in the back yard and watched Cassandra as she walked up the track by the side of the farmhouse. Splashes of green cow manure lined the way, and she found she had to mind where she trod in case she slipped. The men stayed where they were, even when she waved a hand and called out.

  “I’d like some eggs. Can you help me or shall I see your mother?” When neither man responded—she hadn’t a clue which brother was which—she wondered if they were either stone deaf or just plain ignorant. There wasn’t a hint of civility between them as they regarded her steadily. Feeling frustrated, Cassandra thought perhaps they saw her as a snobby city dweller or a fallen woman because she lived on her own. Good heavens, she was a single woman with her own means and independence! She was sure they used to hang witches around there for less.

  A dog’s furious barking behind her diverted her attention from the two truculent-looking men.

  “It’s you again. What is it?”

  Cassandra summoned up her best and brightest smile at her neighbour, who seemed to ooze herself round her kitchen door. “Mrs Campbell, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wondered if you might have half a dozen eggs, please.”

  “We only sell by the dozen.” Mrs Campbell’s reply was curt.

  “Then a dozen will be fine.”

  “Wait here.”

  Cassandra suppressed a sigh as the fat, slovenly woman dragged the black-and-white Border collie back inside the house, slamming the door behind her. She’s not going to invite me in from the cold then, Cassandra mused. While she waited, the two brothers sauntered across to the barn, muttering to themselves and sniggering. Cassandra felt relief at their departure. It wasn’t because they stared at her too long; it was more a hint of malice sent in her direction. Maybe her imagination was working overtime again.

  After a wait of five or so minutes, Mrs Campbell shuffled back to the door in her ratty old slippers and thrust a carton of eggs into Cassandra’s hands. “That’ll be three pounds. I’ll add it to your bill,” she said as she prepared to close the door.

  Cassandra placed her foot forward in the gap. “I may need some more wood later if this cold weather keeps up. I noticed your sons over by your woodpile just now. If I run low, can I buy some from you?” She lifted her chin and looked the woman directly in her face. She was the customer dammit! She demanded some respect.

  Mrs Campbell glanced down at Cassandra’s booted foot, pursed her lips, and thought better of it. She gave what Cassandra could only think of as a parody of a smile. “Aye. We supply everyone else here in Inverdarroch. Let me know nearer the time, and I’ll get Rae to bring some over in the trailer.”

  “Thank you. Good morning, Mrs Campbell.” Round one to Cassandra, she thought as she picked her way back between the cow slurry. Just before she left the farmhouse, she glanced back. She saw a flicker of movement at one of the downstairs windows and a face of a young woman pressed against the glass. Thinking it must be the elusive daughter, Carol, she gave her a wave. The figure darted back into the gloom behind her, leaving Cassandra to speculate whether she imagined seeing anyone.

  On her way back, she passed the Black
more sisters’ house. She wondered if she should mention her own sister the next time they met. Seeing as Elizabeth was the person who found her and sent for the ambulance, Susan and she must have been on speaking terms. The sisters might even have known her well. Drawing level with their cottage, she spied a figure in the garden, and Cassandra realised it was the older sister, Elizabeth. She was busy placing scraps on a bird table, and the ground was littered with fallen seeds and dry bread crusts.

  “Miss Potter, how are you? I noticed your car when you arrived the other day.” She smiled as she looked up at the sound of Cassandra’s footsteps on the road.

  Cassandra walked up to the garden wall as Elizabeth opened the gate. “I wondered when I’d see you. Angus told me you’re thinking of staying for a wee bit longer this time?”

  Surprised that Angus had already spoken to her neighbours, Cassandra could only nod. Her attention shifted from Elizabeth as the door behind her opened to reveal another woman. She guessed she was Elizabeth’s sister. Cassandra realised she had only ever met Elizabeth on her few weekends up there—Lorna had never been around. Elizabeth followed Cassandra’s gaze and settled on her sibling.

  “Lorna. Come and meet Miss Potter.”

  “Why don’t you bring her in, dear? Perhaps she’d like some refreshment.” Her face was one broad smile.

  Cassandra thought Elizabeth was about to say something, as she frowned and paused, then seemed to change her mind. “Of course, if you’re sure everything is as you like it indoors. Where are my manners? Would you please come in?” Elizabeth opened the gate wider, and Cassandra followed her inside. “Lorna is very particular about keeping the house clean and tidy. She hates anything out of place,” she explained as Cassandra removed her coat.

  Cassandra took a good look at both women; Lorna was the younger and prettier of the two. They looked to be in their late fifties or early sixties. Although both were tall, Elizabeth looked far sturdier, her features strong and bordering on mannish, whilst Lorna was thin and frail-looking. Elizabeth showed Cassandra into a neat sitting room. Lorna hurried in after her and removed a bag of knitting from the settee.