The Dead Summer

by Helen Moorhouse

  “Alright,” she said. “But make mine a decaff. I think I’m cranky enough as it is.”

  Will smiled and hung his jacket back on the chair.

  Martha studied him while he tried to catch the attention of a waitress. Early 30’s, she thought – roughly the same age as herself probably. He was slightly over six feet tall, with dark, slightly shaggy hair that came down below his ears. He had a day’s stubble on his chin, looked tired. He was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of tatty canvas runners, with a small bangle made of wooden beads on his arm. He was handsome in a dishevelled way, with kind, brown eyes. There was something that disarmed Martha about him, made her relax in his company. She sat up straight as she thought this. Steady on, she told herself. She knew nothing about this guy after all.

  Will ordered the decaff cappuccino for her and a pot of herbal tea for himself and Martha found herself telling him about the night’s events, rationalising the story in her head as she went. It had to have been an intruder, a physical presence who disturbed whatever animal or bird was trapped in the chimney. Will listened patiently, interrupting only occasionally to clarify a point. Martha finished her story at the point where she and Ruby had reached the safety of the study. She couldn’t tell him about the incident with the chair and the spoon, or the drop in temperature. That would make it real, and mean that something sinister had happened to Sue like he said, and she needed to work that one out a bit more. Besides which, he’d likely think she was nuts.

  “So, you see that there’s nothing of interest to you really,” she finished. “I’m going to report the intruder to the police – that’s where I’m off to now – and then . . . well . . . I suppose I’ll get a guard dog or something!” She pretended to laugh and took a sip of cold coffee, looking past Will to the street, hoping that he would agree and say that her story wasn’t of any relevance to him whatsoever. She found herself growing tired and wanting to be alone to get on with what needed to be done.

  Will looked at her looking past him and then spoke. “I’d very much like to investigate your house, Martha,” he said.

  Her heart sank. “What? Why?”

  “There are a couple of things in your story . . . look, you’d be doing me a massive favour. I need an investigation to complete a paper I’m doing and this sounds like it could be a suitable case study.”

  “A case study?” exclaimed Martha, a little louder than she had meant to. “But there’s nothing para . . . psychological about it? I told you – it was a person!”

  “I know,” said Will, reassuringly. “Remember, I need to disprove stuff and with all of the info that I have from the locals –”

  “What info?” demanded Martha. “And when did you talk to locals? How long have you been here? Have you been following me?”

  Will shook his head, raised his hands to try to get her to calm down. “I’ve been here since yesterday morning,” he explained. “I didn’t want to just roll out to your house – Sue said you’d be working on your unicorn book, so I went to the pub at lunchtime and got chatting to a few people. I didn’t leave till after closing time. I was going to call out to your house this morning – it’s just a complete coincidence that I came in here for breakfast and I heard your friend call you – I took a stab that an attractive woman called Martha with a baby about Ruby’s age might be Sue’s friend and I was right.”

  “What did the locals tell you?” demanded Martha, her heart starting to beat, a curiosity rising in her chest. This was more of what Mary Stockwell had been talking about – or not talking about actually, as she had refused to say anything. “Was it some old blather about ghosts and monks and stuff?”

  Will looked confused. “Umm, yes,” he said. “Look, let me put something on the table here – a deal so to speak. You look like a woman who could do with a night’s sleep after your ordeal. Actually, you need a tissue as well.” He handed Martha a napkin and looked away.

  She looked at him, surprised, until she realised that one of the spots had started to bleed again where she was absentmindedly picking at it. She slapped the tissue to her chin, mortified.

  “I have a room booked in the brand new shiny Breakaway Inn near Bickford and –”

  “Oh, I don’t think so!” said Martha sternly. Was this seriously his game? Was he some sort of sleaze trying to get her to his hotel room?

  It was Will’s turn to be mortified as he realised what Martha thought he was saying. “Oh my God, no!” he exclaimed. “What I want to suggest is that we do a swap – why don’t you and Ruby take the hotel room for tonight and I hang out at your house? I get an investigation for my paper and you and Ruby-Doo get an uninterrupted night in a safe, secure, completely unatmospheric environment. And to top matters off, if your – intruder decides to come back then I’ll be waiting – and he’ll be caught on camera into the bargain. How does that sound?”

  Martha softened. What a fool she was making of herself – a clearly nonsense tale about intruders which he could see through like a window, and then jumping down this man’s throat every five seconds. Not to mention the spot-picking. That was a seriously disgusting habit she had to stop, but it was a nervous response she’d had since she was a teenager and most of the time she didn’t even realise she was doing it.

  She certainly needed sleep. And a bath. Her limbs ached from her sleeping position the night before. A brand-new hotel certainly sounded appealing rather than listening to every creak and groan from Hawthorn Cottage. And she really couldn’t face going back there at night-time. She certainly hadn’t thought about somewhere to spend the night, not to mention the intruder having another try. What was to stop them now that they’d got in once?

  “Why should I trust you?” she asked Will outright.

  He smiled. “I really don’t blame you if you don’t. Sue said you’d be suspicious and you’re absolutely right to be.” He held his hands up. “I have nothing on me to prove that I’m not a serial killer but Sue said to ring her if you wanted to check me out – and I’ve also written this down.” He handed her a sheet of paper covered in names and numbers. “These are all genuine people at the university who can vouch for me. I’ve given you their direct lines but if you want to ring the main switch – get it from Directory Enquiries rather than me – you’ll get put through as well. Oh – and Sue said to give you this.” He fished another piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

  It was a note in Sue’s handwriting: “Use wisely, Grasshopper,” it said. “If only as protection from the Man Mountain.”

  Martha couldn’t help but grin. “Typical,” she said.

  “I confess that I read it,” said Will. “But it means absolutely nothing to me. She also said that she’d sent me to save you from ‘Summerton’. I assume you both communicate in code all the time.”

  Martha giggled. “Fine then, I’ll ring Sue but take it that we can do the swap.”

  “Great,” said Will. “You ring Sue. She’ll reassure you.”

  Martha warmed to him. He seemed to have gone to a lot of bother to prove that he was trustworthy. Most serial killers did, however, she countered. She pressed Sue’s number on her phone and held it to her ear in front of him. She could sense nothing shifty about this guy. And there were a lot of witnesses around – if he were a serial killer, then so far his stay in Shipton Abbey had made him foolishly recognisable to a very large number of people between the pub and the café.

  Sue’s phone rang out, went to her message minder. Martha listened to the default answer message from the manufacturers and asked Sue to call her back as soon as possible.

  “Look, let’s shake on the deal,” she said. “I’m sure you’re okay, but if Sue says otherwise . . .”

  “She won’t,” said Will confidently, “but if you’re unsure at any point then just tell me and the deal’s off. We’ll do this on your terms.”

  Martha eyed him again. “Done,” she said.

  Will smiled. “Excellent. Now you just have to show m
e the house.”

  Martha’s face fell. She hadn’t planned on returning there today, much less with a total stranger, but she supposed she’d have to. For starters, she’d left the front door wide open. Way to keep an intruder out. On top of that her laptop, the TV and her jewellery were in there. Secondly, she’d need a change of clothes and some toiletries and nightgear for herself if she were going to stay away that night. Maybe if Will were with her . . . well, he’d either murder her horribly or act as a sort of guard.

  “Fine,” she said reluctantly. “Just let me ring Mary.”

  Mary was concerned about Martha and this stranger, but Martha reassured her he was a friend of a friend who was going to house-sit for her while she and Ruby went on a short, last-minute break. What she didn’t tell her was that the break was five miles away and that, while house-sitting, Will was going to check for ghosts. Put like that, it all seemed too ridiculous.

  Will instructed Martha to meet him at the car park of the Abbot’s Rest where he’d left his car overnight. He’d paid a fortune for a cab to Bickford after his all-day liquid lunch in the pub the previous day and had cadged a lift back to Shipton Abbey that morning from a porter who was coming off night duty at the hotel. If nothing else, thought Martha, there was another person who could potentially identify him.

  She was nervous about going back to the cottage but as she walked to her car and set off the short distance to their meeting point, a plan formulated in her mind. Stay the night in the hotel, let Will do what he had to do, then tomorrow morning get into the car and head back for London. It was that simple. She couldn’t stay in that house again, put Ruby in danger. She pushed the events of that morning in the kitchen to the back of her mind. Let Rob Mountford deal with whatever bizarre stuff was happening at that house.

  Will pulled out of the pub car park in a battered Volvo estate and Martha pulled ahead to let him follow her. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as they drove the short distance to the cottage, despite the fact that having a plan was making her feel a little better. She felt sick as she turned into the driveway, dark with overhanging branches. She parked alongside the conservatory and Will pulled in outside the front door, stepping excitedly from the car and gazing at the cottage, taking it all in.

  “This place is really lovely,” he observed as he strolled around to the boot and unlocked it.

  “Well, that’s what I thought too,” said Martha, coming around the side of the house to join him.

  “I think your intruder might have come back though . . .” Will’s voice was concerned as he pointed at the open front door.

  Martha reddened slightly. “No, that was me. I’m, eh, terrible for not locking it properly and it blows open in the wind.”

  Will glanced round him. It was a calm day and even the bushes weren’t moving. “You sure it’s not because you left in a hurry?” he grinned.

  Martha reddened and looked away. “We should get going if you want to get your casework started,” she said.

  “I’ll go first then, just in case,” said Will kindly.

  Martha was careful to look nonchalant but couldn’t have been more grateful that she didn’t have to lead the way.

  Will bounded in the front door, completely without trepidation. Martha stepped cagily in behind him, noting with relief that the stroller was still folded up against the wall. She picked it up and turned to head to her car with it. No harm having it ready to go in case she needed to make another hasty exit. “Won’t be a minute!” she called.

  She returned to find Will peering into the living room. She felt a longing to just leave the house at once. She wanted to go upstairs, get her things and go, but she was too afraid to actually do it and didn’t want to admit to Will that she was. She stayed where she was, behind him.

  Will peered into the study and then crossed the hall, striding into the kitchen and skidding on the spoon that had earlier been knocked from Martha’s hand. Her heart gave a thud as she saw it. Such an ordinary little thing – an orange, plastic spoon. How had it flown out of her hand like it did? Will yelped and grabbed at the chair beside him to halt the skid. The chair. Just something else that had moved by itself, she thought.

  “Someone didn’t like breakfast?” asked Will, bending to pick up the spoon and place it on the table.

  Martha stared at it, as though she expected it to fly through the air again. “Something like that,” she said.

  Will watched her stare at the spoon, studied her expression. “Let’s check for signs of forced entry then,” he said gently. “You say you left everything as it was?”

  “Yes, I did. Apart from the front door.”

  Will did a tour of the downstairs rooms, finally crossing the kitchen into the conservatory to check the door. It was as Martha had found earlier – still firmly locked with no signs of anyone having tried to open it.

  “No one got in here,” said Will, scanning the panes of glass around him, turning his head upward to scrutinise the sloping glass ceiling. “No one’s been in through here at all. All your downstairs windows are locked as well – I couldn’t see any signs of tampering or breakages.”

  Martha began to panic. “But there must be – there was a person in my room!”

  Will gave a shrug. “What about upstairs? Could someone have used a ladder maybe? Stood on something?”

  Martha thought for a moment, running through the possibilities in her mind. “I haven’t got a ladder. They’d have had to drive here with one and then drive away with it again – and park either here or out on the road, with a huge risk of being seen in either case. And I didn’t hear any car. Besides, the windows are very small upstairs and leaded – I don’t think anyone could actually fit through the openings.” She was growing more baffled by the second. How had they got in?

  “What about keys?” said Will. “Have you lost any recently?”

  “No. They’re all present and correct.”

  “Well, is there anyone else with a key?”

  It was the obvious answer. “Just my landlord,” she said and stopped in her tracks. What if Rob Mountford had done it? Had let himself in, not with the intention of harming Ruby but . . . Martha shook her head. Surely he wouldn’t have done that? She knew that he was attracted to her, but was he so warped as to do that? He was an odd man, though, and she didn’t know him at all come to think of it. Could he have let himself in the conservatory door, maybe? Her mind was racing, as it dawned on her that Rob Mountford must have been her attacker. It couldn’t be anything else. But what had stopped him if that was the case? Had he been spooked by the animal in the chimney? Was that what had saved her from a worse attack?

  “I think I know what happened,” she said in a small voice and related her theory to Will.

  He didn’t look too convinced. “Possibly. But of course there may have been another key – he surely made some copies in case of one going astray. Anybody else working with him that he could have given a key to?”

  Martha remembered Sam with a jolt. “Last time he came he had a young guy with him – a schoolboy really – but he was only helping him out – there would have been no reason he’d give him a key . . .”

  “Still, it’s a possibility.”

  “I suppose it is,” Martha said unwillingly.

  “Let’s have a look upstairs then,” Will said kindly.

  Martha nodded. She was anxious walking up the stairs, and amazed that the room was exactly as she had left it that morning. She’d expected it to have changed in some way while she’d been out. Such a short time since she had been here but it felt like a different day – like it had happened to a different person.

  She stepped into her bedroom behind Will and reached the end of the bed where she had left Ruby’s dirty nappy rolled up and taped closed. She reddened as she realised that the room smelled faintly of it, and grew even more embarrassed to see the underwear she had worn the day before peeking out of her pyjama bottoms where she ha
d flung them on the bed. She cursed herself silently and edged toward them. How was she to know that three hours after she’d thrown them there that she’d be back in the room with some random stranger? It struck her how foolhardy she was being – in a deserted house in the countryside with a man she’d met that morning. How trusting she was being. And she’d trusted Rob Mountford too. And look how that had turned out . . .

  Martha turned her back to Will and bent to roll the underwear into the dirty pyjamas. She then dropped the bundle into the wicker laundry basket in the corner. When she turned to face him again, he was lying face down on the bed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked nervously.

  “Show me exactly what happened,” said Will. “You were lying on your stomach like so, am I right?”

  She nodded. “Yes – my head was facing that wall over there – and I’d just thrown back the covers to go to tend to Ruby. Then he grabbed my ankles . . .”

  “Show me. Do to me exactly what happened to you.”

  Martha reluctantly placed her hands on Will’s ankles.

  “Was the pressure only that light?” he asked immediately.

  Martha realised she was barely touching him. “No,” she said hesitantly.

  “Put all your weight into it and do exactly as your attacker did,” urged Will.

  She did as he asked, grabbing his ankles and bearing down with all her weight.

  “That’s better,” said Will, propping himself on his elbows and turning his head and shoulders toward her. “Did you not just do this, though?”

  “Of course I did, it’s instinctive, but at that point he started to drag me off the bed and my elbows went from under me. The next thing I knew he’d let go of my ankles and when I turned he was gone.”

  Will lay face down again. “Okay, drag me down the bed and then let go of my ankles and leave – just show me exactly what happened.”

  Martha pulled his ankles as hard as she could, leaning back with the effort of trying to drag him down the bed. He moved about a foot and she then let go and turned to run. She had taken a single step when Will shouted, “I see you!” and she turned to find him lying on his side, looking at her.