Of course, they’d choose the young, good-looking one to try to charm her and set her at ease with his blindingly bright sorry-about-my-asshole-partner smiles. The hair at the back of her neck bristled.
“We’ve more questions about Matthew Langley. I hope you don’t mind going over the details again,” Miller said, as his partner flipped open his notebook.
She shook her head, cold sweat slicking her skin. “I don’t know what else I can tell you. I wasn’t even on the island when the man worked here, or when he was murdered.”
“Where were you living?” Miller asked.
Her gaze slid to Harding. He already had this information, but he smirked down at his notepad and didn’t meet her eyes.
“Manchester. I worked at a florists, In Bloom,” she added, hoping to move things along. “I’m…I was the store manager.”
“How long did you work there?”
“Almost two years.”
Harding pinned her with a hard glare. “Right after that other young man who worked for your family vanished. That’s when you left Cragera Bay, isn’t it?”
Her lungs shriveled in her chest. He thought he had something on her, something new since they last spoke.
Miller cleared his throat and shifted, the leather creaking beneath him. He looked uncomfortable with their exchange. She and Harding had veered too far from the script.
“We really do appreciate you speaking to us,” he said. A deep dimple grooved one cheek like a backward question mark. Warm hazel eyes crinkled at the corners.
She struggled not to roll hers. Miller was quickly wearing on her nerves. Did they honestly think she was so desperate for male attention, a smile and a warm look would melt the gray matter between her ears and she’d confess to whatever ridiculous thing they wanted to lay at her feet?
Bloody men.
“I don’t see that I have much choice, but perhaps you could get to the point.”
Harding’s eyes, pale silvery-blue, flashed and he held her gaze. In his day, Harding had probably been an attractive man. Maybe even more so than Miller. He would have been the good cop, trying to lure her with leading questions and a beguiling smile.
He leaned back against the settee. “You claim you weren’t on the island when Matthew Langley was murdered, but I have a witness who says he saw you.”
Bloody Paskin. God, how she hated that man.
“Your witness is lying.” Her pulse beat so hard she could taste it.
“Could you give me a rundown of how you spent the seventh of January?” Miller asked, drawing her attention.
“I’ve already gone over this with him,” she nodded at Harding, “three times.”
“Once more, please.” Again that brilliant smile. “For me.”
This time she did roll her eyes. “I didn’t work on Sundays, so I spent the morning cleaning my flat, read a book for a while, then went down the street to pick up some takeaway for my dinner. I came back to my flat and watched a documentary about Pompeii.”
“And then?” Harding prompted.
“I went to bed. I had to work Monday.”
Miller’s straight brows rose. “Alone?”
“Yes, alone,” she gritted out.
“No boyfriend?” Miller asked, frowning.
Instead of telling him to fuck off like she wanted to, she shot him a saccharine smile. “That’s right. No boyfriend.”
Miller and Harding exchanged a look. Given her lack of response to Miller, they probably thought she was a lesbian.
“Is there anyone who could verify your story?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Khan who own the restaurant where I picked up my dinner. They know me. They’d remember me coming in.”
“Friendly with them, were you?” Miller asked.
“Not especially. I just liked their curry.”
“Do you know why Stephen Paskin would say he saw you?” Harding asked, driving the momentum forward.
“Because he’s a lying prat.”
Miller blinked rapidly, and looked to Harding. The older detective’s gaze narrowed. “Why would he lie?”
“You know as well as I do. He believes I murdered his son.”
Harding sat forward and flipped back through the pages of his notepad. “That’s true, but Griffin Paskin wasn’t the first missing man connected to you. There are at least three others—two who worked for your family—who vanished and you were investigated for each.”
A mix of fear and indignation sharpened her tone. “I was, and you’ve yet to prove the men are missing let alone that I had anything to do with them.”
Harding leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head and smirked. “You were sloppy this time, Eleri.”
Her stomach knotted. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Harding’s grin stretched wide. “Unlike the others, there was a body this time. Langley’s things were still in the flat over at the coach house.”
She stiffened, curled her fingers into the soft cushion.
“No response?” Harding taunted.
“I didn’t realize you’d asked me a question.” She let out a slow breath. “The bottom line is, gentlemen, I hadn’t been to the island in two years. I had nothing to do with Matthew Langley…or any of the others. I’ve been cooperative, given you my whereabouts on the date in question. So, if that’s everything—”
“Stephen Paskin says he saw you the night Langley went missing. About three a.m., as he was closing up.”
“And what precisely did Paskin see me doing?” she snapped. “Baying at the moon? Drowning kittens? Sacrificing babies?”
Harding cocked a brow, considering her words. She wished she could call them back. When would she learn to keep her big mouth shut?
“Nothing quite so colorful, I’m afraid,” Miller broke in. “He said he spotted you watching him from the woods.”
Eleri snorted loudly and shook her head. Had she returned to the island, the last person she’d seek out would be Stephen Paskin. Simply thinking about him filled her with smothering nausea, never mind seeing him in the flesh.
“I’ve told you, the man is a liar. I wasn’t on the island. I don’t know what else I can say.”
The detectives exchanged another long look, communicating silently. Harding leaned toward her, resting his elbows on his knees. “Here’s our problem. While we can’t prove you were on the island, you can’t prove you weren’t.”
She opened her mouth to remind him of the takeaway she’d had for dinner, but Harding held up a hand to silence her.
“You’ve no alibi from seven o’clock onward, plenty of time to drive to Stonecliff and back.”
Panic’s icy fingers slithered up her neck, curled around her throat and squeezed. “I had nothing to do with what happened to this man…or any of the others.”
She stood, hoping they’d take the hint.
Neither man moved.
She opened the study door and stepped aside, waiting for them to finally leave. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help to you.”
Harding’s expression brightened. “Well, well. What have we here?”
Eleri whipped around to see Brynn standing just outside the door, eyes wide, face pale. Her stomach sank. Just how much did her sister know?
“I’m sorry,” Eleri said, unable to stop her hand from trembling as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I meant to wait for you, but I was called away.”
“DI Harding.” He stepped forward, hand out, eyes locking on Brynn like twin lasers. “We haven’t met.”
“Brynn James,” she said, gripping his hand briefly.
“Ah, the prodigal daughter home at last.” Harding clapped his hands, rubbed them together and winked at Eleri. “The plot thickens.”
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you, Detective,” Eleri said, loudly, fighting the almost unbearable urge to shove the man out the door and away from Brynn.
Harding turned to the younger officer a
s if he hadn’t heard a word she said. “You see, Miller, Brynn here is the daughter of Arthur James’s second wife, Meris. Unfortunately, Meris met with an untimely end. Isn’t that right, Eleri?”
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Icy panic pumped through her veins leaving her frozen, unable to stop the inevitable.
“Now, if you keep with village gossip,” Harding continued, dark mirth dripping from his every word, “Meris holds a certain distinction for Eleri.”
Miller’s brows lifted, and he smoothed his chin with his thumb and forefinger as if giving Harding’s words serious thought. “Really? And what’s that?”
“Meris was Eleri’s first victim.”
Brynn swung around to Eleri, face white, eyes round.
“It’s not true,” Eleri said, quickly. She could feel the blood draining from her face in a cold swoop, dragging her stomach with it.
Brynn pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. “Well, doesn’t that just figure.”
Cold panic burst inside Eleri like a frigid firework. “I didn’t push Meris. Her fall was accidental.”
Harding chuckled humorlessly and the hair at the back of Eleri’s neck stood on end.
Brynn shook her head and started for the door. “I can’t deal with any more now.”
“Please,” Eleri begged, her voice little more than a whisper. “I’ll tell you everything about what happened to your mother. Just stay and hear me out.”
“I’m done,” Brynn said, sailing through the door without a backward glance.
* * *
Reece walked from room to room in Morehead Lodge, heavy boots thudding against the wood floors. The air smelled stale—the way empty places did after a time—and faintly of mothballs. If Stonecliff was old, the lodge was antiquated by comparison. The main house had at least been updated throughout the years—modern kitchen, new wiring and plumbing—the same could not be said for Morehead.
Of his less-than-thrilling tasks, upkeep of the lodge was the least physically taxing. On one of the few parcels of land Arthur James hadn’t sold off—at least, not yet—the house was let out from time to time. Though, not while Reece had worked there. While the house was unoccupied, Reece regularly dropped in and checked there’d been no vandals or vagrants and that the plumbing and electrical were running, and emptied the mousetraps.
He leaned over an ancient cooker, checking the gas was still off and the trap tucked in the corner. Sure enough, the bar pinned a small lump of fuzzy gray fur.
His lips curled with disgust as he freed the tiny corpse, plucked it up by the tail with one gloved hand and dropped it into the bin bag he held with the other. He poked his head into the cupboards, but the other traps were empty.
Only two this time, and he’d been all through the whole house. Maybe the poison he’d set out a few weeks back was working. Or maybe with no one living here, and no food source, the mice had moved on.
After tying the bin bag, he left through the front door and turned to lock it.
“Missed you last night.”
Reece jumped at the man’s voice and whirled around.
Detective Harding leaned against a nearby tree, arms folded across his chest, smug smile stretched across his face. “Did I give you a fright?”
“More like a bloody heart attack,” Reece muttered, slipping the keys into his pockets. This was all he needed—a visit from the good detective. But after last night he wasn’t surprised.
“You mean you didn’t know I was coming?” Harding lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers.
Reece’s jaw tightened. “I’m not psychic.”
Harding chuckled, low and humorless. “Oh, I know you’re not, my boy.”
The detective snorted and jammed his hands into his coat pockets, ambling closer. Behind him, a pale boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen, followed.
Damn. He’d grown so used to Stonecliff interfering with his senses, he hadn’t bothered with his blocks. He could throw them up now, but didn’t relish the inevitable headache that would come. Besides, he’d seen the boy before. He followed Harding wherever he went and showed little interest in Reece.
“What are you doing here? If someone sees you, your plan’s finished.”
Harding’s grin stretched wider. “Psychic or not, I’m sure you must have expected me after you didn’t make an appearance last night.”
“Funny thing about working as the James’ groundskeeper, they actually expect me to do work, and Eleri’s looking for an excuse to sack me, so I’m trying my damnedest not to give her one.”
Harding jabbed a finger at him. “You lose this job, you’re of no use to me. I’ll have you up on charges faster than you can say charlatan.”
Reece tilted his head and studied the furious man in front of him. Was it mere disgust and disbelief in Reece’s previous occupation that fed his fury, or was he afraid? Reece’s gaze flicked to the pale boy, skinny and sickly, silently following Harding. Did the detective sense him sometimes? Did it scare him? Was that why he was so determined Reece was a liar?
“You were late,” Reece reminded him, happy to shift the blame. “Besides, I didn’t have a choice.”
“Ah yes, James’s long-lost daughter. I just met the lovely young woman.”
“Lucky her.” Something twisted low inside him. He didn’t like the idea of the man anywhere near Brynn. Harding was half-mad with his obsession. God knew how he’d factor Brynn into his plans if he could.
What did he care one way or the other? Brynn wasn’t his problem.
“What’s she doing here?”
Reece shrugged. “How should I know? I’m just the help. You probably know as much as I do.”
Harding’s hand shot out from his pocket, fingers curling into the shoulder of Reece’s jacket, and jerked him forward. “Do you need a reminder of just what the hell it is you’re supposed to be doing here?”
Dull fury pounded behind Reece’s eyes. He knocked the man’s hand away. “I know exactly why I’m here. Bait.”
“That’s right, but until that bitch has a go at you, you’re to keep me informed. Why is Brynn James here? Why now?”
Reece glared, the muscle in his jaw knotting. He hated this. Hated digging up dirt for the man. Hated repeating gossip like some bored housewife. Hated that Harding owned him.
As if sensing Reece’s thoughts, the cop tilted his head to one side, brows lifting. “You can always say no, go home. As for those charges, all you have to do is prove that you can do what you say you can. That’s the law.”
God, how he would love to give Harding just a glimpse of the things he saw. Wipe the stupid smirk off the man’s face.
He glanced at the silent boy, and not for the first time toyed with idea of telling the detective exactly who followed him and why.
“Warlow and Mrs. Voyle seem to think she’s after an inheritance, but according to Warlow she’s going to be disappointed.”
“There you are, earning your keep at last. Was that so hard, then?” He rubbed his knuckles against his face thoughtfully. “That’s speculation, though. Find out what she wants, why she’s waited until now to come.”
Reece rolled his eyes. “How do you suggest I do that?”
“You’re a bright boy, and with your history, I’ve no doubt you’ll think of something. You know, Brynn nearly drowned here when she was a child.”
Cold swept through Reece, the memory of her coming apart at the sight of the sea fresh in his mind.
“Not long after,” Harding continued, “Meris packed the girl off. Can’t help but wonder if Eleri’s brought her back to finish what she started. Perhaps that’s why Eleri has shown so little interest in you—she already has another victim in mind. If you’re smart, you’ll stay close to the girl. See if Eleri makes a try for her.”
Reece breathed hard through his nose and shook his head. “You’re going to use her the way you do me?”
Harding barked out a laugh. “Well, look who has such a strong moral code all of
sudden. If you’re so concerned, get Eleri’s attention back on you.”
“What would you like me to do? Wear a sign? ‘Please Try To Kill Me.’”
Harding tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You think you’re funny, don’t you? You like a good laugh, eh? Did you get a laugh from those poor people you lied to and took their money? People grieving and at their most vulnerable. You profited from their misfortune.”
Not entirely true. He never saw a dime. He’d merely done what he had to in order to survive, to keep a roof over his head, to keep himself from winding up in care. And not everything he’d said had been lies, but plenty were, and the guilt twisted in his chest.
“It’s quite the cozy life you’ve built for yourself, isn’t it?” Harding went on, voice thick with derision. “You know, a part of me hopes you’ll fail? I would dearly love to see it all come crashing down around you. You deserve to sit in a prison cell and rot like a common thief, because that, my boy, is exactly what you are.”
Reece’s stomach churned, but he didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Everything the cop said was true.
“She was romantically involved with Griffin Paskin.” Harding cocked his head to one side, studied Reece. “You’re not a bad-looking lad. Charm her. Romance her. She’s probably desperate for it. That ought to paint a target on you.”
Reece gritted his teeth; his innards shriveled like a dried sponge. “Did you want me to sleep with her, too?”
“Whatever it takes, lad.”
As repugnant as the idea was, it was funny in its way. If Harding had been looking for some Don Juan to seduce Eleri into killing him, he’d really chosen wrong with Reece. Hell, he had enough trouble dealing with women he actually liked. Hearing voices and seeing people that no one else could didn’t exactly make him a great catch.
“Do we understand each other?” Harding asked.
Reece nodded.
Harding slapped him on the shoulder and turned away, but the pale boy lingered, blue eyes boring into Reece.
He shifted his gaze, keeping his attention on the detective, pretending the boy wasn’t there.
“She’ll die.” The boy’s voice squeaked like a rusty hinge. “And nothing you do can stop it.”
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