Vengeance Blind

by Anna Willett

  VENGEANCE

  BLIND

  A nail-biting suspense thriller

  ANNA WILLETT

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2018

  © Anna Willett

  Anna Willett is the author of several thrillers published by THE BOOK FOLKS.

  The full list, in order of publication, is as follows:

  BACKWOODS RIPPER

  RETRIBUTION RIDGE

  UNWELCOME GUESTS

  FORGOTTEN CRIMES

  CRUELTY’S DAUGHTER

  SMALL TOWN NIGHTMARE

  VENGEANCE BLIND

  Further details about some of these books can be found at the end of this one.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Other titles by Anna Willett

  FREE BOOKS IN YOUR INBOX

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

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  We hope you enjoy the book.

  Chapter One

  The suitcase, a birthday gift she’d surprised him with only seven months ago, landed on the bed with a leathery thump. Belle listened to Guy’s footfalls as he padded back and forth between his side of the walk-in wardrobe and the bed.

  “I don’t like leaving you like this.” His voice was slightly breathless from the hurried packing. “The timing sucks, but what can I do?” She could almost see him raising his broad shoulders in a what are you gonna do shrug. If she listened closely, Belle thought she might be able to hear the swish of his silk shirt.

  “I’ll be fine.” She arranged her face into a smile, hoping the effect was relaxed. “Just make sure you have your passport. And the script.”

  She heard the sound of drawers opening and papers shuffling, then she caught the scent of his cologne, its cleanliness with a hint of something floral. As he knelt in front of her, the familiar edges of Guy’s face finally came into view. She tried to think of the name of the aftershave, picturing the deep blue bottle that sat alongside his shaving things near the sink.

  “You’re too good for me.” He whispered the familiar words, his lips brushing her cheek and, just for a moment, she wondered if he had any idea how hard this was for her. But the idea was quickly engulfed by guilt.

  This was Guy’s big break, the chance he’d been longing for and had worked towards most of his adult life. Belle had her success. It was selfish and petty to deny him the same, even if that success had come at the time when she needed him most. She breathed in his scent and leaned into his arms, letting her fingers trace the short hairs on the back of his neck.

  “You deserve this.” She said the words, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

  His muscles, bunched and tense under her fingers, relaxed and just like that he was on the move again. Hangers rattled as he grabbed clothes and tossed them in the case. She wheeled herself into the bathroom, bumping the door with the edge of her chair. I’m getting better at doing this blind. Blind wasn’t really the right word; it was more like impaired.

  “Hey,” Guy called from the bedroom. “What do you need?”

  Belle kept moving, waiting for the outline of the vanity to come into focus. “I’m just getting my contacts.” She spoke without turning around, determined to stop before running into the cupboard.

  “I can do that for you, babe.” The kindness in his voice drove home her earlier stab of guilt. He’d been so patient and caring during her recovery, doing everything he could to be there for her. It was wrong of her to resent him for jumping at the job of a lifetime.

  The dark edges of the sink fuzzed into view and Belle slowed her progress, coming to a stop just as her toes met with the cupboard. “No need.” She ran her hand over the black marble to the left of the sink. Squinting, she spotted the white plastic case. Pleased at being able to do something for herself, she picked up the case and popped open its top. After years of swinging between spectacles and contacts, she didn’t need more than the sight she had now to pinch the lens in place.

  The bathroom, warmed by the afternoon sun as it fell through a side window, came into focus. With only one eye functioning, her depth of perception was still off, but at least now the world was no longer a haze of colour and shadows. Belle looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Seated in the wheelchair, only her head and shoulders were visible.

  She’d been home from hospital almost a week but still hadn’t grown used to seeing herself like this: her right eye covered with a patch of thick gauze, tape cutting lines across her swollen cheek and bruised forehead. And her hair… She touched a hand to her cropped hair. It had been her idea for the hairdresser to lop off her long blonde hair.

  She let her hand drop into her lap. When Guy arranged for her hairdresser to visit during Belle’s time in hospital, she made the snap decision to go from long hair to a short pixie cut. She remembered telling Della what she needed was a transformation. She could almost hear herself, confident, defiant even: I’m ready for a change. But the truth was she could scarcely manage to pull herself onto the toilet without help, let alone cope with long greasy, tangled hair.

  The bruised and battered reflection of herself looked stark and unfamiliar. Belle didn’t see a survivor, just one frightened eye staring out of a gaunt face.

  “Okay, babe?” Guy’s face in the mirror, tanned and impossibly handsome, was a jarring contrast to the woman she’d become. “I’ll wheel you back.”

  Before she could protest and tell him she could manage by herself, his hands were on the chair, pulling her back with enviable strength. As Belle watched her reflection shirk in the mirror, she couldn’t help think she was seeing a replication of what the accident had done to her.

  The snapped kneecap, fractured eye socket, and detached retina had reduced her. She was no longer Belle Hammer, a successful and respected author, but an invalid. Someone to be cared for, worried about, watched over. She’d never been beautiful, but attractive and curvy. And now… It won’t be forever. The words repeated in her mind like a mantra, her brain trying to extinguish the flames of despair and depression as they lapped at her consciousness.

  “What did you say her name was... the caregiver?” She watched him zip the suitcase and check frantically at his pockets.

  “Um… Lea. Lea something.” He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen. “Lea Whitehead, a nursing assistant. She’ll be here at six.” He scratched his chin. “I wish I could wait until she arrives before going, but…”

  Belle leaned forward, resisting the urge to clamp a hand to her thigh just above the Velcro cast. Her knee was aching, a deep angry throb that radiated up as far as her hip. “You’ll miss your flight. Besides, it’s onl
y an hour or so.” She pulled her mobile out of the front of her pants and waggled it near her head. “And I’ve got the phone. Not that I’ll need it.”

  “Here.” Guy snatched the phone. “I’m putting Arthur’s number in your contacts.” He held up a hand, stopping her protests before they could start. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s harmless and only five minutes away. If you need anything, he’ll be more than happy to come over.” He held the phone out to her.

  Belle hesitated. Arthur Howell’s small plot abutted their sprawling ten acres, making him their closest neighbour. While he’d never said or done anything offensive, she couldn’t shake her aversion to the man. It wasn’t just his waxy skin and shuffling walk that gave her the creeps. There was something about the way he looked at her, the jaundiced whites of his eyes rolling like tobacco-coloured marbles as he watched her movements. There was judgement in the man’s eyes, a knowing look suggesting he could see some secret part of her.

  “You’re right.” She took the phone and stuffed it back in her pocket. “I’ll call him if anything happens.”

  Guy’s face relaxed. Belle had no intention of calling Arthur, not if the roof collapsed and she was pinned underneath the rubble. But the lie would help Guy feel less guilty about leaving her alone for an hour before the live-in carer arrived. That, she told herself, made being dishonest with the man she loved excusable.

  Guy went first. Suitcase in hand, he walked slowly, allowing her to keep pace with him as he made his way through the house. She counted each of his steps: eighteen. When they reached the front door, he set the case down and bent his six-foot frame so their faces were on equal eye level. His lips when they met hers were soft and gentle. Belle let her hands rest on his shoulders, running her fingers over the muscles in his upper arms, muscles he had worked long and hard to build and chisel during hours spent in their home gym.

  He pulled back. “I’ll call tomorrow. Love you.” His lips touched hers once more and then he was opening the door.

  “Love you too.” Her words made it through the open door a second before it shut.

  * * *

  The day was fading, weary grey light barely reaching the edges of the couch. Belle wheeled her way to the kitchen. Pausing and straining up with both hands gripped firmly against the chair’s armrests to support her weight, she quickly flicked on the sitting room light. She dropped back into the chair with a flop and groaned at the stab in her knee. I should have asked Guy to put the lights on before he left. She rolled towards the kitchen, wondering if he’d taken the time to check if the doors were locked. Then, repeating the same awkward manoeuvre with the kitchen light, it occurred to her that Guy should have thought to do these things without being asked.

  Just as she’d thought, the backdoor was unlocked. She’d been in the isolated house alone countless times, but being incapacitated added to her sense of vulnerability.

  “Damn.” Her irritation jumped up a notch as she spun the wheels and crossed the kitchen floor.

  Pausing at the window to lean up and flip the curtain aside, she scanned what she could see of the back of the house. From her perspective, only part of the deck and ramp were visible. Without thinking, she counted the bars that were visible on the deck’s wooden rail: eight. There’s no one out there. But still, she strained to see past the deck before letting out a tired breath and locking the door.

  She pulled the phone out of her pocket and checked the time. 5:15. Fifteen minutes until her painkillers were due. Would it hurt to take them early? She pulled backwards and turned in a wide arc. The idea of taking the medication and crawling into bed was tempting, but she still had the patio doors to check. Besides, falling into a deep sleep when the nurse was due in forty-five minutes was a bad idea. No, she corrected herself. She’s not a nurse. The woman on her way would be more like a babysitter.

  But it wasn’t just the need to be alert when the nurse knocked that kept her from taking the painkillers. Part of her didn’t want to be asleep as darkness fell. The idea of slumbering in the empty house chilled her. No, it was safer to wait. Safer. She almost laughed at the idea of being unsafe. Her writer’s brain often made her paranoid. And even though she’d been careful to keep writing out of her thoughts, her mind kept pulling her back to it. She stopped moving and let her hands rest in her lap. Could she still call herself a writer if she hadn’t been able to put one word on paper in almost a year? How long had it been since she’d even tried to write?

  “I’m not doing this now.” She spoke to the empty house, her voice angrier and louder than she expected. It would do no good to work herself into a panic. She’d write again when she was ready. And after the nurse arrived, she’d take her pills and relax.

  Just like the back door, the patio entrance was unlocked. Belle swore under her breath and clicked the latch in place. Guy was a kind man but completely clueless when it came to the practicalities of daily life. Something she’d always blamed on his mother. But they’d been married for three years and he’d made little effort to grow up and take more responsibility. She wheeled backwards and headed for the bedroom. Maybe Angela wasn’t completely to blame for her son’s inability to involve himself in the mundane. Maybe this is what comes from marrying a younger man.

  * * *

  Lea checked the time on the dashboard display. She was supposed to be at Mrs Hammer’s house in five minutes, but that wasn’t going to happen. Somewhere after leaving Mandurah she’d missed a turn and ended up driving around the old part of Dawesville for almost twenty minutes before getting back on the right road.

  “Bloody Google Maps.” She reached into the open packet of chips on the passenger seat and grabbed a handful, pushing them into her mouth. Then shaking her salty fingers, she gripped the wheel.

  She thought of phoning the woman and letting her know she’d be late, but that would mean pulling over. Her old Barina didn’t have Bluetooth and she’d copped a hefty fine for using her phone while driving three weeks ago. The last thing she needed was another four hundred dollar ticket. Not that there was anyone around to see. Lea glanced at the towering gums and tightly packed bush flanking the two-lane road. She’d never been to Lake Stanmore; its isolation surprised her. Nice but a bit of a shock for a city girl.

  With the radio turned up, she tapped her fingers on the wheel, burst into song and grabbed another handful of chips. Besides, she’d be there by six-thirty. What difference would half an hour make? She crunched her way through the chips, brushing at crumbs on her pale blue uniform shirt. Got to cut back on the snacks or someone will be helping me on and off the toilet.

  Still anxious about being late, she glanced at the time on the dashboard: 5:56 p.m. Running late but not by much. Janice at the agency said Mrs Hammer was in her thirties and recovering from a car accident, so it wasn’t like she couldn’t wait twenty minutes. At least Lea hoped the woman would be all right until she arrived.

  According to Google she was approaching Silver Gum Lane. Lea eased off on the accelerator and flicked on the indicator. It was at least ten minutes since she’d seen another car, but old habits… She couldn’t remember the rest of the saying, something about being hard.

  Lea shrugged and turned onto the side road. Ahead, the narrow strip of bitumen was clear so she leaned over and picked up the cup of Cola from the console and took a slurp. Her eyes bounced back onto the road and widened as something dark fell onto the bitumen.

  The Barina’s tyres screeched, locking when she stomped the pedal. As the small car began to skid, Lea yelped and released the brake then immediately hit it again just as her dad had taught her to do in emergencies. Heart yammering in her throat, she managed to bring the vehicle to a stop.

  “Shit.” Her voice was a high-pitched squeal. “Holy shit.” She shook her head. Too stunned to be angry, she put the car in park and opened the door.

  Whatever the dark outline on the road was, it wasn’t moving. The sun was sinking fast, splashing the road with long shadows. Suddenly, Lea wasn�
��t so sure she was doing the right thing getting out of her car to investigate. She glanced back into the Barina and wondered if she should call her father. But he’d been against her taking the job with the agency and calling him for help before she’d even reached her first live-in job would be admitting he was right.

  In that moment, torn between diving back into her vehicle or venturing the ten metres or so to check on whatever was crumpled on the road, Lea wondered if her father might have been right when he said it was risky for a young woman to go off to strangers’ houses alone. She could almost hear her dad’s voice. I don’t care if these people are rich, Lea. Rich doesn’t mean they’re angels. Who knows what these people are like?

  But the thing on the road had nothing to do with Mrs Hammer or working for the agency, and Lea wanted this job. The money was good and she liked helping people. Being a carer wasn’t a glamorous job but it was worthwhile, important. The people she worked with needed someone to help them do things other people took for granted and sometimes they just wanted someone to be there. Most people thought carers just helped people on and off the toilet, but it was much more than that. And, if it panned out, she might even try nursing.

  “Okay.” Lea let go of the car door. “Hello?” Her voice bounced off the road sounding hollow and frightened. “Are you okay?”

  She bit her bottom lip and waited. There was no movement, just the faintest breeze rustling through the leaves in the surrounding forest. It’s probably a branch. She remembered hearing that gum trees dropped branches without warning.

  As she approached, her thick-soled shoes made only the slightest whisper as they moved over the bitumen. Somewhere in the dense bush a bird hawked, the sound reminding her of a baby crying. Now close, she slowed her steps. The details of the dark shape became clear and Lea made a clicking sound with her tongue. A branch, just as she’d thought. A hazard for drivers, but nothing to get all wound up about.