by Amy Cross
“How long were you running for?” she whispered, reaching back into the bag and counting one of the bundles of money, before counting the number of bundles themselves and realizing that there had to be more than £20,000. “And where did all of this come from?”
She checked to make sure there was nothing else hidden under the tiles, and then she set the money aside and sat on the toilet lid for a few minutes, staring at the bag as she tried to figure out what Deborah Dean had really been doing at Skellin Cottage. Wind howled outside, whistling through gaps in the cottage's roof, and finally Jo got to her feet and headed over to the shower cabinet. Already, cold night air was pocking the flesh on her arms and causing her to shiver slightly.
“Wow, no!” she gasped as soon as she felt the freezing water, although after a moment she reached her hand into the cabinet again and winced as she tried to get used to the cold. “It's good for you,” she muttered under her breath. “Good for your heart, something like that. What are you, some kind of wimp?”
She hesitated a moment longer, before stepping into the shower and letting out a horrified shriek as she felt the thousands upon thousands of icy droplets fall all over her naked body. Fighting the urge to flee, she instead grabbed her shower gel and forced herself to get on with the job of washing, even going so far as to run water through her hair and add some shampoo. The experience became no more pleasant as the minutes went past, and she was shivering as she began to rinse her hair. She took a moment to brush her teeth in the shower, too, before finally turning the water off and stepping out. Grabbing a towel, she began to dry herself as quickly as possible, and then she started getting dressed.
Setting the towel next to the sink, she reached for a pack of dental floss, and then she froze as she saw that a human eye was staring at her through the crack in the door.
The eye blinked, and then slowly pulled back into the shadows.
Jo remained completely still, too shocked to react and convinced that the eye had to be some kind of optical illusion, until a moment later she heard footsteps hurrying away along the landing.
“Stop!” she yelled, racing out of the bathroom and immediately spotting a figure running to the top of the stairs.
By the time the figure reached the hallway, Jo had clattered down and almost caught up to him. He was already reaching for the handle on the front door, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him around before shoving him back against the wall. As the man let out a startled cry, Jo realized with a sense of shock that she recognized him.
“What are you doing here?”
***
“Do you have to tell him?” Phillip asked, his voice twisting into a frightened whine as they sat at the kitchen table. “He'll be mad at me. I promise I won't do it again.”
“I've already called him and asked him to come and pick you up,” Jo replied, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on his terrified features. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her heart-rate still hadn't quite returned to normal. After a moment, she looked down at the key that lay on the table between the pair of them. “Did you steal that from your father?”
“I never steal!” Phillip stammered breathlessly. “I just... I know where he keeps things. That's all.”
“So you snuck out here without telling your father?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He paused, briefly meeting her gaze but quickly looking down at the table, as if he was ashamed.
“I didn't hear you come in,” she continued. “I'm good at hearing things, but you got all the way upstairs and I didn't notice a thing. Even with the shower running for a few minutes...” She paused, still watching him carefully. “There's a creaking board at the bottom of the stairs, but you -”
“I know how to avoid that,” he replied eagerly, with a big, proud smile that lingered for a few seconds before he remembered he was in trouble. “I mean...”
“You've done this before, haven't you?”
She waited for an answer, but now Phillip was once more staring at the table. A moment later, he began to examine his own fingers.
“Phillip? Did you ever sneak into the cottage when Deborah Dean was living here?”
Again she waited, but Phillip seemed far more interested in his the palms of his hands.
“I need to know,” Jo continued. “Phillip, something very bad happened to Deborah in this cottage. Do you understand that?”
He glanced at her briefly, but only for a second, before looking back down at his hands and mumbling something.
“How old are you, Phillip?” she asked.
“I'm twenty-two.”
She hesitated, watching him and seeing that even though he looked like a fully-grown man, something clearly wasn't right in his head.
“I saw you naked,” he whispered finally.
A faint shudder passed through her chest. “I know you did.”
“There's something wrong with you.”
She took a deep breath. “Phillip -”
“Why don't you have boobies?”
She swallowed hard.
“Why do you have big scars where your boobies are supposed to be?” he added, glancing at her again and this time managing to meet her gaze.
“Did you ever sneak into the cottage when Deborah lived here?” she asked, trying to sidestep the question. “Did you spy on her, the way you spied on me?”
“I'm not allowed to spy on people.”
“I'm sure you aren't. But did you do it anyway?”
“You'll tell him.”
“I won't tell your father anything you tell me right here,” she replied. “But it's very important that I know about your relationship with Deborah. Did you see her very often?”
He hesitated, before finally nodding.
“Were you friends?”
“She was my girlfriend.”
“She -”
Jo paused, before taking a deep breath and then letting out a sigh.
“She was!” Phillip continued, as if he could already tell that she didn't believe him. “She was my proper girlfriend and everything!”
“And what did you do when you were here with her?”
“She talked to me sometimes.”
“About what?”
He shrugged.
“Please, Phillip. It might be important.”
“She let me sit with her sometimes when she was writing.”
“Did you see what she was writing?”
“Sometimes.” He paused. “It was very complicated.”
“What was it about?”
“I didn't...”
She waited.
“You didn't what, Phillip?”
“I didn't understand. I tried to, but I couldn't. She said that was okay.”
“I don't suppose she ever gave you a copy of anything she was working on, did she?”
He shook his head.
“I guess that'd be too easy,” she added with a sigh. “Phillip, I really need you to answer the question I asked just now. You do understand, I take it, that sneaking into a house is wrong?”
“I had a key.”
“That doesn't mean it isn't wrong. Do you understand that?”
He seemed reluctant, but finally he nodded.
“And do you understand that spying on someone is wrong? Whatever they're doing?”
He nodded again.
“Did you, or did you not, spy on Deborah Dean the way you spied on me tonight?”
He shook his head.
“Phillip -”
“I didn't need to.”
“And why's that?”
“Because she let me see.”
“I find that difficult to believe, Phillip. Are you lying to me?”
He shook his head.
“Phillip, you're...”
Her voice trailed off as she stared at the frightened, confused half-man, half-boy in front of her. She could tell that he must have been very handsome before his accident, but at the same time she could also see the
innocence and fear in his eyes, and she knew without a doubt that nobody could ignore the fact that something was missing from his mind. For a moment, she tried to imagine any situation in which a woman like Deborah Dean would take a boy like Phillip Chesleford into her bed, but she just couldn't get past the improbability of the idea. The whole thing just seemed so utterly wrong.
“Phillip, have you lied to me at any point so far?”
He shook his head.
“Do you promise, Phillip?”
“I don't lie. Lying's wrong.”
“But sometimes people feel they have no choice,” she continued. “Do you ever feel like that, Phillip?”
He hesitated, before shaking his head again.
“But you liked Deborah, didn't you? You liked her a lot.”
“She was my...” He paused. “I mean, she -”
Before he could finish, the lights of a car suddenly swung into view outside, briefly filling the dusty window before switching off as the engine was cut. A moment later, a car door could be heard opening and then slamming shut, and finally steps hurried angrily toward the front door.
Phillip flinched. “Please don't tell him what I did!”
Jo got to her feet. “You're scared of your father, aren't you? Why is that?”
Suddenly the front door swung wide open and Lord Chesleford burst into the room, immediately storming toward the table and reaching out to grab Phillip's arm.
“I'm dreadfully sorry about this,” the old man blustered, his face red with anger. “Phillip! Go and wait in the car!”
“Dad, I just -”
“Go and wait in the car!” Lord Chesleford roared. “Now! Or so help me...”
Stumbling to his feet, Phillip scurried around his father and ran to the door, before stopping and turning to look back at Jo.
“I'm sorry!” he stammered with tears in his eyes. “Please don't hate me! I won't tell anyone about what's wrong with you!”
“I don't hate you, Phillip,” she replied.
“We'll talk about this later,” Lord Chesleford said firmly, heading over to his son. “Right now, I want you to wait in the car while I tell Miss Mason what an awful, wicked boy you are!”
Phillip hesitated, before leaning closer to his father and whispering something in his ear, while peering back toward Jo.
“I saw her naked!” Jo could just about hear him saying. “She's got no boobies!”
“Get out of here!” Lord Chesleford shouted, shoving Phillip so hard in the chest that the boy stumbled back through the open doorway and landed in the mud outside. As his son got to his feet, the old man slammed the door shut and then went over to the window, looking out and watching to make sure that Phillip got into the waiting car as he'd been ordered. Finally, still a little breathless and red-faced, Lord Chesleford turned to Jo. “I cannot even begin to express my profound apologies for the awful intrusion you have suffered this evening.”
“It's fine,” Jo replied, taking the key from the table and handing it to him. “Perhaps you should find a new place to keep this, though.”
“I've tried everything with that boy. Ever since his mother died, I've been left alone to raise him, and the injury he suffered has left him in a state of perpetual childhood. I tell him things over and over again, but they never sink in. Sometimes I think he should just be...”
His voice trailed off, but he was clearly lost in thought and his anger seemed to be still rising.
“Do you know about your son's relationship with Deborah Dean?” Jo asked after a moment.
“Phillip barely knew the woman.”
“That's not what he told me.”
“He's a fantasist.”
“He told me he used to come here and spend time with her.” Looking out the window, Jo saw Phillip's eager, innocent face staring back at her from the interior of the car. “He was quite specific.”
“That boy is full of nonsense.”
“Do you keep track of his movements twenty-four hours a day?”
“Of course not, but I have a general gist of what he does with his time. He runs around, he goes to the village, but he doesn't do anything important. No, the idea of him having any kind of relationship at all with Deborah is quite out of the question.”
“He said she was his girlfriend.”
At this suggestion, Lord Chesleford couldn't stifle a brief, pitying smirk.
“Phillip is not capable of understanding anything about the sexual side of life,” he explained. “Not beyond childish tittering about body parts, anyway. Believe me, I am eternally regretful of the fact that he shall never produce offspring of his own. Since he is my only child, I have reluctantly been forced to face the realization that the family line might very well stop with him.” He paused for a moment. “I was born into money, Miss Mason. Money and power and prestige. I really only had one job, and that was to secure offspring so that the Chesleford name would continue. And as you can no doubt appreciate, I have failed miserably. Phillip was supposed to be enough, but then the accident...”
His voice trailed off.
“I'd like to talk to him again,” Jo said.
“There's really no point. Phillip isn't your only lead in this case, is he? If he is, you might as well pack up and go home immediately. The boy is extremely unreliable. He can't even remember how to tie his own laces, for Christ's sake.”
“I have other avenues of investigation,” she replied. “Tomorrow I need to speak to Susannah Marriott. I wasn't able to track her down today. I spoke to Harry Morgan, and I'll be going back to him as well. There are some other leads, but I'd rather not say anything about those until I've firmed them up a little. I think Phillip might know more than he realizes about Deborah, and I need to tease out some of that information. That's what I was trying to do when you arrived.”
“This cottage is bloody freezing,” Lord Chesleford replied. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”
“I like the lack of distractions.”
“Well, will you at least come to dinner tomorrow evening? At my home? I would like to speak to you some more about Deborah, and to hear how your investigation is going.” He hesitated. “And if you really insist upon talking to Phillip again, I suppose that would be as good an opportunity as any. He might be a little calmer in a more familiar environment.”
“I could just drop by during the day,” she suggested.
“Out of the question. You must come to dinner. I insist.”
“But -”
“People don't tend to refuse my dinner invitations,” he added. “They're rather rare, and I do think it would be useful for us to maintain a close working relationship during your time here. Miss Mason, I am rather at a loss to know what to do with myself at the moment, so even if you don't think you'd get anything out of the evening, I would be grateful if you could humor an old man and offer a little company for just a few hours. I'm paying for your time here, after all. Besides, if you wish to speak to Phillip some more, it would be the only real opportunity I can offer.”
Jo hesitated for a moment, before feeling the last of her resistance starting to crumble.
“What time should I be there?” she asked finally, with a sinking feeling.
Chapter Six
Six months ago
“I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry about my son's intrusion,” Lord Chesleford said as he stood in the doorway, with the lights of his car framing his portly figure against the yard. “Deborah, will you allow me to make this up to you in some way? Perhaps you'd like to join Phillip and myself for dinner one evening this week?”
“That's a very kind offer,” she replied, “but I have so much work to get done and I've been falling behind lately.”
“I understand, but -”
“Maybe next week,” she added, “or the week after that, or some other time. Would you mind if I took a rain-check?”
The old man opened his mouth to reply, before forcing a smile as if he'd finally accepted that there was no point trying to f
orce her.
“I suppose I should respect your need to work,” he said finally, unable to hide the sense of disappointment in his voice. “The writer's life must be such a wonderful and rewarding way to spend one's days. I hope you won't mind if I ask how your book is going?”
She rolled her eyes. “I'm starting to think I should ditch the whole thing and start again.”
“Nonsense! I'm sure that if you persevere, you'll get somewhere eventually. Again, if you need anyone to cast a second pair of eyes over what you've done so far, you have only to ask.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to work alone.”
“Of course. I suppose I shall have to content myself with serving as a mere patron of the arts.”
“I'm sorry?”
“I just mean that by renting Skellin Cottage to you, perhaps I am in some small way easing your burden and contributing to your ability to create a space that's conducive to your work. That, in itself, is something of an honor. Perhaps you might even include a small mention of me in a dedication at the start of the book? Only if you wish to do so, of course.”
“Sure,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I can definitely do that, I just...” She glanced toward the car, where Phillip was waiting patiently. “If I could ask one more favor, Lord Chesleford?”
“Name it, my dear.”
“Could you try to make Phillip understand that he shouldn't come out here again? Especially late at night.”
“Of course.”
“It's nothing against him personally, I just got a little startled earlier when I heard someone sneaking around outside. Well, not sneaking exactly, but it was still a little freaky.”
“I understand completely. He's a very trying boy. Harmless, but trying. I shall have a severe word with him when we get home, and I shall ensure that nothing like this ever happens again. I'm afraid the task of keeping him under control has been rather challenging for me, and I haven't entirely performed as I should. I feel so very protective of him, and he has nobody else in his life. It has been very difficult for me, ever since my wife died. I'm afraid I'm the kind of man who needs a wife, but I'm sure I can do better. Phillip won't disturb you again.”