Cherringham--Scared to Death Read online

  “You told me … there is this man. This American. He solves crimes. Right here!”

  “Well, I had heard about him. He works with someone in the village, a mum—”

  “We will go speak to him. Ask for his help.”

  It seemed Alyssia had dismissed the fact that the American, this detective, in fact worked with a local woman.

  American. Detective. Those were enough words for her.

  Alyssia had developed, over the years, the art of selective hearing.

  She turned to Basil: “We will go to him. Ask for his help. And he will tell us who is doing these terrible things,” she rubbed his wrinkled hand, “and put an end to them!”

  But Basil slowly shook his head. “I don’t know, Alyssia. I mean, the police are involved. Perhaps we need to give them time. It does seem like something an unhinged fan might do. God, even stealing ideas from some of my greatest films!”

  And with this mention of his own work — and the possible connection to the incidents — Basil’s mood seemed to darken.

  Face grim, hands clenched, as if the worst of the storm was still to come.

  As if remembering that his faux Louis XIV bath upstairs had been a sea of red.

  “B-but what if it’s not a fan?” he said, his voice hoarse. “What if all that time, all those movies, what if … I know it sounds crazy … but what if I offended the spirit world? What if it’s … some kind of dark force seeking revenge?”

  But Alyssia was having none of it.

  “Dark forces?” she said. “Dio mio! Crazy talk! Since when did dark forces use fake blood to scare an old actor!”

  Alyssia — never one for holding back.

  And, as if reciting a line, Basil turned, and said softly: “The devil moves in mysterious ways, Alyssia …”

  “And so do I! Enough of this nonsense, Basil. This is the work of a human, not a devil.”

  Her eyes glared, dark; whites flashing. A film star’s eyes, to be sure.

  “If you want to wait for the local police here to continue to do the nothing they have been doing, fine! I will, on the other hand, see what the American detective says!”

  “And his partner,” Maud added, not expecting Alyssia to take much notice.

  Indeed — Alyssia stood up, her finger pointed at Basil.

  “If you must, call the policeman, speak to him. But tomorrow, we do something different!”

  Basil nodded as his wife glared.

  And, ever the gentleman, he stood up, sliding his phone out of his satiny bathrobe pocket as Alyssia turned and walked away.

  He scrolled through his numbers, then looked at Maud, sheepish smile in place, as he brought the phone to his ear.

  “Oh, Alan — Basil Coates here. I’m afraid, yes, well, there’s been another incident. God. I …” another glance to Maud who guessed this would be a longer than usual evening at Hill House. “Yes, we’ll be here. Yes, doors locked now. Tea ready. Good.”

  Basil lowered the phone, and looked around.

  And as Maud sat, finishing her cuppa, she had a thought she often had, seeing Basil just stand there, as if unsure what to do next.

  Is this what actors are like without a script?

  Waiting for words to come?

  Confused?

  And now, for Basil at least, scared?

  3. The Goose Gets a Visitor

  Jack stuck another piece of splintery and very dry wood into his pot-bellied stove, a new addition to the saloon of his old Dutch barge, The Grey Goose.

  The boat needed a lot of maintenance, but — bit by bit — Jack had been doing small upgrades and improvements. This stove — a heavy, black, cast-iron model — got hot fast.

  And since it was still only late October, a tad too hot, he thought.

  He shut the door, and closed the small flue vents on the side.

  If he let the fire go out slowly, it would still keep the boat toasty warm for hours.

  Riley, his very-curious Springer, sat feet away, head in paws, as if watching some arcane ritual.

  “Nice and warm — hmm, boy?”

  The dog wrinkled his nose.

  Yeah — maybe too warm.

  Perhaps a good time for a walk.

  Sky perfectly blue in this run up to Halloween.

  Which would not quite be Halloween as it was done in the States; he knew that from having lived here for a few years.

  In America, Halloween seemed ready to overtake Christmas as “the big one”. The costumes, the parties, the candy-crazed kids working the streets … while the adult gatherings featured elaborate costumes and concoctions, with orange-tinged food of all sorts.

  Still — Halloween in the Cotswolds — quite the fun holiday.

  And this year, the added excitement of Lady Repton’s Halloween Party to look forward to.

  Perhaps — just like back home — he’d put a bit of effort into sorting a costume for once. Do the thing properly.

  Then Riley stood up. Ears cocked.

  Someone near? Or a rabbit wandering too close to the boat’s plank?

  Riley was better than any doorbell.

  Then, a voice.

  “Hel-lo? Is anyone here?”

  A woman’s voice. With an accent.

  Jack looked down at Riley, who never barked unless it was truly called for.

  “Let’s see who’s dropping by, hmm?”

  *

  Sarah had to drive Daniel to school.

  He’d overslept and then shot down the stairs into the kitchen in a panic just as she was leaving to go to work.

  Desperate for a lift …

  Normally she would have let him deal with it — all part of growing up and taking responsibility.

  But today she knew he had an important test — the first milestone of his tough two years of A-levels that were now unrolling.

  So she made do with a quick reminder that staying up late playing games on his PS4 didn’t help with sleep routines — and that something was going to have to give.

  They’d sat in silence together as she drove through Cherringham to the school and the long line of parents dropping off kids.

  Then, she took pity.

  “Daniel — back seat in those plastic tubs — you see the cupcakes? Grab a couple, hmm?”

  “Breakfast!” he said, turning and delving into one of the tubs.

  He didn’t wait — already devouring one, bits of cupcake dropping everywhere. “Thanks, Mum! Hey — you actually make these? They’re good.”

  “Halloween themed — you’ll see — if you slow down a minute.”

  She watched him turn the cake round, spotting the witch’s hat icing.

  “They’re having a charity Halloween sale at the library. Thought I’d do my bit.”

  “Awesome. Thanks, Mum,” he said, getting out of the car. Then, before shutting the door: “Hey — you think there’ll be any fancy-dress stuff there? Got a Halloween party on Saturday.”

  “I’ll see what they have,” said Sarah. “Good luck with the test.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll ace it!”

  She watched him head off and join a crowd of his mates.

  And a girl standing with them that she didn’t recognise …

  Interesting.

  Daniel had said at the weekend that he was “between girlfriends”.

  Hard not to smile at that … he’s still a kid after all!

  Now she watched him hand over the second cupcake to the girl as the two disappeared together into the crowd of milling students.

  Hmm, maybe not “between” for much longer …

  She pulled away, back into the traffic, shifting already from “mum mode” into work.

  Busy day at the office ahead. Preparing two proposals for jobs that could keep Sarah and her assistant Grace busy well into next year.

  If they got the gigs.

  But that plan was interrupted as her phone trilled, and she looked down at its screen.

  Jack.

  She hit speaker.


  “Good morning, Sarah.”

  She pulled away from the front of the school slowly, the phone resting on the passenger seat beside her.

  “Morning, Jack.”

  “You think … you could pop over? Got someone here. Looking for, um, help.”

  Help. A euphemism that she long ago learned meant people who might be in trouble.

  She and Jack could sometimes help people in difficult positions. Helping the innocent.

  And more importantly, finding the guilty.

  Even her parents, Michael and Helen, had grown to respect what she and Jack did; even if they weren’t always one hundred per cent happy at the risks they took.

  Sarah had to wonder: was that riskiness, that hint of danger, a big part of the excitement?

  Or was the attraction the collaboration with the seemingly rock-solid Jack?

  And maybe figuring out the twists and turns of the puzzling cases that ended on their doorstep?

  Whatever — she knew that she enjoyed it so much.

  And normally, a call from Jack, like this?

  Catnip.

  But this morning, with the deadlines looming for those holiday bids for websites, flyers … leading up to the Christmas season …

  Won’t get done by themselves, and not just by Grace.

  “What’s going on, Jack? Got some pressing things at work …”

  He paused.

  “Well, guess … I could have the chat myself.”

  She immediately felt a twinge of guilt putting off her good friend.

  “No worries. I’ll make it work. How about a hint of who and what while I whizz over?”

  Another pause, and she guessed that — whoever was with him — he might be watching his words.

  Then — a small laugh.

  “I have a Mrs Alyssia Coates here. And — let’s just say — I think something very strange is going on in Cherringham.”

  Strange.

  Odd choice of word.

  “Be there in a few minutes, Jack. Just get—”

  “—the kettle on. Done and done, Huffington’s biscuits at the ready.”

  Now her turn to laugh. The NYPD detective now so accustomed to English ways!

  And she took a turn that led back through the village, and down to Cherringham Bridge and the stretch of river where Jack tied up his beloved barge.

  *

  Sarah hurried up the plank, Riley waiting at the other end, tail wagging like an out-of-control metronome.

  Ever since she’d taken care of Jack’s dog when he had to go back to the states after his daughter’s car accident, she and Riley had become the best of friends.

  And though, when he returned, Jack had given Sarah the gift of a dog of her own — much to her kids Daniel and Chloe’s delight — Digby was no Riley.

  Affable and easy enough.

  But there was soul to Jack’s Springer. Deep, wide eyes.

  Attentive to everything.

  She gave the dog a quick scratch on the head as she raced past. Whatever was going to happen here, she did need it to happen fast, this “strange” thing.

  When she went down into the saloon — first feeling how warm it was — she saw Jack standing at his small stove, kettle just recovering from its vigorous boil.

  On the table, biscuits were filling a plate, as promised.

  And sitting across from those biscuits, a woman.

  And, well …

  What a woman, Sarah immediately thought.

  *

  Jack did the introductions quickly. Alyssia Coates … Sarah Edwards …

  Sarah shook hands with Alyssia and then sat on one of Jack’s old leather armchairs and looked at his guest on the sofa opposite.

  Though there was a nip in the air, Alyssia wore a dress that, well, certainly showed off her … assets.

  Though not young, still a stunningly beautiful woman.

  And sexy.

  And Sarah had to wonder … was Jack standing back at the stove to avoid getting too close to the aged beauty’s orbit?

  She had to assume he wasn’t immune to such things.

  He brought Sarah’s cup of tea over then stood opposite Alyssia, smiling.

  “I asked Mrs Coates to hold up. So you could hear what’s going on.”

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Then the woman spoke, while Sarah scrambled to remember where she’d seen her … and who exactly was she?

  “Thank you, Jack. Please, both of you. Call me Alyssia.”

  She looked away dramatically.

  “I told my husband that I was coming to you. No matter what he did!”

  Jack added a detail: “Basil Coates. The actor.”

  Sarah squinted. The name, vaguely familiar. But again, though she thought she knew everyone in the village … for now, she was stumped.

  Jack sat down on the sofa, a smile to Alyssia.

  “Famous actor at Anvil Studios,” he said. “A string of horror classics, from the late fifties to just about the mid-seventies.”

  Jack’s smile broadened.

  “I should know. I saw so many of them at the big movie palace on Kings Highway.”

  He turned to Alyssia.

  “And I think … must have seen you in some of the later ones, yes?”

  Alyssia nodded, a small smile. “Oh, Jack — yes, I had a few roles.”

  “Starring roles, I seem to remember,” said Jack.

  “Well yes, perhaps,” Alyssia said, giving a little shrug of modesty then a coy smile. “One or two.”

  Sarah wondered: was that … a bit of a flirt?

  Then Sarah remembered where she’d come across Alyssia Coates. The thing about older villagers, especially ones with staff and money — you just didn’t see them trooping past the village shops or coming to village meetings.

  But she remembered driving with her father once when they were hunting for a place for her and the kids to live …

  After her marriage and life fell apart in London.

  They’d driven past a massive red-brick wall that ran alongside the Winsham road, and then a gated driveway where — when her dad slowed — she saw a building with matching red bricks, rust-coloured, with Gothic turrets.

  Kind of a strange house for Cherringham.

  There you go …

  That word “strange”.

  Michael had said: “famous old actor lives there”.

  And he’d told her how he’d watched the great Basil Coates in so many classic horror movies on late-night TV.

  And how Basil had married his much younger co-star and brought her here to live near Cherringham.

  So this was the Alyssia Coates.

  No wonder Jack was so enamoured.

  She watched him offer her a biscuit. Alyssia didn’t take one, her hands instead closed tight on a paper napkin that she had worried into a braid of twisty knots.

  “You want to tell Sarah what you told me?” said Jack.

  Alyssia turned to her — those eyes so dark and intense. Her Italian accent making her story even more compelling.

  “Someone has been doing terrible things to Basil. Trying to … scare him.”

  “Scaring an actor whose business was to scare people?” said Sarah.

  Alyssia nodded. “Last night, another incident. First, there were skulls on the patio deck, in some kind of star shape …”

  “Pentagram, I’m guessing,” Jack said.

  “Then, inside our home, attic windows open, windows rattling in the wind. And hanging from a beam: a noose.”

  She looked from Sarah to Jack. “A noose! In our home, I, I—”

  The woman seemed ready to cry.

  Sarah patted her arm, and that gentle touch quelled those tears.

  At least for the moment.

  And then, the tone in Alyssia’s voice changed from confusion and fear …

  To anger.

  “And last night, somehow, while Basil was getting ready for his evening bath, the water filling the bath … red. Like blood�
�”

  Sarah interrupted.

  “Like blood. But not?”

  A nod from Alyssia.

  “It was … so terrible.”

  Then silence. Jack certainly had delivered.

  Just listening to the woman made goosebumps sprout on her arm.

  Whatever are we supposed to do? she thought.

  She asked the obvious.

  About a line she and Jack were always careful not to cross.

  “And the police? Alan Rivers in the village? He’s involved?”

  Sarah looked at Jack, all this so odd.

  And this woman, in the warm saloon of Jack’s boat, seeming as exotic and maybe as mysterious as the events she talked about.

  “This — is not a matter for the police,” said Alyssia looking directly at Jack, not Sarah. “Police do not understand these things. But maybe you, Jack …”

  Sarah watched as Alyssia leaned in towards Jack and placed one hand softly on his arm.

  “You will understand. You will find out who is doing these things to us and put an end to it.” She took a breath. “I believe that.”

  And with that, she got up and put on her coat.

  “My husband and I shall see you at 2pm sharp,” she said, as if decided and done. “Please do not be late. Basil takes his afternoon sleep at four o’clock without fail.”

  “Alyssia,” said Jack. “Sarah and I haven’t actually said we’ll take the case, yet …”

  “But you must,” said Alyssia, putting her hand to her mouth in apparent shock. “Basil is so very distressed; his heart — it is not strong. You are our only hope …”

  Sarah had to admit — this woman could put on quite a performance.

  “At the very least, come to our house, talk to him,” said Alyssia, hand back on Jack’s arm. “I beg you.”

  Jack looked across at Sarah, his eyes asking the question. And though she had a lot of pressing work to do …

  It can wait, she thought.

  Because, right now, she was hooked by this whole scene, and wanted to know more …

  She shrugged and nodded.

  “Two o’clock it is,” said Jack.

  “Oh, Jack Brennan, you are an angel,” said Alyssia, kissing Jack on both cheeks. “My very own angel.”

  Then she nodded to Sarah, swept her coat over her shoulders, and made a theatrical exit up the steps and off the boat.

  Sarah looked at Jack. “Angel, hmm?”