Читать книгу Under The Mistletoe - Jennifer Joyce, Kerry Barrett - Страница 14

Chapter 5

‘What the…? Why the hell did you do that?’ shouted a male voice.

‘I’ve found the fuse box,’ hollered Jess, and apart from the chandelier, the lights flicked back on. Dim rays filtered through from the kitchen and Games Room. Rooted to the spot, I squinted back at the bottom of the stairs, finally able to make out this freak’s face.

‘You?’ My clenched fists uncurled a little.

Luke glared at me and rubbed his head. Jess came over from a cupboard behind the hallway desk.

‘Careful,’ I muttered to her and stepped backwards, as we didn’t know him well.

‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘Who do you think I am? Some Rural Ripper? This is sleepy Harpenden, not the East End.’

He wanted to try living in Luton, where crime practically began in the crib. Only last week the bloke living below us caught a nine year old, snooping through his flat, armed with nothing but a stink bomb and Star Wars sabre.

My heart raced as I pictured the tabloid headlines, if I was famous: “Courageous Kimmy Scuppers Stalker.” Well, Luke had met me briefly, and that’s all it took for those weirdoes to become obsessed. A story like that would win Adam back. The magazines would feature our reunion. The police would provide me with panic buttons and a cool bodyguard…

‘Who were you carrying?’ I said in a half-whisper.

‘Why don’t I show you,’ said Luke with a sinister grin.

Groucho could have at least bared his teeth or found a phone and punched in the number for the police, with his titchy paw. My mouth went dry as Luke went back upstairs and dragged the body along the landing. He flipped it over his shoulder and came back down. I gasped, took a larger step backwards and prayed that my legs wouldn’t give way. My fists clenched tight once more. What kind of monster was he? That body was headless.

‘Let’s go!’ I screeched to Jess. Startled, Groucho scampered into the kitchen and let more light into the hallway as he pushed the door open.

‘Kimmy, wait a minute,’ said Jess.

More visible now, Luke stood at the bottom of the staircase. Blood trickled past his eyebrow and one arm was draped casually around the shoulders of…

‘A dressmaking dummy?’ My mouth fell open.

‘Who’s the dummy now?’ he scoffed.

His smug look made me almost wish it had been some murder victim instead.

‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ I straightened up and folded my arms.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘That your way of saying sorry?’ He wiped the blood from his head.

‘What are you doing with that thing? Whose is it?’ said Jess.

‘It belonged to your predecessor. I agreed to pick it up for her – she refused to come back to Mistletoe Mansion.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

His mouth twitched. ‘Pleasurable as this has been, ladies, it’s time I was off.’

‘Try knocking next time,’ I said, blocking out thoughts wondering whether it would scratch to kiss his bristly face. No, I wouldn’t apologise for his injury. He was to blame. And so were his sexy hair and sardonic smile, for making me think the unthinkable – that, in time, there might be other men out there who could turn my head. No, I wouldn’t consider that. Adam and I were meant for each other and this… this arrogant, rude, unfriendly handyman just proved how important it was for me to win back my decent man.

‘Didn’t want to disturb you.’ He shrugged. ‘Thought I’d be in and out. It might have been safer, though. Didn’t know I’d come face to face with such a drama queen.’

‘You’ve bent my tree!’ I said, picking up the now lopsided Christmas decoration.

‘How inconsiderate of me. Next time I’ll duck.’ He shoved the doll under one arm and approached me, leant forward and slid the honeysuckle from my ear, his fingers gently brushing against my scalp. ‘Don’t think Mr Murphy would appreciate you picking the flowers.’ And with that he left.

I stared out of the front window as he swaggered down the drive. The rain had calmed to a rhythmic patter and the weeping willow hung limp, like my hair after a swim. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone ruder than my younger brother. Fancy barging in unannounced, without the slightest concern for scaring the crap out of us?’

Jess shrugged. ‘Suppose he was doing someone a favour. Guess he’s used to popping in and out as he likes.’

‘You’re defending him?’ My eyes narrowed.

‘Per-lease, Kimmy, he’s not my type! Anyway, I’m a man-free zone. It’s all too soon after…’ Her voice broke. She’d ditched her last boyfriend a month ago. He was older, kind of distinguished and spoilt her rotten. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when the bozo let slip to straight-up Jess that he was married with no immediate plans to leave his wife.

‘Come on… Don’t know about you but I’m so hungry I could eat a Groucho sized nut roast,’ she said, and gave a half-smile. ‘Let’s eat and sort out who’s sleeping where. Then we need to write a list – prioritise jobs for tomorrow… I need to search out the recycling bins and find out on which day they’re emptied.’

I put down the plastic tree, hoping to mend it later, and followed her into the kitchen. Oh my God! The big American fridge with double doors! Jess found some biscuits for the little dog, whilst I pulled out eggs, butter, a small slab of cheese and milk. I’d never used a halogen hob before and ran my fingers along its shiny surface. To the right of the sink were the French patio doors. Arms full of ingredients, I teetered over and took a quick look outside. There, on raised decking, big and round and covered in a green cover was the hot tub – a very cool Facebook status immediately came to mind!

Within fifteen minutes, we were sitting at the granite island in the middle of the kitchen, eating omelettes and drinking milk.

‘Here’s to us,’ said Jess, as she raised her glass and drank the contents down in one. ‘At least I’ve worked out why this place is named after a parasitic plant.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘Out the back…’ Jess jerked her head. ‘Right at the bottom are apple and poplar trees – plus that willow at the front… All are the perfect hosts for mistletoe. I bet the owners have suffered constant infestations over the years.’

‘Great, let’s hope, in daylight, we can spot a mass of the stuff to help decorate this place. It’s hardly festive.’

Jess wolfed down the omelette.

‘You are hungry.’ I grinned.

‘Well, we’ve only been here a couple of hours and already rescued some torso and committed Grievous Bodily Harm.’

‘Did you see Luke’s face when the lights came on? What a shame my tree’s now wonky.’ And I supposed it was a pity that its metal base cut his head. Would he need stitches? Okay, perhaps now I was feeling a titch guilty. ‘Beat you upstairs,’ I said to Jess and slipped off the stool. ‘I’m going to bagsy the best bedroom.’

‘We’re not in Juniors now, you know,’ she said, but nevertheless broke into a chase as I charged into the hallway and upstairs. The chandelier’s bulbs must have blown, so the landing was dark. Therefore I slowed and edged my way around to the very first door on the left, at the front of the house. It was locked, so I edged my way back, to the next door down. I opened it and switched on the light.

‘Hello Magazine eat your heart out,’ I murmured.

Transfixed, we entered the sumptuous room. Bang opposite the door was a huge four poster oak bed, with silk crimson sheets trimmed with gold, and a row of pretty cushions embroidered with red and purple flowers, leant up against the headboard. A lavish dressing table with carved feet stood at the end of the room, by the huge back window which boasted generously cut crimson velvet curtains hanging to the floor. I peeked out onto the back garden and could just make out the trees Jess had talked about. I pushed open the top window and shivered as I listened for a moment.

‘Did you hear that shouting?’ I said and quickly closed the window. ‘Sounds like a couple on this street is having one humdinger of an argument.’

‘Maybe life in Harpenden isn’t so idyllic after all.’

Next to the bed, on the left, was a huge oak wardrobe and further around, a door, no doubt leading to an ensuite. Sure enough, I glanced in. It couldn’t be more feminine, with the delicate pink smudged tiles, cream bathroom units and gold accessories. A showerhead stood over… was that a whirlpool bath? A floral design decorated the toilet seat and even the loo roll had a rose imprint on it.

In a trance I headed for the bed and flopped down, just imagining myself in one of those fancy lifestyle magazine photo shoots. Groucho jumped up next to me and snuggled up. I gazed at a rich oil painting of a vase of poppies.

‘I can see you two aren’t going to budge.’ Jess grinned. ‘In here’s too posh for me anyway. Let’s look at the other rooms.’

Reluctantly, I heaved myself off the super sprung mattress, longing to squidge the lush carpet between my toes. In fact, I kicked off my boots and socks and padded around for a few seconds. It felt like the softest clover-filled lawn; it felt like I’d just had one of those trendy fish pedicures.

‘Come and look at this!’ called Jess. After a quick peek in the wardrobe, I hurried onto the landing. I walked to the next room and tried the handle. It was locked. Jess was in the next one along and I went in. With a whoop of joy, I headed straight for a black laptop and sat down in a swizzle chair. How had I managed almost a day without social media?

‘Wonder why he needed an office,’ said Jess, her gaze jumping from the immaculate cream blinds, to the beige leather sofa and shiny laminated floor. On the right hand wall was a massive plasma television. ‘Let’s hope the last two rooms aren’t too small, Kimmy, otherwise I might be sharing your bed.’

‘As long as you don’t talk in your sleep, like Adam.’ Or dribble on the pillow. Or throw the duvet off every time I pull it up. I bit my lip. Sleeping alone tonight was going to be weird.

The next door led into a mint green bathroom with a gleaming walk-in shower and shiny silver accessories. It even had a bidet! And was that a waterproof telly? I’d seen one on an old series of MTV Cribs. The tiling was understated and the streamlined accessories classy.

Jess dragged me out, and along the landing to the last room at the front of the house. It was a modest size with a full bookcase.

‘Stieg Larsson, Audrey Niffeneger…’ murmured Jess, flicking through. ‘All the modern greats.’

I squinted. Hmm, couldn’t see any of Kim Kardashian’s novels and you didn’t get more modern than that.

‘You happy in here?’ I asked and took in the terracotta walls, peach bedcover and minimalist furniture. The room also had its own ensuite with gigantic mirrors. On the right, a big window faced the front garden. With its distinct lack of knick-knacks, this room was probably for guests. That meant one of the locked rooms must have been the master bedroom – probably the first one I’d tried to get into, on the other side of the landing, at the front.

‘Sure am,’ said Jess. ‘I left my novels at Ryan’s.’ She took a weathered-looking book off the shelf, sat down on the bed and yawned. ‘It’s been quite a day. Think I might get an early night.’

‘But we haven’t been in the hot tub yet,’ I protested. ‘Or played at least one game of darts.’ I didn’t want to go to bed and, in the black of night, have to face thinking about my break-up with Adam this morning.

‘Some of us have got to be up for work tomorrow.’

Claws scratched against the door which opened slightly. Chocolate eyes appeared. Groucho squeezed himself through the gap and cocked his head.

‘I bet our instructions include taking him out for a late-night pee,’ said Jess and gave a wry smile.

‘Leave it to me,’ I said, with my most martyr-like expression.

Jess grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay up so that nosy you can tell me what you discovered about the neighbours.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said innocently.

‘And I’ll have a list of things to do tomorrow ready for when you get back.’

With Groucho shadowing me, I trotted downstairs and into the kitchen. I grabbed my gold parka and slipped it on. Then I fetched the dog lead from the white desk in the hallway. I fastened it to Groucho’s collar and stopped by my pink case for a moment, wondering if I should change into something more fashionable. I wanted to make the right impression and it was good practice for dealing with all those fancy clients I’d have on my books when my business took off.

Except I was pretty tired. It was dark. And somehow it wouldn’t feel the same without Adam there to tell me I looked nice. He still did that, even though we’d been going out for two years and eight months – longer than any of Mum’s boyfriends had hung around. Just as I’d get to the point where I’d hug her latest bloke longer than he’d hug me, there’d be some massive argument between him and Mum and he’d leave – whereas Adam had sticking power…

‘Come on, boy,’ I said, and we headed to the front door. I shivered. Was someone behind me? Don’t be stupid, I told myself. Don’t let that Luke spook you out. The air smelt grassy and fresh as I locked up behind us. I squinted through the darkness. No one was around. Where were the drunken shouts? The screech of bus brakes? The empty kebab wrappers? Ah yes. I’d left them, back in Luton.

‘Don’t tempt me!’ yelled a distant voice.

Hmm. I spoke too soon. I was right, when I heard shouting outside, on opening the window of my new bedroom – some couple was having one hell of a row.

I glanced down at the tiny Jack Russell. The last time I’d walked a dog it had belonged to Mum’s boyfriend before last. One and a half long years Rick had stayed, with his roll-ups, his mechanic’s oily nails and his Pirelli calendars. The plus was, he’d found my little car cheap and done it up. Also, he owned Stud, the gentlest of Staffies, with a tickle-stick tongue and shiny mocha coat. As soft as putty on the inside, if you gave him a biscuit, he held out his paw to say thanks. But he had the neck of a boxer and eyes of a jackal – I never felt scared walking him out, at night. Whereas Groucho stared up at me as if he rather hoped I might growl if anyone dodgy walked past.

‘Let’s track down this argument,’ I whispered to him and zipped up my jacket, hoping the evening dampness wouldn’t curl my hair. We veered left at the bottom of the drive and eventually a house even bigger than Walter’s loomed into view. That was proof of money – owning a place in a road where the homes are all different designs. I’d only ever lived in a terrace or block of flats.

I squinted. A huge conservatory was attached to the back. This house was set further forwards than Walters’s and the brickwork looked centuries old. The left hand side was a wide turret. The massive front door was oak and had a huge chrome knocker, in the shape of… an eagle. Ivy climbed the door and in front of the turret was a double garage and… Wow! A parked silver and blue… I strained my eyes… Bugatti! I’d read an article on them and recognised the elegant shape, the spoiler and the distinctive two-toned bodywork.

In the middle of the right hand lawn stood a grey water fountain and – another bonkers thing about this place – it was in the shape of a bag of golf clubs! Water ran from the club heads, poking out of the top. This house belonged to a sports-mad pensioner, no doubt. As we carried on, something black darted down from the trees. Was that a bat?

‘Don’t walk away from me, when I’m talking,’ shouted a woman’s voice. I crouched behind a bush in the front border. The Bugatti had been parked at an angle, as if the driver had been in a hurry to get inside. All the downstairs lights were on. A door slammed and seconds later a man and woman appeared in the top bedroom. Their outlines seemed strangely familiar.

Groucho sniffed a nearby shrub and I evil-eyed him. Don’t you dare cock your leg just inches from my face! I stared again at the Bugatti. Adam would have killed to give that a test run…

Suddenly the front door flew open and I ducked down further, behind the bush, inhaling the smell of wet leaves and damp soil. I could see frosty white mist escape my mouth, as I breathed in and out. Willing Groucho not to yap, I peered through a gap in the plants. At the sound of footsteps on the drive, and thanks to the porch light, I got a clear view of the man’s face.

What? No, it couldn’t be. My heart skipped a beat, before I took a quick double take. The number plate said JON 45. I was right! IT WAS GOLFING STAR, JONNY WINSFORD!