Hollow Pike (26 page)

Lis, Delilah and Jack leaned over to get a better look. The image showed two young girls. The first had a cute black afro framing a cherubic face. It was unmistakeably Kitty. She was standing
next to a plump little girl with thick brown curls.

‘Oh, good God, look how fat Laura was!’ Jack squealed.

‘That’s Laura? Crumbs!’ Lis internally wrestled with a feeling of glee at seeing that Laura had had puppy fat. It was neither kind, nor relevant.

‘Yeah, that must have been taken back in the day when she was on speaking terms with any form of solid food,’ Delilah quipped.

Kitty giggled. ‘Yes, but look at what she’s got in her hands!’

Ignoring the subjects and looking at the setting, Lis recognised the hallmarks of a birthday party: bunting, discarded wrapping paper and cards. In Laura’s chubby hand was a beautiful
floral notebook, tied with a delicate pink ribbon.

‘Her diary?’

Lis asked. ‘Yep!’ Kitty pushed herself back onto the worn leather sofa and crossed her impossibly long legs. ‘I know, because I bought them for her!’

‘There’s more than one?’ Jack frowned, scrutinising the photo.

‘Yeah, it was a five-year box set; each diary was a different colour and had a different pattern. Believe it or not, when we were ten, Laura and I were pretty good friends.’

All of a sudden it made sense to Lis. The animosity between Kitty and Laura had always seemed so personal; now it turned out that it was. Lis remembered when she and her best friend Bronwyn had
been carefree twelve-year-olds in Bangor. That was before Bronwyn had turned on her so disastrously. Friends can do twice as much damage as enemies.

‘God, I remember that party,’ Delilah said quietly. ‘I was the only girl in our class that wasn’t invited.’

‘Yeah, that was when it all started going tits-up,’ replied Kitty.

The smiles in the photo gave no indication of the years of bitching and torment that were to follow. Laura looked so soft, so innocent.

‘You said you knew where she kept the diaries?’ Jack broke in, shattering Lis’s thoughts.

Kitty grinned. ‘Well, I know where she kept them four years ago!’

‘OK . . . spill!’

‘In her en suite bathroom!’

‘Gross! Dear diary, no bowel movements today . . .’ Jack laughed.

‘Eww! No. The panel on the side of her bathtub comes off. She was so proud of her genius hiding place that she showed me.’

Lis wrapped her chunky cardigan more tightly around herself. In the dead of night, the attic was freezing cold. ‘Do you think they’d still be under her bath now?’

‘I don’t see why not. It is a good hiding place.’

The four looked at each other silently, all of them knowing what needed to be said, but nobody wanting to be the first to say it.

‘Well?’ Jack started.

‘Well, we’ll have to go and see if they’re still there,’ Lis finished.

Delilah glanced uncertainly from Lis to Kitty. ‘Do we
really
want to do this? If we get caught we are in deep, deep trouble.’

Lis stood and paced across the attic. She was more determined than ever. ‘Yes!’ she announced. ‘It would be lovely to just lie low and let all this wash over me. I would love
nothing more than to just go to lessons and hang with you lot and snog Danny . . . but it’s not going to happen! Not while someone’s playing with me – and I don’t think
they’re just going to go away.’

‘You’re right,’ nodded Kitty. ‘First Laura, then the crow, then someone breaks into Lis’s house. We don’t know who could be next. The diaries are a long shot,
but they’re the best shot we have of finding a clue to who’s behind all this.’

‘Are we all in?’ Lis looked around the room.

Delilah nodded earnestly and, although he didn’t look thrilled, Jack also bobbed his head.

‘Cool,’ she breathed. ‘Well, then I guess we need a plan.’

‘A plan sounds good . . .’ Jack managed a tiny smile of encouragement.

‘Well, somehow we need to get into Laura’s en suite bathroom . . .’ Lis let the sentence trail away. She hadn’t got further than that bit.

Kitty, from her central position on the sofa, took control. ‘OK. This is what we’ll do . . .’

The Riggs’ sycamore-lined street was so quiet, so still, it could be a painting. A painting entitled
The Middle-Class Dream
. Murder didn’t belong on this
cul-de-sac. School had finished for the day, and dusk was already drawing in, the sky turning a washed-out purple as the late autumn sun wilted.

‘Make sure you keep her out of the way,’ Jack told Lis.

‘Stop talking!’ Lis snapped. ‘Right. Are you hiding or not?’

Jack pouted and ducked into the holly bush next to the front door, crouching out of sight. ‘Ouch, this is sticking right up my—’

‘Shh!’ Lis stepped up to the door and rang the impressive bell; chimes rang from the hall within. Laura’s house was only a short walk from Kitty’s and it was just as
imposing. A bright green lawn stretched for what looked like acres behind her.

‘Maybe there’s no one home,’ whispered Jack.

‘
Ssh!
’ Lis repeated as footsteps approached the door.

The plan was simple, but that didn’t bestow any confidence. Lis, new to the town and unknown to Laura’s parents, would bring flowers to their home in a gesture of sympathy, try to
get invited in and somehow engage whoever was there in conversation. Meanwhile, Jack, smaller and lighter on his feet than Kitty, would slip inside, check under Laura’s bath and take the
diaries if they were there. Kitty and Dee were back-up. Easy. What could possibly go wrong?

The door creaked open. Mrs Rigg stood on the threshold, an impenetrable expression on her face. She was immaculately dressed. Lis wondered if she was on her way out. Who wears heels around the
house?

‘Hi, Mrs Rigg?’ Lis smiled. ‘You don’t know me . . . I’m Lucy from Laura’s school. We were good friends and I just wanted to bring these flowers for you.
I’m so sorry for your loss.’

Mrs Rigg frowned. She was stunning but, what was the word,
severe
maybe?

‘Lucy? I didn’t realise Laura had any friends called Lucy.’

‘I’m new to the area,’ Lis explained. ‘Laura was in charge of showing me around Fulton. She was amazing.’ The lies felt as though they should scald her tongue, but
Lis was relieved at the ease with which they seemed to flow. Her heart pounded, but as long as she could continue a normal conversation, she’d be fine.

‘I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lucy. I’m Jennifer, Laura’s mother. Thank you for the flowers, they’re lovely. I’m so sorry you didn’t get an
invite to the wake. We tried very hard to reach all Laura’s friends.’ Her manner shifted slightly. It was business-like: death etiquette. Jennifer reached for the bouquet in Lis’s
hands.

This was the only chance she had. Time to leap. ‘I’m sorry, but would it be possible for me to use your bathroom while I’m here? I have to get the bus back to Fulton . .
.’

The mourning mother didn’t look overjoyed, but she nodded politely and stepped aside. ‘Of course, dear, come in.’

Mrs Rigg led her into the hallway. Lis turned and shut the door behind her, quickly setting the lock on the latch so Jack would be able to enter easily. Now all she had to do was play for time:
how long would he need to find the diaries?

She found herself standing in a grand, tiled entrance hall with a handsome curved staircase leading to a landing upstairs. Luckily for Jack, all the doors off the landing looked as if they were
ajar. She gasped as she took in a stunning chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. ‘Wow, Mrs Rigg, you have such a gorgeous home!’

‘Thank you, and please call me Jennifer, all Laura’s friends do. Did.’

But she wasn’t really Laura’s friend. Guilt made her queasy.
Keep your cool
, Lis told herself.

‘The water closet is just this way, dear.’ Jennifer’s Yorkshire accent was noticeably clipped, as if she had trained herself to lose it.

Lis followed her down a short passageway that led to a vast family kitchen. Just before that was a little side door to a downstairs loo.

‘There you are. I’ll just be in the kitchen finding a vase for these,’ Jennifer said, waving the flowers.

Lis shut herself into the frilly pink cloakroom and sat on the toilet seat, taking out her phone. She quickly called Jack – his cue to enter. Listening closely, she thought she heard the
front door open and quickly flushed the toilet, making as much noise as she possibly could by running the taps at full flow and even humming as she dried her hands. Now she really had to buy Jack
some time.

Leaving the little room, Lis made her way into the kitchen where she found Jennifer arranging the flowers in a tall black vase. Lis wondered how many vases of flowers this poor woman had
arranged over the last few weeks.

‘Don’t they look great?’ Jennifer said with a smile. ‘Thank you again, Lucy.’

Lis rubbed her hands on her school uniform. ‘I thought you’d probably have loads of flowers already, but I didn’t know what else to bring.’

‘It was very sweet of you,’ Jennifer replied. ‘The first round of flowers have all died now, so these are very welcome.’

Lis hovered at the island in the centre of the kitchen, trying to think of something else to say.

‘Can I get you a glass of water or anything?’ Mrs Rigg asked. She was obviously an expert hostess.

‘Er, that would be lovely, thank you.’ What was Jack doing? Was he lost? He was meant to call her as soon as he was back outside.

Lis’s gaze fell on a huge framed black-and-white photo on the wall. It was one of those glossy professional family portraits. Sarah had been trying to convince Max that they were classy,
not tacky, for weeks.

In the photo Mr and Mrs Rigg stood at a jaunty angle, arms around Laura. They were such a handsome family. ‘It’s a stunning portrait, isn’t it?’ Mrs Rigg said, smiling
slightly as she followed Lis’s eye line. She handed her a glass of water before crossing the room to the picture. Lis followed.

‘It was taken in the summer holidays. It’s the last picture we have of her. Of course, she absolutely hated posing for it. She would have done anything to be with her friends instead
of her boring old parents. We had to threaten to stop her allowance!’ Her smile fell. ‘Did she ever talk about us? Was she very unhappy?’

The question caught Lis completely off guard. She opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. ‘I . . . I don’t think so. She, er . . . never said anything.’

‘You know, Lucy, you look a lot like her . . .’ the older woman absent-mindedly fingered a delicate silver cross around her neck as she gazed at Lis.

‘No, Laura was much prettier than me!’ Lis exclaimed in surprise.

Mrs Rigg reached out and stroked her hair away from her face. ‘Same hair. It’s so thick and shiny . . .’

She seemed to be looking past Lis and into another time, swimming in the memory of Laura. Lis flinched away from her touch.

Without warning, a solid thud sounded from the floor directly above them.

‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Jennifer Rigg immediately dropped Lis’s hair and started out of the kitchen.

Jack! Lis’s mind raced as she instinctively followed Jennifer. Somehow, she had to stop her from going upstairs. What was Jack doing? Was he hurt? Would Mrs Rigg see him?
Think fast,
Lis, think fast
. . . ‘Was that your cat or something maybe?’ she asked.

‘We don’t have a cat, so I doubt that,’ Jennifer snapped as she marched across the regal entrance hall, her high heels tapping on the tiles. Lis continued to pursue her,
searching for something else to say.

‘Mrs Rigg, stop!’ She grabbed the older woman’s arm.

A fierce expression flashed across Jennifer’s face, reminding Lis of Laura in fight mode. ‘Let go of me, right now!’ she said coldly.

‘But, Mrs Rigg, if there’s someone upstairs, it could be dangerous!’ Lis knew she sounded like a crazy person, but the repercussions of Jack being found in Laura Rigg’s
house would be devastating. Inspector Monroe would hang them all out to dry.

‘You’re absolutely right, dear.’ Jennifer strode into the adjoining drawing room – another pristine magazine spread with a roaring open fire. ‘Which is why I shall
take this!’ With a single fluid move, she pulled an iron poker from the hearth. In a second she was back at the foot of the stairs, armed and ready. Lis watched helplessly, hoping inspiration
would strike before Mrs Rigg did.

Jennifer edged up the stairs, brandishing the poker. As Lis tentatively followed, she heard further banging from the first floor. Would Mrs Rigg actually hit Jack with the poker? The disastrous
state of their juvenile plan confronted her. What
had
they been thinking? They were in over their heads, sinking without trace, drowning in failure.

‘Please, Mrs Rigg, be careful!’ Lis scurried to her side. Maybe she could stop her from hitting Jack if necessary.

‘I’ll be fine, dear. Stay well back.’

The pair reached the curved landing. The truth perched on the tip of Lis’s tongue. Maybe if she just told her the full story, Mrs Rigg would turn a blind eye? Fat chance!

Thick silence filled the air as the duo strained to listen for the intruder. Nothing, the landing was silent.