The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) (10 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Today

“Wait!” John called out, sitting up in bed and blinking as harsh morning sunlight streamed through the window. Hearing another knock at the front door, he grabbed his clothes from the floor and began to get dressed while heading out onto the landing.

Looking down toward the hallway, he realized he could see figures on the other side of the front door's frosted glass. He frowned, trying to work out who could possibly be out there, but a moment later there was another knock and he realized that whoever it was, they clearly weren't going to go away.

“I'm coming!” he shouted, finishing getting dressed before hurrying down the stairs. He'd been fast asleep until a moment ago, and as he unlocked the door and pulled it open, he felt strangely tired and a little out of sorts. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I just -”

He froze as soon as he saw his wife smiling at him.

“Is this it?” asked Scott, his ten-year-old son, scrunching his nose up as he peered into the house. “It's so small!”

“What are you doing here?” John asked, startled by their sudden arrival.

“Pleased to see you too, honey,” Sarah said, ushering Scott and Katie inside before stepping through the doorway and planting a kiss on her husband's cheek. “Call me paranoid, but when you told me last night that you were at a fan event talking about your books, I started to worry that you'd suffered some kind of stroke, so I called Reginald and forced him to tell me what you were up to, then I bundled the kids into the car and now...” She paused for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “Why the hell didn't you tell me that you were coming back to your childhood home?”

“I...” He swallowed hard. “I just thought it was something I should do by myself.”

“Really?” She sighed. “That's sad, honey. Sad and lonely and weird.” She leaned forward and kissed his other cheek. “We should talk about that later,” she told him. “I'm starting to get the feeling that there's a lot going on in your head right now that I don't understand. You haven't been buying any old houses without telling me, have you? I mean, if you want to have a midlife crisis, can't you get a bike or a speedboat like a normal person?”

“It's tiny,” Scott said, returning to the hallway after an exploratory trip to the front room, with his sister in tow. “Did you really used to live here, Dad?”

“I did,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Back when I was your age.”

“Huh.” Clearly unimpressed, Scott headed through to the kitchen, and again Katie followed. She was like her brother's shadow, especially when they were away from home. Safety in numbers.

“So you decided to all come and surprise me, huh?” John said, turning back to Sarah.

“Something wrong with that?”

“Not at all.”

“I know you probably wanted to have some quiet time alone,” she continued, “but when Reginald told me exactly what was going on, with buying this place and all, I just couldn't shake the feeling that it all seemed...” She paused, as if she couldn't find the right word. “Unhealthy,” she added finally. “The thought of you being here alone, rattling around with your thoughts, just worried me. I couldn't leave the kids with anyone, so I had to bring them, but anyway I figured they should see where their father came from. Please, tell me you're not mad at me for surprising you.”

He stared at he for a moment. “Of course not,” he said eventually. “I just... I don't have anything in, that's all. Maybe we should go out and get breakfast in town.” As the words left his mouth, he realized that the last thing he wanted was to end up at the cafe where Hannah worked, although... Pausing, he realized he couldn't quite remember Hannah leaving last night, although he was sure she'd left at some point. “Or I could pop to the petrol station and pick something up. Maybe that'd be better.”

“Is there a basement?” Scott called through from the kitchen. “There's a hatch in the floor!”

“It's locked,” John said quickly.

“So how was last night?” Sarah asked with a smile. “How was the book club with your adoring fans?”

“Fine.”

“Were you there late?”

He swallowed hard. “No. I was home before midnight.”

“Home?” She paused. “You call this place home?”

“You know what I mean. It was... Nothing much happened.”

“And how was it sleeping here last night?”

“Fine,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “Uneventful, you know?”

“Lonely?”

“I was fine.”

“And what were your little groupies like?” she asked, heading through to the front room and taking a look around. “Did you have lots of adoring fans throwing themselves at you?” She turned to him with a smile. “If some hot young fan tried to seduce you, I hope you managed to control yourself.”

“Come on,” he replied, “remember who you're talking to here.”

“The man who used to be my reserved, publicity-shy husband,” she continued, “and who now apparently goes to fan club meetings.”

“It wasn't a fan club meeting, it was a book club. It was barely even that, it was just a few people sitting around talking about what they were reading.”

“And then a real superstar writer showed up in their midst, huh?”

“It was interesting to hear their thoughts,” he replied, as Scott and Katie ran through and then began to bound upstairs. “Hey! Wait!” he called after them.

Stopping, they turned to him. “What's wrong?” Scott asked. “Aren't we allowed to go upstairs?”

“I...” John paused. “Sure you are. Just be careful, that's all.”

“Are those your cigarettes in the kitchen?” Katie asked.

“Cigarettes?” He paused. “Um... No. No, those were there when I arrived. I guess the previous owners left them behind.”

“You seem nervy,” Sarah told him as the kids headed up to the landing. “I mean, you're always kinda nervy, but it's different this time. Being in this place has really got to you, huh?”

“Actually,” he replied, “I've been clearing my head.”

“Did you drink wine last night?” Scott called down from upstairs. “There's an empty wine bottle in one of the rooms!”

Sarah raised a skeptical but amused eyebrow. “Clearing your head, huh?”

“I just...” He paused, trying to remember exactly when and why he'd bought a bottle of wine, although the events of the previous night were still a little hazy. “I guess I just fancied a drink. Is that so wrong?”

“Oh no,” she replied, stepping closer, “there's
nothing
wrong with buying the childhood home where you lived with your crazy grandmother, secretly running off there without telling your loving and very understanding wife, changing aspects of your personality seemingly on a dime, and then drinking a bottle of wine all by yourself. That's normal behavior, John. Everyone does that, it's practically a rite of passage.”

“You're reading too much into this,” he told her, before spotting the bottle opener and cork on the carpet, close to a splash of spilled wine. Again, he didn't remember any of that, although he had a vague memory of drinking wine straight from the bottle. “There's nothing going on,” he continued, forcing a smile. “I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. I was planning to head back to the house later.”

“The house?” She stared at him for a moment. “So this place is home, and our place is just the house?”

He sighed. “You know what I meant.”

“Well now we're here,” she continued, with a smile, “it'll just have to be the summer holiday we hadn't got around to planning yet, won't it? I didn't drive all the way down with the kids just to turn around and go straight back to London, so why don't you show us around your old hometown? You always refused to bring me here before.”

“There's not much to show you.”

“What about your old haunts? Sorry, bad choice of words, but...” Stepping closer, she put her hands on his shoulders. “You've always been so reserved when it comes to talking about your past, John. Maybe it's time to put that straight. Come on, at least for twenty-four hours, can't you show us where you really come from?”

“I...” Sighing, he realized he had no choice. “Let me just get my jacket.”

Heading upstairs, he took a quick look in all the rooms, just to make absolutely certain that Hannah had left. He was still trying to remember exactly what had happened, but he figured the wine had made his memory a little glitchy. There was no sign of her, so obviously she'd left, and he figured he needed to be less paranoid. After all, he had nothing to hide, and the house was just a house. He had nothing to hide.

Chapter Sixteen

Twenty years ago

“Yes, she did,” John said, shocked by the news of his friend's disappearance. “Just a few days ago, actually. She came and we hung out, and she stayed the night before heading back to Peterborough.”

“And that was the last time you saw Alison?” the officer asked, making a note as he sat at the kitchen table.

John nodded.

“And she definitely said she was driving back to Peterborough?”

“She did. I'm sure of it.”

“And what time did she leave here?” the other officer, a woman, asked.

“Early,” he said, turning to her. She seemed more the more skeptical of the two officers, as if she didn't entirely believe his story. “When it was getting light, whatever time that was. Seven, maybe eight.”

“Where was her car parked?”

“I'm not sure. I didn't see it.” He paused. “Haven't you found it?”

“About half a mile away,” the male officer explained, still making notes. “We've spoken to her parents and they don't know why she'd have parked in Vauxhall Road, but we're still looking into that. You don't happen to know whether she had any friends in that area, do you?”

John shook his head.

“So you're the only person she knows around here?” the female officer asked.

Turning to her, John realized that she definitely seemed the more suspicious of the two of them, as if she actually thought he might be hiding something.

“She just dropped by because she was home for a couple of days,” he explained, trying not to let on that he was starting to panic. “She did that about three or four times a year.”

“And were you and her...” The female officer paused, as if she wasn't quite sure how to phrase the next question. “Well, I have to ask. Was your relationship with Abigail of a romantic nature?”

He shook his head.

“Just friends, then?”

“Just friends. Totally.”

“But she stayed the night?”

“In a separate room.”

“Right.” The female officer paused again. “And you live here by yourself?”

John nodded.

“Do you own the property?”

“My father does. I lived here with my grandmother, but she passed away a few days ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” she told him, glancing around the room. “So now it's just you?”

“For now. I'm still working out what to do. I haven't had much time to think, though, because of the funeral and everything.”

“How did she die?” the male officer asked, not looking up from his notebook.

“Aneurysm, I think,” John replied.

“Quick,” he muttered. “At least that's something.” He turned to a new page and made some more notes. “My Nan died of one of those. Much better than my Grandad, he had a stroke. Now
that's
no way to go. He was basically like a vegetable for a while, although he seemed kind of aware of everyone around him. He recovered a little, but not much, not enough to really have any kind of a life. At least with an aneurysm, it can be as quick as just keeling over like someone's flicked a switch. Small blessings, eh?”

“I suppose,” John replied, before seeing that the female officer was still watching him with a hint of suspicion. “I'm sure you'll find Alison soon. She's only been gone, what, two days?”

“That's still a long time for a young woman to be out of contact with everyone she knows,” the female officer pointed out. “No phone calls, no ATM visits, no sightings. Plus, if she hasn't got her car with her... Do you know if she might have anything she wants to keep from her parents? A secret boyfriend, maybe, or something that might cause a problem in her life?”

“She has a boyfriend in Peterborough.”

“I'm aware of that, but we're looking for something closer to home. Drug use?”

He shook his head.

“I think we've got everything we came for,” the male officer said, closing his notebook and getting to his feet. “Obviously, since so far you're the last person to see her, we might have to come back and ask you some more questions. And if she gets in touch with you in any way, please tell her to contact her parents or to at least give us a call at the station, just so we know she's safe. She's not in any trouble, people are just worried about her.”

“Of course,” John replied, leading them to the hallway and opening the door. “You don't think anything's actually happened, do you?”

“Nah,” the male officer said, “it's probably nothing.”

“It could be something,” his colleague added, following him out to the front step and then turning to John. “We take it very seriously when young women go missing. There have been some nasty cases in recent years and we don't want Alison Blackstock being added to that list, do we?”

“I'm sure she's fine,” John replied, swallowing hard as he realized he was probably coming across as a little weird. Trying to look more relaxed, he forced a smile, although he immediately felt that this hadn't really worked. “Say hi to her when you find her,” he added, before realizing that this, too, might seem strange.

Once the two officers were gone, John lingered in the kitchen, keeping just out of sight as he watched them out by the front gate. They hadn't got into their patrol car yet, and instead they were talking while the male officer looked through his notebook. Taking great care not to get spotted, John could tell that whatever they were talking about, it seemed to be causing a minor disagreement between the two of them, and finally he ducked back as the female officer turned and looked toward the house. He waited, worried that they were about to come back with more questions, but thirty seconds later he heard a car door being slammed, following by the sound of an engine starting.

Peering back out through the window, he saw to his relief that the police car was pulling away. Even though he knew he hadn't done anything wrong, he'd felt distinctly uneasy during the officers' visit, but he told himself there was no point worrying now, that he just had to relax. Sighing, he headed across the kitchen, stepping over the hatch to the basement as he made his way to the stairs.