The Witch's Stone (16 page)

“Ye’re welcome to come to my house when ye’re done and prove a point to me. My kitchen needs painted.”

“Sorry, but I’m swearing off point-proving once I’m finished here.”

“Does he mind you doing this?”

A small chuckled escaped her lips. With his moods, who could say? “I guess I’ll find out when he gets back.”

“He’s away?”

Hillary nodded. “He left yesterday morning, but he should be back around dinner time.”

“You were on yer own last night?”

“Yes.”

“Are you no’ nervous in such a big old house like this by yerself?”

Hillary shrugged. “Not especially.”

“What about Caid?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Well, you’ve no time for visitors.”

Hillary started to protest, secretly relieved, but Sarah folded her arms over her chest. “Dinnae try to argue. However, I’ll help you and we can have a blether as we work.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Hillary said. “It’s really dirty work.”

“I told you, I dinnae mind.”

Sarah’s help could be a good thing. Hillary couldn’t move the furniture on her own. “If you’re sure?”

“Of course I am.”

Together, they carried the furniture she’d found into the kitchen. While she added a second coat of paint to the walls, Sarah scrubbed the stained fabric on the ancient sofa and chairs.

As they worked, they talked, an easy chatter that ranged from village legends to village gossip. Pleasant warmth fell over Hillary. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a laugh with a girl friend. After Randall, most of her friends had slipped from her life. Some believed the lies his parents had told about her, and others had obviously been uncomfortable in her presence, unsure what to say to a woman who’d killed a man.

Once the painting had been completed and the furniture cleaned, Hillary replaced the chipped and broken dishes with a set of white china trimmed with pretty green leaves she’d brought down from the attic the day before. Lord knew Agnes had enough sets.

With the room finished at last, Hillary started to lower herself onto the settee, but stopped, her backside mere inches from the cushion. The thing had just been cleaned, and she was a disaster.

“I need a shower,” she said, forcing herself to stand despite the screaming protest of her muscles.

“I should say so.” Sarah grinned amicably. “There’s paint in yer hair.”

Hillary eyed Sarah, who still looked annoyingly well groomed. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll only be a few minutes. Do you mind waiting?”

“No’ at all.” Sarah sank onto one of the chairs. “I’ll make myself comfortable.”

Something tickled the base of Hillary’s skull. A strange tension that left her with the urge to shove the other woman out the door before Caid came home.

Jealousy? Was that it? Did she feel jealousy for Caid? A perverse possessiveness?

For crying out loud, it had been one stupid kiss--well, two actually, if she counted the one at the inn--and it had been a mistake on both their parts. There was no reason to feel jealous.

Granted, Sarah’s wild tangle of strawberry blonde hair, snug blouse and blue jeans made Hillary look like an old frump in her dirty, paint-stained sweats.

She must be tired. She
was
tired. She’d been working like a dog for two days. A shower and clean clothes would no doubt have her back to her old self.

As soon as Caid stepped into the house, the faint odor of fresh paint stung his nostrils. He lowered the box in his arms to the floor and let the duffel bag strap slide off his shoulder. A sinking sort of dread crept over him. What had happened?

“Hillary?” he called.

“In here,” she replied, but she sounded strange.

He started down the hall. “Where?”

“The kitchen.” What had happened to her voice? Had she been in the country so long she’d lost her accent? That didn’t explain why her voice had risen two octaves since yesterday.

When he entered the kitchen, he froze. Was he in the right house? Of course he was, but it hadn’t looked like this when he’d left.

The walls had been painted a rich camel color and the cupboards a dark brownish olive. Even the hardware on the doors and drawers had been replaced with brushed silver. The stone floor and fireplace looked brighter. And set before the hearth, a settee and two heavy chairs facing each other.

An attractive redhead sat draped over one of the chairs, her bare foot propped on a table he recognized from the parlor. Once coated in dust so thick he’d thought the table’s color was gray, now the dark wood gleamed.

“Do you like it?” The redhead asked, standing and coming toward him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Sarah, and you didnae answer me. Do you like the room?” She reached for his hand and linked her slender fingers with his.

“Aye,” he said, distracted. “Where’s Hillary?”

“Let me show you everything.”

Sarah tugged on his hand, leading him toward the little sitting area. Was he on television? One of those terrible home decorating shows? He glanced around quickly, scanning the walls for hidden cameras. What in the hell was going on?

“Where. Is. Hillary?” he asked again, enunciating each word.

“I’m here.”

She stood just inside the kitchen, her damp hair tousled. The image of her the day he’d caught her in only her bra and panties flashed before him. Perhaps she could sense his thoughts. Her eyes were dark and annoyed, and her mouth set in a tight line.

Sarah’s free hand ran the length of his arm from his elbow to his wrist, causing an annoying tickle. He extricated his fingers from her grip and started toward Hillary.

“Did you do this?” he asked.

She smiled faintly. “I did. What do you think?”

“I think it’s astonishing. I barely recognized the place.” When he stood next to her, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are we on television?”

She laughed and he couldn’t help but smile. The sound warmed him. “No. I just wanted you to see what I meant by the house having potential.”

“It looks wonderful. You didnae by any chance have the plumber come in, too?”

“I only had two days.”

“Excuses.”

She gave him a playful shove.

“Thank you,” he said seriously, his gaze locking with hers. Dark and haunted, her eyes drew him in. “No one’s done anything like this for me before.”

He wanted to kiss her. Deep and hard and hungry. Like a craving, the urge made his entire body itch. But something told him she might find the action a little extreme for a thank you.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth then lifted to his eyes once more.

Or maybe not.

“The least you could do is buy us dinner?” Sarah piped up from behind them.

“Aye. I suppose so.”

“I see you’ve met Sarah,” Hillary said, taking a step back.

He nodded, but kept his eyes on her. Did she want him as much as he did her? Not likely. She’d been throwing walls up between them almost from the moment they met.

“Sarah stopped by today and offered to help. A good thing too, I never would have finished before you got back.”

“I guess dinner is the least I can do. Are we off to the pub, then?” Caid asked.

“Aye,” Sarah replied. “Let me clean up a wee bit, first.”

When he turned back to Hillary, she looked a little pale. “Are you too tired? You must have worked like mad to finish in two days.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Did you want go somewhere else? Or just stay in?”

“The pub’s fine, isnae it  Hill?” Sarah interrupted, joining them.

Hillary frowned slightly before turning her attention back to him. “The pub’s fine,” she agreed.

But Caid had his doubts.

Caid opened the door and waited for Hillary and Sarah to step inside the bar before following. The combined odors of fried food, vinegar, beer and cigarette smoke filled the air. The latter hovered like a blue haze in the dim room.

The pub was crowded, bodies packed tightly around the bar. The tables and booths near the front were filled, but Sarah managed to find an empty booth at the back. She sat down and he sat across from her. Hillary slipped onto the wooden bench next to him.

A skinny blonde with frizzy hair and taut, worn skin, the kind from years of hard living, came and took their order, then moved on to another table.

“So Hillary,” Sarah said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the steady din. “How is yer work with the journals coming? Have you learned the truth about Anne Black?”

“So far, Roderick’s only mentioned her a few times, though he does find her strange,” Hillary said.

The waitress brought their drinks, setting the two pints in front of the women and passing Caid his ginger ale.

“I imagine the journals are rather one sided,” Sarah said as she leaned forward. “And not likely to examine the real reason the village turned on Anne.”

“And what reason was that?” Caid asked, before taking a swig from the glass.

Sarah shifted her attention to him, her eyes bright. “Her gift. She had visions of the future, but the people of Culcraig were frightened. Especially when her predictions came true, so they killed her. That’s why she cursed the men who murdered her, and their families.”

Caid snorted. “Cursed them?”

“Aye, as they strung her up. Isnae that right, Hillary?”

Hillary shrugged. “So the legend says. I imagine Anne was trying to use their fears against them in an attempt save her life.”

“It was more than that. Within seven years, each man’s family suffered a tragedy.”

“I wouldn’t put much stock in that. Seven years is a fairly large expanse of time, and everyone experiences ups and downs in life. Because these men contributed to a woman’s murder, anytime something went wrong they probably automatically attributed the event to Anne and their--”

Hillary stiffened next to him. Caid looked up as a lean man, perfectly bald, with an unkempt goatee wrapping around his thin lips, approached. A tiny, silver skull and crossbones dangled from his ear. Caid had seen the man before, but couldn’t for the life of him remember his name.

“Willie,” Sarah supplied as the man reached their table.

“I thought you and I had an understanding,” he said to Hillary, ignoring Sarah and Caid. Willie’s tone was low and menacing, and Caid wanted to reach over and shove the little prick away.

“Did we?” Hillary said, her voice quiet.

“Aye. So what are you doing here, then?”

“For the love of God, Willie, you’ve no’ banned Hillary from the pub, have you?” Sarah asked, rolling her eyes.

“Banned her from Culcraig.”

“You must be mad. For what reason could you possibly have to do that?”

“I want no liars in my place,” Willie bit out.

Sarah laughed. “You
are
mad.”

Willie turned his rancorous stare on her. “I’m mad, am I? You should talk, Sarah Miller. Are you here caring for your poor, ill gran, or is she caring for you?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her mouth curving into a hard, humorless smile.

“Fine, Willie, you win. We’re going.” Hillary stood and drew his attention back to her. As she slid from the booth, Willie refused to step back, his chest nearly brushing hers.

A sort of primal rage filled Caid. He stood quickly and put himself between Hillary and Willie, wanting to drag the miserable man outside and pound on his bald head. He hadn’t been in a fight in years, but he wouldn’t have forgotten how. Just like riding a bike.

“Think again.” Willie nodded to the bar where three local louts watched with interest.

Four to one. Well, he’d had worse odds before, granted he’d been nearly blind drunk at the time and currently had no recollection of how it all turned out. Odds were, he was about to have the piss beat out of him.

Hillary gripped his arm, her fingertips burrowing into the flesh. “Let’s just go.”

“I couldnae agree more,” Sarah said, glaring at Willie.

As they turned to leave, Willie shoved his shoulder. Caid whipped around, his hand closing into a tight fist.

“She stays with you,” Willie said.

Caid held the man’s gaze, but didn’t answer.

“Get rid of her. Otherwise, you never know what could happen.”

“You’ve had a run in with him before,” Caid said.

“Awhile ago.” Hillary slunk down further in the passenger seat. At least he’d waited until they’d dropped Sarah at her cottage before starting his interrogation. Thank God for the dark. He couldn’t see the embarrassment staining her cheeks.

“Why didnae you say anything?”

For a moment Michael’s voice, thick with accusation, filled her head.
If you didn’t do anything, why didn’t you say something before now?

She swallowed hard before speaking.

“I didn’t think he’d do anything if I was with people. When I had lunch with Bristol, Willie didn’t say a word until Bristol left the table.”

“But Willie might have done something had you been alone?” Caid’s voice sounded tight, but the same darkness that kept her expression hidden did the same for him.

“I doubt he’d do more than toss me out of the bar.”

“Is that women’s intuition speaking? Tell me, has it occurred to you that it’s Willie breaking into Glendon House?”

“You think the break-ins are
my
fault?” Her pulse thudded in her ears and an icy sweat coated her skin.

“I’m no’ trying to assign blame, but had you mentioned yer run in with Willie sooner we may have had someone for Bristol to investigate. Beyond that, you were alone in the house when our intruder came calling. What if his disappearing poker wasnae getting the results he wanted? What if he decided to escalate the threat?”

“You don’t know that it’s Willie breaking in. And if the poker is a threat, how do you know the threat is directed at me?”

“I dinnae, but at least it gives us something concrete to go on.”

“Concrete? He doesn’t approve of the work I’m doing and told me I couldn’t drink in his pub. That’s a long way from breaking and entering.” But the man had also had a run in with Agnes days before she died. Coincidence? It had to be. Agnes’s death was accidental. Bristlol said so. If she shared her concerns about Willie with Bristol, the Inspector would likely offer the same sympathetic smile he’d given her when she found Agnes’s body, and a pat on the head. What with
all she’d been through
, after all.