The Witch's Stone (23 page)

“Hillary?”

Definitely a voice, and it sounded like Bristol.

“Hillary, if ye’re down there we’re on our way.”

“I’m here,” she shouted, mentally taking back every mean thing she’d ever thought about his skills as a policeman. “I’m in here.”

A loud scraping sound filled the darkness around her, then a wide shaft of light appeared from above. She squinted and tried to block it with her forearm. The heavy thud of footsteps on the wooden rungs of the ladder filled her ears, then someone was grabbing her hand and yanking her forward. She barely caught a glimpse of Caid before he crushed her against his chest.

Her body went limp against him as the rough wool of his sweater rubbed her cheek. His heart thundered against her ear. The acrid stink of burnt plastic stung her nostrils, but she didn’t care. He was alive and holding her.

“What ever are you doing down there?” Bristol asked, leaning over the opening above.

Reluctantly, Hillary pulled back from Caid, but his arms remained locked around her. She didn’t mind. “I don’t know where down here is.”

“Ye’re in the cellar,” Bristol said. When she continued to stare blankly, he added, “At Glendon House.”

“Someone knocked me out. This is where I woke up.”

“Who hit you?” Bristol demanded.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

When she glanced back at Caid, his eyes blazed from his soot-streaked face, his mouth set in a grim line. Dark shadows played over the stubbled plains of his face from the light spilling through the trap door.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, but didn’t speak. A slow, sinking feeling rolled over her.

“Joan?” she asked, almost certain of the answer, but afraid to hear it just the same.

He nodded again, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Aye, she’ll be just fine, thanks to Caid. He saved her life.”

Hillary frowned. “Why are you so quiet?”

A half smile lifted the corner of his lips, and Bristol chuckled loudly.

“Took in too much smoke,” Bristol explained, “and lost his voice.”

Her mouth twitched as she tried not to smile. Caid rolled his eyes and shook his head, taking her hand and tugging her toward the ladder.

Caid stood at the bottom as she mounted the wide rungs, gripping the dry, splintering wood. She popped up in the small, square pantry. The threadbare mat that usually covered the floor had been shoved away to allow the trapdoor to open. All the times she’d come into this room and she hadn’t even known the door existed.

Bristol gripped her hand, pulling her up and through, then turned to help Caid. When Caid emerged from the opening, he looked worse in the light. His hair stood out at strange angles, and he was filthy from the fire. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.

Caid closed the trap door and kicked the rug back into place.

Hillary started into the kitchen, but stopped. All the cupboards and drawers were open, their contents strewn over the floor.

“What happened?” she asked, taking in the mess.

 “Looks like someone tore the place apart,” Bristol said, “searching for something.”

“What could they have been looking for? A can opener? Scissors? Why search someone’s kitchen drawers?”

“It’s no’ just yer kitchen that’s been searched. All the rooms you use have been ransacked.”

“Was anything taken?”

 “We’ve been looking for you since we arrived here,” Bristol said. “There hasnae been time to take an inventory. Nor is there time now. I’m taking you both to the hospital.”

“Yes,” Hillary said. “Caid really should be checked out by a doctor. Maybe they can give him something for his throat.”

“And you,” Bristol said. “You lost consciousness, I think we might want to get that lump looked at, also.”

Hillary lifted her fingers to her head and ran them over the scabbed gash and matted hair. She felt okay, no double vision or nausea. Only a steady throb remained. Still, no point in taking chances, especially the way her luck was running.

Caid hated hospitals, even if he was only visiting. His own stay had been blessedly short. After spending the morning and most of the afternoon wearing an oxygen mask, his doctor had pronounced him very lucky.

He’d suffered some first-degree burns on his hands, and the damage to his lungs and breathing tubes had been minimal. After prescribing antibiotics and assuring him that the discomfort would ease in a few days, the doctor released him.

Hillary, on the other hand, had to spend the night. Having lost consciousness, her doctor had insisted on keeping her for observation. She’d been furious and tried dragging Caid down with her.

“He,” she’d sputtered, pointing at Caid, “was in a fire, actual flames and who knows what he breathed in with that smoke. He smells like burned plastic.”

“Thanks,” Caid croaked, his voice returning a little. 

“I just have a little bump on the head. If he can leave, then I should be able to go, too.”

The doctor had remained unconvinced.

When Caid entered her room, she sat in the hospital bed, scowling at the window. He tried not to smile, but failed miserably.

She turned and caught him, her eyes narrowing. “No one likes a gloater.”

“What’s a gloater?” he rasped.

“You.” Her expression softened. “Your voice sounds a little better.”

He nodded. “Aye, my chest doesnae burn like it did, either. I brought you some things from the house.”

“Like what?”

He set the heavy duffel bag down at the end of the bed as she sat up and leaned forward. She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, exposing the white gauze patch above her ear.

For a moment he stood frozen, the morning’s terror back and all but choking him. Whoever had done that could have hurt her more than they did. She could have been killed. The realization blew through him like an icy wind in an empty room.

She frowned. “What is it?”

“I didnae even ask how you are.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said with a snort. “So whatever’s in that bag better be good.”

“Does it hurt?” Gingerly, he fingered the bandage.

“Not now. I’m well doped. Physically, my only complaint is this hospital gown. Every time I move, my backside freezes. If they’re not going to give you clothes that cover you properly, you’d think they’d at least heat the place.”

He smiled, sat next to the bag and yanked the zipper open. “Then you’ll be pleased to see these.” He lifted the pair men’s flannel pajama bottoms she loved so much and a T-shirt.

“Oh, you are the most wonderful man, ever.” She snatched the clothes from his hands.

“I’ll remind you that you said that.”

“Don’t bother, I’ll just blame the pain killers.”

He chuckled and reached into the bag once more. When he turned back to her, she had already undone the ties holding the gown closed and was shimmying into the shirt. Then, with the gown draped over her lap, she slipped on the pants without exposing anything more than a little bare leg.

“You know, I’ve seen you naked,” he reminded her.

“Oh, don’t take it personally. Nurses and doctors are constantly coming in here to check on me. What else is in there?”

“Laptop, journals, notebooks and whatever reference books were on yer desk. I wasnae sure which ones you were using, so I brought them all.”

The humor left her face, replaced by something he didn’t recognize.  Before he’d left the hospital, she’d given him the key to the loft and asked him to check that the journals were still there. 

“What is it?” he asked. Was she angry he’d been through her things?

“Thank you. I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

He shrugged, pleased with himself. “One more thing.” Grinning smugly, he pulled Agnes’s battered copy of his second book. “I noticed you’d marked yer place.”

She cleared her throat before speaking. “I’m sure you did.” Her finely shaped brows drew together. “My laptop’s okay?”

He nodded.

“And the journals were still there?”

“Aye. Whoever searched the house didnae manage to get into the loft. Very clever keeping the key with you, by the way. Do you sleep with it?” he teased.

“
No
. Last night, I’d planned to get some work done while you were at the store, but when I came out of my room, you were there and…” Pink blush tinged her cheeks. “Anyway, I just shoved it into my pocket and it was still in my jeans when I pulled them on this morning.”

He grinned. “Well, that explains everything, then.”

“Have you seen Joan?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No’ yet. I tried to see her before Bristol drove me back to Glendon house, but the nurses wouldnae let me in. She was resting, and I’m no’ family.”

“Does she have family?”

“Aye, a son in Aberdeen. Bristol was going to contact him.”

She nodded, and he hesitated before asking, “Should he or I contact yer family?”

“For a bump on the head? Or do you know something I don’t?”

“No. But I dinnae mind telling you, I’m worried for you.”

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“For now, but whoever started the fire at Joan’s meant to kill her. And whoever was in Glendon House could have killed you.”

“But they didn’t, and you can’t be sure about Joan’s inn. Surely, it’s too soon for investigators to know what started the fire.”

“Maybe it is, but someone meant to kill Joan. One of the cabinets had been pushed in front of the door in the dining room to block her escape.” His throat started to burn again. His voice was fading.

She paled and her eyes widened. “Do you think whoever did that to Joan was the same person who ransacked Glendon House?”

“It’d be a pretty strange coincidence if it wasnae.”

She nodded slowly. “But why? Why tear apart the house? Why burn down the inn and try to kill Joan? Why not kill me?”

Caid’s insides turned cold and shriveled. “Maybe he thought he had.”

“He locked me in the cellar. He had to know you would find me, eventually.”

“Aye. Probably.” He stood, raking his fingers through his hair. “But if I’m to be honest, I’d no idea where the cellar was until I had the builder out. If Bristol hadnae found the blood on the floor in the hall, I wouldnae have been looking for anything strange in the kitchen. I never would have thought to look there on my own. You could have screamed yer head off, I wouldnae have heard you. I might never have found you.” Just speaking the words aloud made him sick.

“I doubt that. Maybe you wouldn’t have found me right away, but I’m sure you would have eventually.”

“Oh, aye, eventually. I may not have recognized you, but I’m sure it wouldnae take long to identify yer skeleton.”

“We’re losing focus, here.”

He sighed and sat back down on the end of the bed. “Then, by all means, let’s focus.”

She glared at him for a moment before going on. “We need to consider what the intruder was after. Is anything missing?”

“No’ so far as I can tell.”

She nibbled on her lip, her gaze distant. “So what did he want? And why burn down Joan’s place? Was she a distraction? Maybe our intruder intended to lure us both out of the house.”

“That’s a little far-fetched. Most people, myself included, are normally asleep at five a.m. Had circumstances been normal, I would have been and so would you. Neither of us would have known about Joan until it was too late.”

“You’re right, but there’s one thing we haven’t considered.  Maybe whoever broke in wasn’t after me, at all. Maybe they were looking for you.”

Hillary watched the emotions on Caid’s face change from perplexed to outright disbelief. She’d struck a nerve.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head.

Irritation flickered inside her. “And why is that? Because you’re a man?”

“Why would anyone wantae kill me?”

“Why would anyone want to kill
me
?

“I couldnae say, but the fact is, ye’re no’ terribly popular with the people of Culcraig.”

“That’s true, but how does Joan factor into this?”

He sighed. “I dinnae know.”

“And if this was about me, why are my things intact? Your work was thrown all over the study, but mine hasn’t been touched.”

“Yer clothes are all over the place,” he said slowly, as if forming the words mechanically while his mind considered other possibilities.

A woman’s stern voice over the intercom announced the end of visiting hours.

“Some one broke into the house, but took nothing,” Hillary continued. “Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“Compared to what? This morning I was in a burning building and found you in a cellar. It’s been an odd sort of day.”

“A cellar I didn’t know about,” she added, her rate picking up. “And you only just found when you had the builder in.”

His eyes widened. “That means whoever was in the house has been in before.”

“And knows it well enough to know where the cellar is. But what could they have been after? Anything worth taking is in the attic, which we’ve been keeping locked just as Agnes did.”

“If someone’s been watching the house they’d have seen the light on, they’d know we’ve been up there. That we had the key.”

“If someone’s been watching the house, maybe they think you’ve started selling some of the more valuable pieces.”

Caid stood, his face white. “Oh, Christ, I was right all along.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Bennett,” a tiny, dark-haired nurse poked her head in. “Visiting hours are over.”

“Just one minute more,” Hillary said.

The tiny nurse’s black eyes bored into hers and her mouth pursed. “Visiting hours end at eight o’clock sharp. No exceptions. ”

“Not exactly Florence Nightingale, is she?” Hillary murmured as she turned back to Caid. He still looked pale and more than a little shaken.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Ye’re only here overnight. I’ll be back tomorrow to fetch you.”

“What did you mean? What were you right about?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m glad ye’re all right.”