The Witch's Stone (33 page)

Sarah frowned. “No, never anything like that. Nancy did say to me not long before she died that she felt there’d been a black cloud over her family for months.”

Hadn’t Jimmy said something similar to Bristol? “Agnes had complained about someone leaving dead animals in her garden, I wondered if anyone else had experienced something similar.”

“Do you suspect her murder is connected to the Frasers?”

“I don’t know,” Hillary said. “The thing is, Agnes claimed she knew who was terrorizing her and she kept ledgers listing the names of anyone who made her angry.”

“If she wrote down the name of everyone who’d annoyed her, the books must be bloody thick.”

“There were at least a half dozen volumes. I even found my name in one.”

“That’s what you need from Caid?”

“Yes.”

“So nothing to eat, then?”

Hillary shook her head. “Not tonight.”

“Let’s do something before you leave, though.”

“I’d like that. Tomorrow?”

“Aye. I’ll meet you here once I’m finished at the shop.”

“Great. I’m looking forward to it.” Surprisingly, she was.

After Sarah left, Hillary returned to her bed and the silent phone. With nerves tittering up and down her spine, she placed the receiver to her ear and dialed quickly before she changed her mind.

The shrill ring sounded in the earpiece and she nibbled on her lip as she waited. Three rings…four…five… Could it be? The taut muscles in her shoulders eased. Six…seven…eight…

She hung up and let out a breath. So much for her nerves. He wasn’t even home. She glanced at the clock on the night table. Not quite seven. Maybe he’d gone out to eat.

She still had a key. Of course, letting herself in would be illegal. Still, she should return the key before she left Scotland. No doubt his parents would want it when they took possession of the house. And while she was there she’d take a quick peek at the ledgers and Caid would never be the wiser, sparing them both any awkward, or worse, angry words.

She was rationalizing and she knew it. But she was so close to the truth.

She left the hotel room, urgency thudding through her veins in an odd, soundless rhythm.

Rain swept across the driveway, pelting the windshield and distorting Glendon House’s hulking image through the glass. Hillary sat behind the steering wheel, hand poised above the door handle, hesitating. Going inside was wrong. Dishonest. She should wait until she spoke to Caid.

But she couldn’t wait. For all she knew, Caid might have already left the house for good and returned to Edinburgh. If she waited until his parents moved in, she’d never see those books.

Decision made, she slid from the car and dashed across the drive to the front door. With wet fingers, she fumbled the key into the lock, opened the door and moved inside.

“Caid?” she called, running her hand over the smooth plaster wall, feeling for the light switch. She didn’t expect him to answer. His car wasn’t there and the house was dark, but just in case. “Caid?”

She found the switch. The chandelier overhead lit the gloom.  A wave of sadness washed over her, catching her off guard. She let her gaze sweep from one side of the foyer to the other, taking in the dark paneling and chipped cornices. She did love this place. The house’s warm, rambling charm.

How strange, she’d been in this country nearly three weeks and her first bout of homesickness was for Glendon House.

She made her way to Agnes’s room, switched on the light and went straight to the boxes she’d packed nearly two weeks ago.

Two weeks. How could so much have changed in so little time?

She found the box with the ledgers almost right away, and dug through the books until she came to the one with her name in it.       

“I could have you arrested.”

She jerked, her heart stopping altogether at the sound of Caid’s voice. Heat tingled in her cheeks as waves of red-hot embarrassment washed over her. Book still in hand, she turned slowly to face him. “I can explain.”

He snorted, dark, stormy eyes boring into her face. “I’m all ears.”

“I had to see the ledger. I’m certain the killer’s name is in here.”

Caid nodded slowly, his expression inscrutable. “And when you found I wasnae home, you let yerself in?”

Her face burned hotter. “I couldn’t wait for you.”

“No, of course not. Especially after I told Bristol to piss off.”

Irritation burned through her embarrassment like the sun through a morning fog. “If I’m right, this book could stop the killer from murdering someone else.”

“You actually believe Agnes wrote someone’s name with
plans to kill me
beside it?” Caid asked, his voice heavy with disdain.

“Of course not,” she snapped.

“Then how will you prove it? Warren isnae taking your theories seriously. So the only thing you’ll succeed in doing is putting your own life in danger.” He turned and started to leave.

“I have to know.  I can’t be responsible for someone else dying.”

For a long moment, he remained silent. “Are you doing this out of some misplaced sense of guilt for Myers?” he asked at last.

Yes. No. Maybe.
She sighed, suddenly very tired. “I don’t know.”

“He attacked you. You defended yourself.”

“I know what happened,” she snapped. “I was there.”

He softened his voice and took a step toward her. “Then remember it.”

She moved back. Everything inside her felt raw and exposed. If he touched her right then, she’d shatter. “I should go. I’ll just look through the book and--”

“Take it.”

“Thank you,” she managed around the thick lump in her throat, and scooted past him.

His voice stopped her at the door.  “You said you cannae be responsible for someone else dying. What if that someone is you?”

She turned and paused. “I’ll leave your key on the table downstairs,” she said, then left,  the ledger clutched to her chest.  

Back in her hotel with the ledger open on the bed before her, Hillary sat cross-legged in a tangle of rumpled sheets. She ran her finger down the list of slights, her eyes following. Occasionally, her thoughts would flit back to Caid and she’d realize that she had been through two--sometimes three--pages and nothing she’d read had even come close to registering.

“Damn it,” she muttered, turning back through the pages until she found a line she remembered reading. She had to stop thinking about him.

He hadn’t come after her. He hadn’t stopped her from leaving. Well, what had she expected? That he would chase her out into the rain and declare his undying love for her?

Why would he? She looked like a basket case.

Was he right, though? Was it guilt for killing Randall that was driving her so hard? That had her sneaking into someone else’s house? Her face burned. Good God, she was obsessed.

Crap, she’d done it again.

She turned back the pages, searched for the last line she remembered, then ran her finger down the long list of slights.

Thief.

The word stood out bold and square, completely different from Agnes’s usually neat script, and underlined twice. The pen had dented the thick paper as if Agnes had been angry when she wrote it. Hillary looked to the name beside the furious scrawl.

Sarah Miller.

Sarah? What could Agnes possibly think Sarah had stolen from her?

Hillary flipped through the pages, searching for Sarah’s name again. Why she bothered, she didn’t know. Surely, Agnes had written Sarah’s name down during one of her more paranoid moments.

Two pages later she found Sarah’s name written three times all within days of each other.

Sarah Miller Caught snooping through my things. I think she’s stealing from me.

Sarah Miller Claimed to be a descendant of Anne Black’s. She’s a liar and I have proof. I fired her. No more favors, even for her poor gran.

If Sarah believed she was a descendant of Anne’s, why had she never mentioned it? Or that she had apparently worked for Agnes.

Sarah Miller Filthy creature. Wants me to pay her to lift Anne’s curse. A lot of nonsense.

As Hillary read, her stomach sank and a chill washed over her. Sarah had been trying to extort money from Agnes. Just like Anne had done.

Oh God, she’d told Sarah about the ledgers.

That Caid had them at Glendon House.

Caid stared blankly at the computer screen. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been able to lose himself in a story. Probably because it had never happened before. Yet there he sat, fingers hovering over the keyboard as if frozen. Every time he tried to focus, Hillary’s image rose up inside his head.

Why couldn’t she let this drop? Leave it to the police and let them do their job? Why did she insist on putting herself in danger?

But were he to be honest, the thing that bothered him most was remembering how she’d backed away from him when he’d reached for her. The message had been clear.
Don’t touch.

A loud rap on the front door yanked him from his thoughts. Hillary? His pulse jumped. He hoped so.

 Leaving the study, he went to the front door and opened it. Sarah stood on the other side of the threshold. Her eyes widened and brows drew together as if he’d surprised her, but almost instantly her lips curved into a coy smile and she tilted her head slightly.

“You are here. I wasnae sure,” she said.

Caid shrugged. “Aye. What do you want?”

“Just to talk. May I come in?”

“I’m busy the now. Maybe another time.”

“Are you pining for her?” Laughter tinkled in her voice like tiny shards of glass. “You shouldnae sit alone brooding, it’s no’ healthy.”

“I’m working,” he told her, wishing she’d piss off.

The strange coy humor left her face and concern mingled with fear replaced it. She put one small hand on his forearm and he had to fight not to jerk back from her touch.

“Caid, please. I’m so afraid. I think something terrible is going to happen. I know Willie wasnae working alone, but I’m afraid to go the police. Please, could I speak to you?”

Bloody hell, he knew Hillary was putting herself in danger. Caid nodded. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” She stepped past him and he turned his back to her as he closed the door.

“I’ll make tea,” she offered. “Then we can talk.”

Hillary leapt off the bed and scrambled for the phone. She dialed Glendon House. After a series of rings, the line clicked and the dial tone sounded in her ear, as if Caid had lifted the receiver then hung it up again.

“Of all the stupid, hard headed…” she muttered, dialing the number again.

This time the phone rang and rang. She slammed the receiver down. Damn, he could be stubborn.

She dialed Bristol. He answered on the second ring.

“I know who killed Agnes.  Sarah Miller. I have proof, it’s in the ledger, but there isn’t time to explain. She came to see me earlier and I told her about the account books. I have the ledger now, but she thinks it’s at Glendon House. I’ve tried calling Caid, but he won’t pick up. Could you go over and make sure he’s all right?”

“Aye. I’m on my way.”

Hillary hung up and stood staring blankly for a moment. All her words about not wanting to be responsible for someone else’s death came back to haunt her. Caid had been right. Her persistence had only served to threaten Agnes’s killer, but instead of putting herself in danger, she’d made him a target.

Her stomach swirled sickly. 

She had to go to Glendon House and warn him about Sarah. 

Caid came back into himself gradually, self-awareness returning in small bites of realization. His wide, staring gaze was fixed on the freshly painted ceiling above him. His arms hurt, and when he tried to move them he couldn’t.

He blinked dry eyes and bright spots of color danced behind his lids. The ground beneath him was hard and rough. His body felt achy and contorted. A putrid, sweet aftertaste filled his mouth. Had he vomited? His memory was blank, and when he tried to remember, tiny explosions of pain sparkled behind his forehead like mini fireworks.

The numbness tingling in his extremities faded, except for his arms pulled above his head. Something held them extended, something cold and metal at his wrists.

He turned his head, taking in his surroundings. He was in the kitchen, on the floor to be exact, stretched out over the hard stone on his back. He tried to sit up, but his arms above his head held him in place.

As he tilted his head back to get a look at the impediment, metal scraping against metal filled the silence. His gaze followed the length of one arm into the dimly lit cupboard. Silver handcuffs attached to his wrists and looped around the drain glinted despite the low light.

“What the hell?” he muttered, yanking hard. The cool metal dug into his flesh, but had no effect on the drain.

He turned his head and caught site of a broken cup on the floor next to the table and his memory rushed back like a flash flood.

Sarah had made the tea, all the while chattering on about Willie and his partner, whom she’d been too afraid to name. Finally, she’d set the cup on the table, then sat across from him.

He’d gulped the hot liquid back quickly, hoping that finishing sooner would send her on her way. No such luck. She’d continued on, and as she spoke, his fingers had started to tingle and a strange floating sensation moved through him. He started to say he didn’t feel well, but the expression on her face had the words drying on his tongue.

“What did you give me?” His voice sounded slow and thick.

Her eyes were wide and bright with delight. “Ketamine.”

“Fucking Special K?” Anger throbbed inside him. He’d worked so hard to stay sober, yet he slid into the high like easing into a hot bath on a cold day.

Caid pushed back from the table. The room started to spin. Vaguely, he heard the cup shatter on the stone floor. The sound mingled with Sarah’s laughter.