The Witch's Stone (32 page)

A loud bang from a door slamming made Hillary jump. She turned, then froze as an angry Caid stormed down the center aisle between the rows of bookcases. His dark, narrowed eyes locked on her.

Hillary’s heart leapt at the sight of him. Her breath clogged her throat. The recollection of his last kiss had stayed with her these last days, causing her sleepless nights. Her mouth still tingled with the memory of his hungry lips on hers. His last words,
I’m sorry,
sounding as though they’d been torn from his throat, played over and over in her mind.

What had he meant? Sorry that he’d kissed her? Sorry that he’d given up and walked away? Sorry that she’d fallen in love with him and he couldn’t return the favor?

 How many times had she wished to see him again? What she would have given to hear his voice, feel his arms around her, taste his lips just one last time…

Yet here he was in the flesh, furiously bearing down on her. Instead of the thrill she’d imagined, her stomach sank to her shoes.

“I’d say you missed yer flight.” Caid slapped the palms of both hands on the dark wood table top across from her and lunged forward, his glare pinning her where she sat. “By about a week.”

Hillary glanced quickly to Mrs. Semple, hoping for one her quick-draw hushes. No such luck. The old woman watched the unfolding scene with avid interest in her big round fish eyes.

“Maybe we should go outside,” Hillary suggested, turning back to Caid.

He edged around the table until he stood mere inches away. “You lied to me.”

A blush crept up her neck and into her face with a distinctive tingle. Why couldn’t a trapdoor open beneath her chair? “I didn’t lie. I said I could change my flight, not that I was
going
to.”

Had she honestly thought he wouldn’t find out that she’d stayed in Culcraig? Maybe she’d wanted him to. No. She wasn’t that immature. That desperate. At least, she hoped she wasn’t.

“So you let me believe you’d gone home. Why didnae you tell me you planned to stay?” His quiet voice held an edge that sent a shiver over her skin, the sensation not entirely unpleasant.

Hillary sighed. He made her actions sound so much more deceitful than she’d intended. He’d wanted to leave and she’d let him go. What did he have to be so angry about? “You’d made your choice and I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to stay because I’d made mine. Whatever we had was over.  Things would have been awkward and uncomfortable for us both.”

He said nothing, only continued to stare down her with hot, angry eyes.

“And I wanted to avoid this very conversation. Looks like we get to have it, anyway. And with an audience, no less. Lucky me.”

Mrs. Semple gave a defiant shrug, but didn’t turn away. Fabulous. Hillary reached behind her and rubbed her neck at the base of her skull where a steady ache had developed.

“Far be it for me to point out the obvious,” he growled, “but it’s no’ as if we’d planned to get married and live our lives together. We were both here for a limited time only and knew that from the start.”

She swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. Why did his words hurt so much? They were true. Maybe because they were true.

Looking away, Hillary stacked her notes in front of her, pretending evening the edges of the papers had all her attention. “You’re absolutely right. So what difference does it make where I go and what I tell you?” Her words were cool, clipped.

“I found out from Bristol, looking like a blasted fool when I thought you’d left.”

“I’m sorry you were embarrassed.” She slid her notes into her bag and turned to the old woman. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Semple. I trust you were thoroughly entertained.”

As she hoisted the strap over her shoulder, she snatched her jacket from the back of the chair. Before she could storm off, Caid grabbed her wrist.

“Why are you staying? You have what you needed from the journals. Even with the last entry missing.”

“I’m helping Bristol.” She yanked her hand from his grasp.  “I was right, Caid. I’ve connected the people who died to the journal. Everyone who’s been killed was a descendant of the men who murdered Anne Black.”

Hillary waited for the implication of what she’d said to sink in, but Caid’s expression remained impassive.

She tried again. “Everyone who died under strange circumstances in the past year was related to the seven men who hanged Anne.”

Still, he stared at her.

“You…could…be…next,” she said slowly.

He threw his hands in the air.         “What the hell did I give them the house for if ye’re still running about Culcraig playing detective with Bristol?  I tried to do the right bloody thing for once. And for what?”

The blood drained from her face with a rush as his words registered.

“That’s a hell of a thing to lay at my feet.”

“I wanted you safe.”

“So you sold your parents the house in an attempt to get me away from Culcraig?  How could you be so highhanded? Who are you to determine what’s too dangerous for me?”

“I was doing the right thing.”

“You can say that as often as you like, but it’s not going to make it true.”

“I didnae want anything to happen to you.”

“Then you come to me and tell me how you feel. You don’t sneak around and deceive me.”

“I did. I told you what I thought, and you said that you had to keep pushing with those blasted journals. What I felt didnae matter.”

“So you thought manipulating the situation from behind the scenes was the answer.”

Her words seemed to give him pause. His shoulders drooped and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I want you safe.” The heat was gone from his voice.

She softened her tone. “It’s not your decision to make.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, and met her gaze once more. “Do as you like.  In a few days I’ll be gone. I hope you have a very happy and successful life. And I hope you live long enough to enjoy it.”

He turned and stormed out the door, leaving Hillary alone and defeated.

Mrs. Semple clucked behind her. “Young love.”

“I really should go to Warren with this,” Bristol said, peering at Hillary’s notes through wireless glasses that seemed ridiculously small on his round face.

Hillary shrugged. “With what? He could argue that the connection is merely coincidence. All I’ve managed to do is tie the deceased to the journal. What does a murder that happened over one hundred years ago have to do with the people murdered in the past year?”

Bristol set the papers on the desktop between them. “With the exception of the Frasers, Agnes and possibly old Radcliffe, most of those deaths are officially accidents.”

“Joan’s fire was arson. Could it be that the other accidents were actually murders? If we hadn’t found that poker and the carpet, you’d still think Agnes had died accidentally.”

“Which leads to the inevitable question, why did the murderer give you the poker? Why go through all the trouble of making Agnes’s death look like a fall down the stairs and then give you the murder weapon?”

“The criminal mind is a little beyond my field of expertise. Caid and I assumed the poker had been a warning. Maybe the murderer wasn’t the person who left it for us.  Willie did say he had a partner.”

They were both quiet for a long moment. Hillary turned her attention to the darkening sky outside the small square window behind Bristol’s shoulder. Rain pelted against the glass, the drops zigzagging over the pane like miniature lightening bolts. Under the bright, artificial light from the fluorescents in Bristol’s office, Hillary hadn’t noticed how late it had become.

Not that she was in any hurry to leave. Sitting alone in her hotel room, replaying the argument with Caid, held all the appeal of a stick in the eye. She was still angry at him, still hurt, but she hated the idea of him leaving with bad feelings between them.

“Did Caid find you?” Bristol asked, as if reading her mind.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she nodded.

“That’s good, then. Everything all right?”

“Fine,” she lied, hoping Bristol took the hint and let the subject drop.

“Are you and Caid on the outs? He thought you’d gone back to Canada.”

“We’d have had to be a couple for us to be on the outs. It’s not like we were engaged.” Funny, being the one to say the words didn’t make them any less painful. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course.”

“Just before Agnes died, she complained that someone had been trying to frighten her by leaving butchered animals in her garden. Had any of the others made similar complaints?”

Bristol frowned. “No’ about dead animals.”

“But there was something?”

“Nothing to pin your hopes on. Right before Jimmy’s car accident, a pipe burst in his house and flooded his first floor. Caused hundreds of pounds in damage. When I spoke to him about it later, he made a comment about the lot of them being cursed. When I asked him to explain, he said it was just some nonsense.” With a deep sigh, Bristol leaned back in his chair. “I wish now that I’d pressed him further. And I wish I had listened to Agnes. She said she knew who it was, leaving the animal carcasses, that she had proof. I thought she was mad. Harmless, but mad just the same.”

Hillary sat up. “She said she knew who it was?  When I was helping Caid clean out her room, I found a box of ledgers. Inside she’d written the name of anyone who’d slighted her and what they did.”

“The book’s at Glendon house?” Bristol reached for his phone.

While Bristol dialed Caid’s number and waited for him to answer, butterflies the size of a VW Bug flip-flopped in Hillary’s stomach. She didn’t want him to think she was one of those women who couldn’t let go when a relationship ended. The type that looked for any excuse to call or drop by. Why should he? It was Bristol calling, not her. He wouldn’t even know she was here.

“Douglas,” Bristol said brightly. “Bristol here. I’ve Hillary sitting with me.” Her stomach dropped. So much for him not knowing she was there. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

Silence hung in the room while Bristol listened.

“Actually,” the inspector said, frowning. “I need something from you. Hillary mentioned some account books of Agnes’s. I would like to take a look at them if--I understand, but--”

Bristol’s frown deepened, and for the first time since she’d met him, his small eyes darkened with anger and his round cheeks flushed.

“Hello?” he said into the phone, then lifted his gaze to hers and set the receiver down. “The little shit hung up on me.”

Hillary sat cross-legged in the center of her bed with the phone set directly in front of her. She took a deep breath, struggling to work up the courage to lift the receiver and dial. Caid was already angry. The last thing she wanted to do was make the situation worse.

Please. How could it get any worse?

She shouldn’t have let him believe she’d gone home. She should have told him the truth. Pride had kept her silent. She’d been so afraid he’d see her as weak and clingy, refusing to accept the inevitable end to their relationship. Instead, she’d botched everything.  

Still, she wasn’t the only one who’d been less than honest. He’d actually sold his parents Glendon House to get rid of her. Her heart squeezed tight. She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to ease the ache in her chest.

Whatever had happened between her and Caid, she still needed to see those ledgers.

She snatched the receiver from the cradle and started to dial. A knock at the door stopped her.

She set down the phone and scrambled off the bed. When she opened the door, Sarah stood smiling on the other side of the threshold.

“Hi,” Hillary said, surprised.

“I hope you dinnae mind me popping in.”

“No, of course not. Come in.” Hillary stepped aside so Sarah could enter. "What brings you by?”

“Just a visit.” Sarah leaned forward, her dark eyes searching. “I heard you and Caid were on the outs.”

Mrs. Semple’s blatant stare flashed in Hillary’s head.

“I was worried about you.”

Sarah’s kindness warmed Hillary. After Randall, she’d been a pariah amongst her friends and peers. It had been a long time since she’d had someone she could confide in. “I’m fine, but I appreciate your concern.”

“Glad to hear it. If ye’re no’ fine, though, and you want someone to talk to, I’m a good listener. I’d like to think we’ve become friends.”

Hillary flopped onto the edge of the bed. “The truth is, Caid and I never planned anything permanent. I always knew he’d be moving on, and he knew that I would eventually go home.”

“How much longer will you be staying?” Sarah asked.

“Three days.”

“Did you find everything you wanted in the journals?”

“Mostly. Someone tore the final entry from the book. The entry where Roderick describes Anne’s murder was still there. I have no idea what the last entry said that was worth destroying.”

“Are you certain it was destroyed?” Sarah asked pointedly.

“I’m not certain of anything.”

“But you’ve enough to write yer book?”

“I think so.” Funny, how apathetic she’d become about the book. When she’d arrived in Culcraig, the project had been everything to her, and now, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why.

“I’m happy for you, but I’ll miss you once ye’re gone.”

At least someone would. “Thanks. I’ll miss you, too.”

“Let’s get something to eat, then. I’ve no’ had dinner and I’m half starved.”

“Actually…” Hillary’s gaze slid to the phone.

“Were you about to ring home?” Sarah asked.

“No. I was actually going to call Caid.”

Sarah smiled and nodded. “To make up. Good.”

“No, no, not that.” Hillary wished she didn’t sound so emphatic. “I need a favor from him. Not that he’s big into doing favors for me just now.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Maybe. You knew the Frasers. Did they ever say anything to you about finding dead animals on their property?”