Blackthorn Winter (32 page)

I made frantic grunting noises behind my gag.

"I can't risk having the police find another body," he told me in the same low conversational tone he'd used earlier. "So you're going to have a nice new home up here, well out of the way." His words made no sense to me, but as he spoke he was trying to lift me. I made myself lie completely limp, a dead weight in the rain. I would make it hard for him—whatever he was trying to do.

He laughed coldly. "Brat," he said. "You don't make it easy, I have to hand it to you." But this was a man used to shifting huge pieces of metal, wood, and stone sculpture around. One scrawny teenaged girl was no match for him. As he dragged me, wrapped in my plastic, across the bumpy, rough surface, the blue sheeting fell away from my face and just for a second I glimpsed waning late-afternoon
daylight through the steady drizzle—and a bird's-eye view of the village.

Then I knew where I was. That was Blackthorn down below, and I was up on Castle Hill. I was right back up where Duncan and I had been picnicking earlier. It seemed incredible that I should be back, lying among the ruined walls of the ancient castle foundations. Were there no other picnickers around here now? Were there no dog walkers? The vicar!

But no, not now, not in the rain.

Quent was dragging me toward a large hole in the underbrush nearby. "A nice, ancient, final resting place," he hissed, ignoring my panicky, frantic moans from behind the gag. He knelt at the entrance, looming over me, pressing me down hard with one hand. With the other he reached behind him, and in one fluid motion raised his arm to strike. With a desperate roll to one side, I narrowly missed being bashed on the head with the beach stone he held. He swore and reached for me. I pressed my heels into the ground and slid my body backward. Again he raised his arm to strike, then seemed to think better of it. "All right, then, die slowly if you'd prefer." I heard the scrape of stone against metal as he broke open an old grate.

He used his feet to shove me farther and farther into the tight, dark space. It was some sort of hole, a ready-made grave, and I was crying hard now, behind my gag, and trying not to because it only made me choke. His feet against my side kicked again, then moved away. Then he was pulling something across the entrance of the pit, and the faint remains of daylight died away. A new sheet of metal covering slid across the opening, and I heard the ring of metal on metal as he fastened some sort of latch into place.

With sickening certainty, I realized that this was surely the tunnel that Duncan had told me about. This was the tunnel built back in the time of the castle, to offer an escape to people under siege. It was meant to become my grave.

I lay there, tears coursing over my cheeks, my body bruised and aching, the gag in my mouth tasting of vomit. I was well and truly under siege, but this place offered no protection.

I moaned, imagining how I might be found someday—in a hundred years or more: a gruesome discovery by some teenagers on Castle Hill, sharing a kiss and a picnic. Nothing but bones left. Not even a real body anymore, just an old skeleton...

Memories reared up again like ghosts:

The body in the closet. Not quite a skeleton, but strips of flesh and soiled clothing ... clothing I recognized. The pink T-shirt with the flamingo. A short blue-jean skirt with a ruffle.

Forget the visions, focus on the here and now. With effort I struggled off my side and wiggled into a sitting position. The wiggling loosened the tight plastic sheeting and I was able to squirm free of it. When my hands were free, I wrenched the woolen scarf out of my mouth. My lips were swollen, my hip was bruised, I was aching and shivering from the cold, and I was parched with thirst. But I was alive.

Unlike Buzzy.

Unlike Nora.

Unlike Liza.

I sat there shivering in the dark, walled up and alone and in terrible danger from a killer everyone had trusted.

There was a scraping sound on the sheet of metal Quent had locked over the tunnel. Rescuers? I called out to them. "Help! I'm in here!"

But then I heard a muttered curse, and realized it was Quent out there, changing his mind, coming back to finish me off.

Run, Toots! Run, run!

I struggled to my feet and crouched low so I didn't hit my head on the low stone ceiling of the tunnel. I started edging away from the opening, deeper into the tunnel. At the next sound from the metal covering, I was running, running, running—waving my arms ahead of me and above my head to determine where the walls were. Soon I found I could stand. I felt a cool gust of fresh air and reached out for it. There was a thin shaft of light coming from a very small metal grate above my head. I could poke my fingers out the grate and feel grass and dirt, but the opening was far too small to escape through. A thud behind me sent me moving deeper into the tunnel, away from that small grate.

"Juliana! Juliana—wait for me!" The voice, softly insistent, was borne along air currents and came to me clearly.

It was Quent's voice. It was Quent coming after me through the tunnel.

"Juliana, I'm sorry. I've changed my mind. I'll let you go. Come back here, dear." A rueful chuckle. "I can't think what came over me. Please—let me explain."

The calmness of Quent's tone unnerved me. I sagged sideways against the wall, scraping my hands. I took a deep breath and started moving again, more slowly this time, trying to put distance between myself and Quent.

"Wait for me, Juliana. I can explain everything." Quent's voice was a harsh whisper behind me in the darkness. "Who would have thought there'd end up being so many deaths? Who would have thought there'd even have to be
one? If Nora had not started trying to overshadow me! If Liza had not been such a busybody! And if you had only been content to leave Simon Jukes in jail..."

I trailed my hand along one side of the tunnel wall as I jettisoned myself away from that friendly, fearsome voice. Suddenly I felt a current of air coming from the right side—and I reached out my arm toward it. Another shaft of the tunnel seemed to go off to the right. Should I take it? Or would Quent also take it? Would he follow the straight path or the one with the fresher air? Did the fresher air mean there was an end to this tunnel along the new path? Would Quent guess which way I had gone? Maybe I could fool him by staying on the main path, and he'd turn off on this one to the right?

"But stop running now, dear girl. I've decided to spare you. Stop running so we can have a little chat." A soft chuckle not too far behind me sent my adrenaline spiking, and I veered off to the right, gulping in the fresher air.

I must not make a sound. He wanted me to talk so he could find me in the dark. I remembered that Duncan had said the tunnel from the castle had once ended at the Coopers' house, but that exit had been concreted over ages ago. As I veered to the right, a couple notes of hysterical laughter bubbled out at the thought of digging myself out at the end of the tunnel and ending up in the Coopers' overheated kitchen. I pressed my lips together hard.

Now the tunnel was still slanting downhill, but at a gentler slope. That was good; that meant I was traveling down from Castle Hill. The air was chill and stagnant, but there was more light from small overhead gratings. I was so exhausted, I wanted to stop running and close my eyes and curl into a ball on that cold, dirt floor but I kept on going.
I had to keep going, had to keep running. In my head I heard voices. Young, puzzled, American voices.

"
Hey, kid? Watcha doin out here so late?
"

"
She's not alone, is she?
"

"
Looks like it. Hey, kid, where's your mom? Your dad?
"

"
What's your name, sweetie pie?
"

"
We'd better take her with us—take her to the police. We can't leave her out on the beach in the dark!
"

"
Come on, kiddo. Let's get you someplace safe.
"

"
Jeez. You'd think people would take better care of their kids, wouldn't you?
"

Yes, yes, I remembered them now, the young couple who had found me and taken me to the police. My next memory was of sitting in my foster home, working on the jigsaw puzzle.

Run, Toots. Run, run.

"Juliana, surely you can understand—a smart girl like you. It was all just too much for me! Nora was becoming a huge success in the art world, getting rather above herself. Thinking she was really something! I couldn't allow her to eclipse me, could I? Oh, sure, I celebrated with everybody else in town when Nora's paintings started attracting so much notice, but you can see how unfair it all was! And then when
her
work was selected to be exhibited in the London show—and
mine
was not—that was the last straw, surely anyone would understand that. Surely no one would blame me for what happened next. Do you blame me, dear? Tell me if you blame me."

His voice was a low murmur, the tone reasonable, and still close behind me. I kept my lips firmly shut. I must not make any noise at all.

I heard a grunt and a low curse. He'd probably banged
his head on the low ceiling. He was tall enough to have to stoop the whole way, whereas I could run easily if I just kept my head down. This was my only advantage. My heart knocked in my chest as I fumbled onward. The next turn in the tunnel took me into darkness again. The narrow air vents were unevenly spaced.

"I know you're a smart girl, but I bet you're wondering how it all happened, aren't you?" called Quent in a wheedling tone. I could hear him stumbling in the dark. "Slow down, dear, and let me tell you about it. I promise I won't hurt you!"

Run, run, run
—I hoped fervently that there were no rats down here, or snakes, or spiders. But I was more willing to risk running into one of them than to let Quent catch me....

"We were up in the cottage, in the sunroom, and I just did it. The work of a moment, that's all. And it was easy! Did you know that, Juliana? It is surprisingly easy to knock someone out cold. I bashed her on the head—with the very same beach rock I used later on Liza. Convenient, having the weapon just lying around, posing as art—don't you think?"

His laughter froze my blood, and I wanted to cover my ears as I picked my way farther into the endless tunnel. But now I needed my hands out in front of me, to feel my way and keep from crashing into the walls. With my ears uncovered, I couldn't help but hear everything Quent insisted on telling me. How he had stashed Nora's body in his car, covered it up with tarp just as he'd covered me, and driven toward London, taking back roads rather than the motorway.

"Up, up we went, up to the cliff road. I was clever, Juliana, dear. I skidded deliberately, making tire marks on the
road. Then at the top of the cliff road I stopped the car, got out, and bundled Nora into the driver's seat. It was easy to release the brake and give the car a shove so it plunged down, down, over an old stone wall, and right into a farmer's stone shed. I stood and watched, then walked through the fields back to the village. When the police came on the scene, they found Nora apparently dead of a head injury ... watched over now by sheep ... with skid marks showing how recklessly she'd been driving before the crash. A very sad accident, but she never had been a very good driver. I made sure to tell them about her two speeding tickets the previous year!"

I wanted to shout at him that I couldn't believe anyone could be so evil—but he
wanted
me to respond, to be impressed by his cleverness. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a single word.

"I can hear your footsteps, my girl. Slow down so we can walk together."

I traveled as fast as I could, panting, waving my hands in front of me, fearful of running into something. The tunnel curved to the left and then to the right.
Who else had traveled through this tunnel?
I wondered bleakly. And on what frantic errand? There could be no casual reason to wander underground in the cold and dark. A person would hurry through these dank passages only in the direst danger.

I could almost see them materializing all around me now—the miserable, frightened ghosts of besieged castle dwellers or innocent prisoners desperately attempting escape.
Had
they escaped? Would
I
?

"The night of the party," Quent's voice continued relentlessly, "I was with Liza in the kitchen. You and Duncan came in to say you wanted to go on a house tour. After you
left, I headed back to the party myself. But just as I was leaving the room, I looked back and saw Liza taking my ring of keys from the hook by the back door. She let herself out the back door and headed across the grass to the cottage. So of course I followed her. As she was letting herself into the cottage, Liza turned and saw me. She was strange, and started babbling about something Celia had said that had reminded her of something else that had been puzzling her. She took me up to the sunroom, wanted to show me something. I didn't know what she was on about at first. Thought it was just the drink. But then I realized it was something about Nora, something Liza had found, something that was not where it was supposed to be. When I finally realized what she was talking about—the necklace—I had no choice. Surely you can understand that, dear girl. You can understand that at a certain point, I had no choice but to do what I did—can't you?"

I understood only that I was in a dark tunnel with a madman. The smell of dank earth filled my nostrils. I tried to move faster, then tripped over something, and fell to my knees. What had tripped me? My hands scrabbled in the dirt as I struggled to my feet again. A tree root?

"Ah, there you are, my girl!" exulted Quent, bearing down on me around the bend. I screamed and limped away, my panting changing to sobbing. I increased my pace to a jog, lifting my knees high, trying to avoid any further obstacles. Sharp, stabbing pains shot up from my rib cage. I was crying in desperation now, though I knew he could hear me. I was terrified I was going to end up at a dead end, a blank wall, with no escape. Who would ever find my body down here?