Cruel Minds (11 page)

“You look pretty beat up,” he said to Daniel. “You want some ice for that?”

“I’ll live.” He winced as he ran fingers over his bruised jaw. “I guess some people just can’t help being assholes no matter how bad the situation.”

The sound of raised voices and stomping feet came from Room Four. Sylvia appeared in the doorway, stared at them with angry eyes, then darted across the hall and into the opposite room.

“I don’t like this,” Janelle said. “I don’t like the fact that Oscar is still hanging there. It feels so disrespectful just to leave him like that.”

“Did anyone speak to him?” Daniel asked. “Who was the last person to see him?”

“I saw him at dinner,” Jerome said. The others murmured in agreement.

Emily thought about seeing him just after, when he’d been watching her from the foyer. But he’d gone up to his room then, hadn’t he? She glanced at Melody, who was pale and trembling, and her mind raced back to the lake, to the noises that they’d heard.

“I think I’ll get some rest while we wait,” Daniel said. He glanced at Jerome, gave him a pained smile, then disappeared into Room Seven.

“Me too. I need some quiet time to let it all sink in.” Janelle returned to her room, leaving the three of them stood in the corridor, silence closing around them like a clamshell.

“How are you doing?” Emily reached out and touched Melody’s shoulder.

Melody’s eyes glistened. “I’ve never known anyone that killed themselves before. It’s just horrible.”

“It is. But the police will be here soon. Hopefully, they’ll be quick with their questions and then we can all go home. Do you want some company while we wait?”

“If you don’t mind, I think I need to lie down. I feel ... strange.”

They watched Melody return to her room and the end of the corridor.

“So much for a relaxing weekend,” Jerome muttered.

Together, they walked to Emily’s room. Jerome threw himself down on the bed.

“It’s like a bad joke or something. Welcome to Meadow Pines, where you can rest in peace—permanently!”

Emily didn’t laugh. Instead, she moved to the window and looked out across the meadow. She could see Marcia in the northwest corner, heading for the path that would take her to the Land Rover. She watched her disappear, then paced to the centre of the room, chewing on her lower lip. Her gaze moved to the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“It wasn’t Ben and Sylvia,” she said. “That’s Oscar’s room.”

Jerome sat up. “As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Last night, I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep when I heard voices coming through the wall. A man and a woman arguing. I’d assumed it was Ben and Sylvia.”

“God, they’re detestable,” Jerome said, his nose wrinkling. “And what a massive racist. Did you hear what he called Daniel? I’m surprised he didn’t want us sitting at separate dinner tables.”

“They’re not the most pleasant of people. But if it wasn’t them I heard arguing, then who was it?”

Jerome shrugged his shoulders, stood up, and crossed over to the window.

“Janelle’s right, you know. It’s weird to think Oscar’s still out there, dangling from a rope. Did you see his face? How am I ever going to get that image out of my head?”

“It had to be one of the other women here at Meadow Pines.”

“What?”

“I hear an argument coming from Oscar’s room. The next morning, he’s dead.” Emily moved away from the wall and paced across the floor. “Why would he come here to do it? I mean, he must have specifically chosen Meadow Pines”

“Maybe he wanted some nice scenery?”

“And what about the robbery?” She frowned, deep lines of worry creasing her brow. “Something’s not adding up here.”

Jerome stared down at her, his eyes narrowing. “Oh no, don’t you even dare think about it!”

“What?”

“You’ve already got yourself into enough trouble this year without courting any more. The police will be here soon. Do yourself a favour and stay out of it.”

“But don’t you think something’s going on?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. But the only thing I’ll be concerning myself with is how the hell I’m going to afford to replace my phone. I suggest you do the same.”

Annoyed, Emily slumped down on the bed.

“Why isn’t the landline working?” she thought aloud.

“Why are we still having this conversation?”

“Last night when Melody and I were at the lake, we heard something. I think someone was watching us.”

“In fact, I think I’ll just go to my room.” Muttering under his breath, Jerome headed for the door.

Emily felt a surge of annoyance. Sometimes Jerome could be so churlish. “You know, you’re being ridiculous.”

Eyebrows arched, Jerome said, “I’m being ridiculous? The last time you got involved in something that wasn’t your business, you ended up getting kidnapped and held in a mental hospital for three months.”

“It wasn’t a mental hospital. It was a rehab centre.”

“You know what I mean! You just can’t help yourself, can you? It’s not your business, Emily. You’re not the police, you’re not a P.I. Why can’t you just be like everybody else? Why can’t you just be normal?”

The words pierced her skin like needles. Emily sat on the bed, skin flushing scarlet. Jerome pulled open the door.

“Last time, you almost died,” he said, suddenly defeated. The door slammed shut behind him.

R
esentment boiled in Emily’s stomach. Jerome was right, of course. After her treatment at the hands of Doctor Chelmsford, she was lucky to be alive and to have her mind intact. Unpleasant memories came to her. Hands holding her down. Needles piercing her skin. Bodies, starved and withered, decaying on beds.

She shook her head, sweeping the images from her mind. She had lived her entire life being normal, right up until her mother had gotten sick, until Phillip had thrown himself from the school roof. All
normal
had ever done was pull a naïve veil over her eyes, blinding her to how cruel life could be. No wonder she had broken so easily—
normal
had made her weak.

Angry tears stung Emily’s eyes as unwanted memories forced their way into her mind. She spied her toiletry bag on the dresser. One pill would smother the memories in a blanket of numbness. The trouble was they’d still be there, waiting to torment her again once the chemicals had worn off. Temptation pulled at her. She shrugged it off and sat back on the bed. The coolness of the wall seeped into her skin. One day, she would be free of all of these conflicting feelings, she told herself. One day, all of those terrible thoughts would leave her in peace. She just hoped that day would come soon.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, trying to empty her mind. Her thoughts were always so untamed, like stampeding wild horses. She tried to reign them in, to acknowledge each thought, then let it go. Minutes passed, but her thoughts would not let her go. What had happened to Oscar to drive him to suicide? Why here? The question presented itself over and over. Had Oscar really selected Meadow Pines at random as a place to end his life? Or did Meadow Pines have some sort of significance? Emily sat up, another question presenting itself. Had Oscar been here before?

A noise that sounded like furniture scraping over floorboards interrupted her thoughts. Emily looked up. The noise had come through Oscar’s wall. Hopping off the bed, she crossed the room and pressed her ear against the plaster. Silence greeted her. Was she losing her mind now? She was beginning to worry that she had when the sound came again. Emily straightened her body as she heard other sounds. Things were being moved and replaced, opened and closed.

Tip-toeing across her room, she opened the door and crept out into the hallway. She hovered for a moment, hearing only silence. Moving closer, she pressed her ear to Oscar’s door. Someone was in there, moving about.

Without hesitating, Emily opened the door and peered inside. The woman had her back to her. Emily watched her lean over the bed and delve through the contents of what was presumably Oscar’s suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

Startled by Emily’s voice, she immediately pulled out her hands and spun around to face the door.

“Jesus, you scared me!” Helen said, sounding more irritated than startled. She glanced down at the suitcase, then back at Emily. “Come inside and close the door.”

Emily moved into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she said.

“Neither should you.” Helen eyed her suspiciously.

Emily looked at the mess that the journalist had made. “What are you looking for?”

“Evidence.”

“Of what?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Helen returned to the suitcase and rifled through its contents. She spoke as she worked. “Don’t you think it’s strange that this guy kills himself at the exact same time there’s a robbery?”

Emily nodded. “And the landline goes down.”

“Exactly.”

Helen pulled out a shirt, shook it, and threw it to one side. Emily remained where she was, a mixture of disapproval and curiosity stealing over her.

“The police will be here soon,” she said. “I don’t think they’ll be happy that you’re going through Oscar’s belongings.”

“Can’t help it. Journalistic instinct.” Helen threw everything back inside the suitcase, tossed it to one side, then moved over to the wardrobe. “You’re Emily, right? We didn’t get a chance to talk yet.”

“Yes.” Emily nodded, an uncomfortable feeling crawling up the back of her neck. “You’re a journalist? Who do you write for?”

“Modern Living magazine. Do you read it?”

“No.”

Reaching into the wardrobe, Helen stuffed her hands into the pockets of Oscar’s jacket. “You’re not missing much. I was supposed to be writing a review of this place for a feature on UK getaways, but now we have a dead body and a robbery on our hands, they can suck it up—this story’s getting me into the nationals.”

“A suicide isn’t exactly front page news.”

“No, but with the right angle I could make page four.”

“And what would be the right angle?”

“I’ll tell you when I find it.”

Emily folded her arms, watching Helen’s every move. For a second, she caught herself admiring the journalist’s bravado. Ambition was never a bad thing, she supposed. But the way Helen was sifting through a dead man’s belongings without a second thought quickly turned that admiration into disgust.

“The last journalist I knew who went chasing a story is still missing,” she said.

“Really, who was that?”

Emily thought about Reina Tammerworth. She had been investigating the mysterious death of her sister, Carmilla, who had died while under the care of Doctor Chelmsford. Reina had vanished a week after Alina Engel. The police suspected that Alina’s husband, Karl Henry, had murdered her. But with Karl currently in a prison cell, refusing to answer any questions while he awaited trial, the chances of recovering her body were becoming remote.

Helen closed the wardrobe door and waited for Emily’s reply.

“Just someone.”

“Well maybe
someone
should have been more careful. Here, help me.”

She lifted the bottom end of the mattress with one hand and felt underneath with the other. Emily stayed by the door.

“Do you think it was someone here that took the phones?” she asked, watching Helen struggle.

“Let’s look at the possibilities,” the journalist said. “One, a member of staff did it.”

“But there are only three of them. Two of which would run the risk of destroying their business if they were caught.”

“True. But who was the only person missing when we found Oscar’s body?”

“Sam, the chef. But he and Marcia are clearly in a relationship. It doesn’t make sense that he’d risk losing her and his job.”

Helen dropped the mattress and looked up. “Good thinking. We could make a journalist out of you yet, Emily. So if the staff didn’t do it, then that leaves us with option two—that one of the guests is responsible.”

Emily thought about it. “Pamela keeps the office unlocked. That cabinet didn’t look so hard to break into. But where would they hide their haul without the rest of us or the police finding out? And if it is one of the guests, then why are they still hanging around?”

“All good points. But option two remains viable. What about option three—that we have an intruder in our midst?”

This was the idea that Emily liked the least. A stranger stalking through the forest and entering the house was the kind of mental image that ended in terrible nightmares.

“Well, we’re kind of in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “The nearest town has to be at least five or six miles away by road. But you have to get to the road first. Plus, it’s a bit of a stretch to think someone might happen to be wandering through the depths of the New Forest on the off-chance of scoring some valuables.”

“Unless they already know this place exists,” Helen said, slipping her hands underneath Oscar’s pillows. “Which would mean the suspect would have to be local.”

“It’s a possibility, I suppose. But all three options are ignoring something.”

“Don’t you mean,
someone?
” Helen said. She replaced the pillows, then threw her hands into the air. “People who commit suicide leave notes. Where’s Oscar’s?”

Emily stared at the floor. Phillip hadn’t left a note. But Phillip had been eleven years old and his suicide had almost certainly been a spontaneous action.

“Perhaps it’s on his body,” she said. “Folded in his pocket or something.” Emily thought of him still hanging there, then shuddered as she pushed the image from her head.

“Perhaps you’re right. But we can’t know for sure while he’s still hanging there.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait until the police take him down.”

Helen brushed hair from her eyes and looked around at the mess she’d created. “What do you think, Emily? Oscar’s death, the robbery ... coincidence or connected?”

Emily thought about the argument she’d heard last night through the wall. She debated whether or not to tell Helen, and took a second to decide to keep the information to herself. Regardless of her own curiosity, she wasn’t about to trust a journalist.