Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
- Forty-nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-one
- Acknowledgements
- An Eastbourne Murder Mystery
- Canelo Crime
- About the Author
- Also by Sheila Bugler
She opened the door and they stepped into the house. Silence greeted them. Emer stood in the hallway, listening for any sign there was someone else in here. But apart from the sound of birdsong outside, she couldn’t hear a thing.
‘They’re not here,’ she said.
‘They have to be somewhere.’ Fiona moved through the house, opening the doors and looking inside every room. When she went upstairs, Emer didn’t bother following her. She knew it was pointless. Kitty wasn’t here.
The rage that had kept her going until now had died away, leaving a weary exhaustion it its place. She went into the kitchen, turned on the tap, leaned down and let the water flow into her mouth. She’d just finished, and was wiping her lips, when she saw a flash of movement in the garden outside. Moving to get a closer look, she noticed the broken pane of glass.
Opening the door, she stepped onto the patio. A large, landscaped garden stretched out in front of her. Tidy beds on either side of a neatly mown lawn. The entire space was enclosed by a red-brick, ivy covered wall. Emer stepped off the patio onto the grass, scanning every corner of the garden, but she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
She stood for a moment, listening to the sounds of the countryside – birdsong and the rustle of wind through the leaves of the magnolia tree in the centre of the lawn, the occasional car passing on the road at the front of the house.
And suddenly, something else. Footsteps crunching over broken glass. The sound had come from behind her. She swung around, but not quickly enough. Someone grabbed her, dragging her across the grass towards the front of the house. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clasped over her mouth, blocking the sound. Breathing through her nose, the smell hit her. Ginger and citrus, an undercurrent of sandalwood. As her panicked brain recognised the smell, she heard his voice, close to her ear:
‘Stop fighting me. I’m here to get you out of here before you get hurt.’
Forty-seven
Emer tried to pull free, but she’d forgotten how strong he was. Sixty-five years old and he still worked out every day. Muscles like steel and the strength of two men half his age.
At the side of the house, he stopped.
‘I just want to talk,’ he said. ‘That’s all. If I let you go, will you at least listen to what I’ve got to say?’
She nodded, too scared to do anything else.
‘Good girl.’
He removed his hand from her mouth and let her go.
‘What the hell?’ She stepped away from him, needing to put some space between them both. Her arms hurt where he’d held her too tight. She imagined she could still feel the imprint of his hand across her face.