Cruel Minds (13 page)

There was one guest room remaining.

“I said no.” Melody stood between the search party and the door. Lines creased her forehead as she swayed back and forth, her eyes not quite meeting theirs.

“What is your problem?” Sylvia said. “We’ve all been through it and no one complained.”

Ben reached out a hand. Melody flinched. “We’ll be quick. Then you’ll be off the hook.”

“I said no!” She pressed her body up against the door.

Jerome moved up beside her. “We agreed outside that we’d need permission to search a room. Melody hasn’t given it, which means you’ll have to wait for the police.”

“Where are the police?” Sylvia had moved closer to Melody. “We could be waiting all day.”

Ben moved up beside her. “That’s right. And if someone is saying no to us, then I’d say that was a pretty solid indicator they have something to hide.”

“Guess what? You’re not the cops.” Jerome was fast losing his patience with these people. He looked to Daniel, then Janelle, whose expression was filled with conflict.

Daniel nodded in agreement. “He’s right. If Melody doesn’t want us in her room, then we have to respect that.”

“Okay fine, we’re not the police,” Ben said, ignoring Daniel and squaring up to Jerome. “But neither are you. So if we want to search that room, who are you to stop us?”

He moved in closer until there were just inches between them. Anger coursed through Jerome’s veins.

“Okay, first of all, there’s this thing called personal space,” he began. “Second of all, who do you think you people are? Melody has said no. It’s been a while since I used a dictionary but I’m pretty sure that means you’d do well to get the hell out of my face.”

Ben took a slow step back.

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

Before Melody or Jerome could react, Sylvia pushed past them and threw open the bedroom door.

“Stop!” Melody shrieked. She ran into the middle of the room. “Please, stop!”

Ben followed her in, a sly smirk on his lips. Daniel and Janelle stood helplessly watching from outside.

“You assholes!” He wanted to take the couple’s heads and smash them together, to throw them down the stairs, one after the other. Instead, Jerome watched as they took Melody’s room apart.

“We have to do what has to be done,” Sylvia said, catching his eye. She picked through the garments hanging in the wardrobe as if browsing through a clothing store and seeing nothing she liked. She moved to the dresser, where a framed photograph sat on top.

“Is this your cat?” She laughed as she held it up.

Melody wept and dug nails into her thighs.

Ben moved onto the bed and began stripping it down to the mattress. As he held up a pillow, his eyes lit up with suspicion. He stared at it, then gave it a shake. Realisation spreading across his features, he reached inside the pillowslip.

“Look what I’ve found!” His voice was filled with triumph as he pulled out the object and showed it to the group. Out in the corridor, Janelle’s mouth hung open.

Melody shrieked and pulled at her hair. “I told you not come in here!”

Behind her, Jerome slowly hung his head.

T
he day was heating up. Tiny beads of perspiration lined Emily’s brow as she sat on the porch seat and watched birds flit over the treetops. Pamela and Sam had returned indoors some minutes ago, and now that she was alone, she took a moment to absorb the stillness. She understood why people were upset—discovering Oscar’s body and then learning they’d been robbed hadn’t exactly done much for the equilibrium of the group—but all of that fighting and shouting and pointing of fingers had left Emily feeling shaken. But it wasn’t just the dissension among the guests of Meadow Pines that had unsettled her. It was Oscar. There was something about his suicide that felt ... off. She couldn’t put her finger on what, though.

From somewhere above, she heard voices, doors opening and closing, and she hoped that Jerome was managing to keep the search party under control. He could certainly give Helen a run for her money—years of serving hard-nosed Londoners had taught him a thing or two when it came to pushy characters—but she was worried about how he would handle Ben. Daniel had already taken a beating from the man, although they’d both come out of it worse for wear. But Jerome wasn’t a fighter. Sure, he could talk his way out of situations and he could act the tough guy when he wanted to, but if it came down to an actual fight, Emily wasn’t confident he’d walk away unscathed. At least he wasn’t alone up there with them.

A sudden thirst overcame Emily. Getting up, she crossed the porch and went inside. She slowed down as she passed the Hardy’s living quarters. It was quiet in there. Perhaps Pamela was meditating, or perhaps she was pacing up and down, wondering where her daughter was and worrying about the future of her business. Suicide and theft weren’t exactly great advertising. If Helen’s story did make the national newspapers, Meadow Pines could suffer a terrible blow to its reputation. Perhaps an irreparable one.

Soup bowls still sat untouched in the dining hall. A jug of water sat on the table, the ice almost melted. Picking up a glass, Emily poured herself some and drank it down. It was cold and refreshing, and for a few moments, pulled her away from her busy mind. When she’d had her fill, she set down the glass and paced towards the kitchen doors. It was quiet in there too.

Leaving the dining hall, Emily wandered along, passing by the mediation room and the art room. She could hear the search party moving about upstairs. Voices grew louder as they spilled out of the rooms and into the upstairs corridor. Then, Melody’s voice rose high and shrill.

“I said no!”

Emily heard Jerome, then Ben, both voices filled with warning. She moved to the foot of the stairs and looked up. She could hear them clearly now. Ben and Sylvia were trying to get into Melody’s room, but she was refusing to let them. A burst of noise, followed by Melody’s high-pitched wailing, told Emily that they’d forced their way in. Very quickly, an argument broke out. People were shouting, accusing each other. Melody sobbed and sobbed.

Emily was about to head back to the Hardys’ living quarters when Pamela appeared behind her. She looked exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept for days. Her gaze momentarily crossed paths with Emily’s as she brushed past and hurried upstairs. Emily followed, reaching the top of the stairs in time to see Pamela push her way into Melody’s already crowded room.

“Look what I found! It was stashed away inside Melody’s pillow,” Ben said.

Emily hung back in the corridor, watching at a distance. She heard Melody crying, but she couldn’t see her through all the bodies.

“I’m not a thief, Pamela! Please believe me, it’s not what you think!”

Sylvia’s voice was sharp and acerbic. “Then how do you explain this, eh? I knew that Goody Two-shoes act was a load of rubbish!”

When Jerome spoke next, Emily was shocked to hear him so angry.

“We agreed we’d only search the rooms of those people who gave consent. These two idiots practically pulled out pitchforks and burning torches and forced their way into Melody’s room. You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

“Well, lucky that we did,” Ben said. “Because see what we found. Now all she needs to do is tell us where she’s stashed the rest of it.”

Bodies shifted. Through the gaps, Emily stole glimpses of Melody, who sat on the bed, hair covering her face as she wept. Ben stood over her, holding the source of all the drama—a black touchscreen tablet.

Pamela took it from him and stared at it as if she were holding a bloody knife. “Melody? What do you have to say about this?”

Braying sobs escaped Melody’s mouth. “I didn’t steal anything, I swear! It’s mine, I brought it with me. I didn’t hand it in. I’m sorry, Pamela!”

A wave of muttered voices surged through the room.

When Pamela spoke again, her words dripped with disappointment. “No mobile phones. No technology. You’ve been here enough times to know the rules, Melody! You deliberately hid this from me?”

“I’m sorry! I just wanted to have it close to me, so I didn’t miss Derek.”

“Oh dear, Melody!”

Emily edged closer to the room. She could see the top of Jerome’s head on the right. Janelle and Daniel were at the back on the left. Helen wasn’t here.

“As disappointing as Melody’s behaviour is to me, I can assure you she’s no thief,” Pamela said, addressing the group. “I remember her handing in her phone when she checked in yesterday, but she most certainly did not hand in this tablet.

“Clearly you don’t know when you’ve been played.” Ben said coldly.

“This isn’t proof of anything except that Melody deliberately broke the rules of Meadow Pines.”

On the bed, Melody wept into her hands.

Ben continued to argue, but Emily was no longer listening. She tapped Janelle on the shoulder.

“Where’s Helen?” she asked.

“She’s downstairs working on her story. Can you believe this guy?”

Janelle turned back as Pamela handed the tablet to Melody.

“You’re giving it back to her?” Ben was incredulous.

“I’d say the weekend was over, wouldn’t you?”

Emily backed away then headed for the stairs. Something wasn’t right. After Helen had cajoled the group into searching the rooms, it made no sense that she would be sat downstairs missing out. Then there was the small fact that Helen wasn’t downstairs. Emily had passed by all the rooms that guests had access to and they had all been empty. It could only mean one thing—Helen was somewhere outside.

***

R
eaching the foyer, Emily marched out into the garden. A gentle breeze teased the petals of the roses. What was Helen up to? Had she arranged the room search so that she could slip away unnoticed? Emily walked through the garden and pushed open the gate. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she turned her head, scanning the vegetable field and the meadow. She backed up, then headed right, stopping to peer through the kitchen windows at the back of the house. Sam was missing too.

Suspicion mounting, Emily walked to the edge of the forest. She thought back over the last couple of hours, to finding Helen in Oscar’s room. She’d been looking for evidence, she’d said. Evidence that would help boost her story and get her into the national newspapers. But Helen hadn’t found anything useful. She hadn’t—

Emily spun around. Of course, she thought. Returning to the front of the house, she slipped through the garden gate and headed across the meadow. Helen had been looking for a suicide note and Emily had suggested that it could be somewhere on Oscar’s body.

She began to run, clearing the meadow in under a minute, then dashing into the cool shade of the forest. It took a few minutes to find the right path, but then Emily was hurrying along it, ducking under branches and weaving through the undergrowth. As she reached the clearing, breathless and with her clothes stuck to her skin, she came to an abrupt stop.

Oscar’s body was no longer hanging from the tree, but was laid out on a sheet of tarpaulin, the rope still trailing from his distended neck. Helen was leant over him, her face twisted with revulsion. Sam stood to one side, an axe slung over his shoulder.

Emily stepped into the clearing. “What have you done?”

Her voice startled them both. Helen immediately straightened up, while Sam dropped the axe to his side. They both stared at each other.

“I was talking to Sam while everyone was upstairs, about how awful it was that poor Oscar was still hanging out here with no sign of the police.” Helen’s eyes were round and doe-like as she glanced at Sam for acknowledgement.

“It wasn’t right to leave him up there like that,” he said.

“Which is why Sam cut him down,” Helen quickly added.

Emily moved nearer. This was not the first body she’d seen up close. She had witnessed her mother’s last breath snatched away by cancer. She had seen Phillip Gerard’s crumpled form in the playground. She had seen the dead and dying victims of Doctor Williams, hidden away in the attic of the Ever After Care Foundation. After seeing so much death, she’d presumed being this close to another lifeless body would be easier to stomach, but the same familiar surge of nausea churned her insides.

Oscar barely looked human. His body was bloated, his skin horribly discoloured. His ears and nostrils were caked in dried blood. His fat, black tongue sat on his chin like an overfed leech.

Emily looked away, instead focusing her attention on Helen. “You didn’t find anything of worth in Oscar’s room, so you thought you’d just cut him down and go through his pockets?”

Helen’s smile was wide and innocent. “As I said, I didn’t cut Oscar down. Sam did. And I haven’t touched him.”

“But you were about to.”

Helen instinctively glanced down at Oscar’s body. As did Emily. Something was poking out of his shirt pocket.

“You were right,” Helen breathed as she crouched down.

Sam took a step forward. “What is it?”

“You do realise that you’re now tampering with police evidence?” Emily said. Part of her wanted to turn around and head back to the house and have nothing more to do with Helen’s underhand, manipulative ways. Sam was an idiot. How easy had it been to dupe him with fluttering eyelashes and sympathetic words? Emily flashed him an angry look.

Helen reached towards Oscar’s pocket, then drew back. Something passed over her face. Was it uncertainty? Perhaps there was an essence of conscience in there after all, Emily thought.

“We’ll just say it fell out.” Helen shrugged, then plucked the object from Oscar’s pocket. She stood up, turning it over her in her hands.

“What is it?” Sam repeated.

Shaking her head, Helen said, “It’s not a suicide note. It’s a picture.”

It was a passport-style photograph, the kind taken in a photo booth at a shopping mall. The man in the picture was Caucasian and looked in his early twenties. He was clean shaven, with dark, wiry hair and deep brown eyes. A small but visible scar was etched into his skin, just above his left eyebrow. His expression was blank, as if any trace of emotion had been erased by the camera flash; as if, like Oscar, he’d already expelled his final breath.