Pitch Black: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 1) (6 page)

The room may have been basic, but I didn’t need much, and it represented a definite step up from my digs in London. I tested the weight of the chest of drawers—yes, I could drag that across the door. Anything to keep myself inside at night. I managed to check my exit routes and fit in a quick shower before Carol came back.

She managed to hold off on the questioning until dessert. I guess she thought I could seek comfort in chocolate if I got upset. At least the brief reprieve gave me time to come up with a cover story. Thinking up a plausible tale on the fly usually came naturally, but today, it was a struggle. My heart wasn’t in it, and I couldn’t concentrate as Carol chattered about the inhabitants of Lower Foxford all through the main course. 

“Marjorie Smith crashed her car into a tree last week after she left The Coach and Horses. I’m not saying she’d been drinking, but it’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” Carol said.

“Mmm, sounds like it.”

She barely paused for breath before continuing, “And Vera saw Mrs. Melton’s daughter in the chemist buying a pregnancy test kit this morning. She’s only been dating the butcher’s son for a month, and they’re not even married.” Carol shook her head. “Youngsters these days, always rushing into things.”

It seemed that Carol wasn’t just a branch of the local gossip tree, she was the trunk. Everyone in the village, and undoubtedly half the people from the surrounding area, would soon know anything I told her.

As I pondered, Carol bustled off to the kitchen and came back with the brownies. I bit into one, and they were so good I let out a little moan. With Carol’s cooking, at least my appetite had returned with a vengeance, but I’d barely finished my first mouthful when the inevitable came.

“So, what happened with the boyfriend of yours then?”

I took a deep breath, looked her in the eye and lied. “He was actually my fiancé. I was out shopping a couple of days ago when I got a migraine, so I went home to rest. As soon as I walked into the house I heard noises coming from upstairs.”

I arranged my face into a suitably devastated expression and added a sniff for effect before continuing.

“I almost called the police because nobody was supposed to be home, but I thought maybe I was just being silly and I’d left the TV on, or something. So I crept up the stairs, and as I got to the top I realised the noises were coming from our bedroom. I pushed open the door and Jamie was in there doing the deed with another woman.”

Carol’s mouth dropped open in horror. Or maybe glee, as this was gossip gold. “So what did you do?”

I gazed off into the distance as if I was remembering. “First I froze, but then my first thought was to turn and run to my best friend’s house. We’d been really close since I moved to the area, and she only lived a couple of doors up. But when Jamie leapt off the trollop he’d been shagging, I found it
was
my best friend. Or rather my ex-best-friend.”

“So, did you kick his ass?” Carol asked, furious on my behalf.

That sounded so wrong coming out the mouth of a sweet little old lady that I had to stifle a giggle.

“What? Isn’t that what all the young people say nowadays?”

“I guess it is,” I said, refraining from mentioning she was no spring chicken. “If I could turn the clock back, I’d have given him a boot up the backside, but I wasn’t thinking straight.” I shook my head in mock disgust at myself. “I threw my engagement ring at him and left. I couldn’t stand to look at the pair of them naked any longer.”

Carol reached over and squeezed my hand. “That’s quite understandable, dear.”

“Still, I wish I’d have kept it. I could have pawned the diamond.”

“You know for next time, though.”

Next time? Boy, she had a high opinion of me, didn’t she?

“I guess. I was worried he’d come after me, so I just jumped on the first bus to arrive. Turned out it was going to the airport. So I got on a plane. Then a train, then a bus, and then I ended up here.” I gave a helpless shrug. “I’m a bit lost.”

I deliberately kept my story as close to the truth as I could, because I knew from experience it was easier that way. I’d had a lot of practice at pretending to be someone else and I’d got pretty good at it. My husband once told me, “If you’re going to be good at one thing, be good at lying. Because if you’re good at lying, you’re good at everything.” I’d taken his advice to heart, and like everything else I did, I practised. Practice makes perfect.

“So where did you live? You said you flew?” Carol asked.

“In America.”

“Oh my, that’s a long way to come. No wonder you look tired.”

“Yeah, I haven’t had much sleep over the past few days.” I yawned for effect.

“So what are you going to do now? Are you going to go back home and have it out with him?”

I shook my head. “I never want to see that pig again. There’s not much to go back to anyway. The house was his, and I didn’t work. He said I didn’t need to, that he’d rather I had more time to spend with him. I thought we’d be together forever. How could I have been so stupid?”

“One of those control freaks, was he?”

“Something like that. I’m glad I scraped my house key down his Mercedes on my way out the driveway.”

Carol clapped her hands with glee. “Did you do anything else?”

“No, that was it.” If it had been a real situation, the bastard would have been fighting for his release from prison in a country that didn’t believe in human rights.

“Hold on a second. You came from America? But you don’t sound American?”

“I’m English. I moved to the States to be with Jamie when I was twenty-one.”

“Golly, you were together a long time then?”

“I know.” I groaned. “A third of my life, wasted. It took him eight years to propose. That alone should have told me something. I think he only did it because I was getting restless and talking about getting a job. He obviously thought if I was his wife it would get me back under his thumb, and I fell for it. I’m an idiot.”

“They say love is blind. You’re not the only one to have the wool pulled over your eyes by a man thinking with his little head instead of his big one.”

I giggled again. Trust Carol to come out with something like that. “I know, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Well, we’ll just have to take your mind off things. Keep you busy. It was what worked best for me after I lost my Len. We were married for forty years.”

“I’m so sorry, Carol. That must have been far worse than what happened to me.” In fact it was closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

“It was almost ten years ago now, dear. Time’s the greatest healer. My friends were a huge help too. At first I didn’t know how to go on without him, but now I can look back and smile at the good times. Nobody will ever replace him, but I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to sit around moping so I’ve filled my life with other things.” She got a wistful look, and I knew she was thinking about her late husband.

I couldn’t help thinking of mine. Was there life after death? I’d never believed in it, but now I wondered. Was he up there, willing me to get my act together? I hoped Carol was right and time would heal, because I didn’t see what else would help.

Carol snapped her eyes back to mine. “Enough about me. We need to get you back on your feet. Tomorrow I have a fundraising lunch for church and then bingo at the village hall in the evening. You can come to those, it’ll do you good.”

Was she serious? Seniors’ bingo and a church fundraiser? The last time I’d been in a place of worship was for a sting operation on a pastor who had a side-line in paedophilia.

And by lunch, did she mean making it or eating it? I could maybe manage the eating part, but I wasn’t so hot at cooking.

“It’s ever so nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. It’ll be terrific fun.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue with the force that was Carol. Going seemed like the easier option.

I felt hideously out of place at the church lunch, firstly because I was the only person not wearing chintz, and secondly because I was the youngest by at least three decades. The way everyone stared at me, I could have been an exhibit in a zoo.

Maybe I should’ve invested in a plaque—it would have saved me from answering endless questions.

Name: Ashlyn Hale

Species: Barely human

Habitat: Found on every continent, usually in a hostile environment.

Traits: Excellent hunter, adopts camouflage when threatened. Thought processes can be unexpected.

It turned out we were expected to assist with lunch, and after half an hour I was grateful to escape to the kitchen.

“Can you make the shortcrust pastry?” asked a lady with a purple rinse.

I stared blankly at her. Didn’t pastry come frozen in packets?

“You don’t know how to do pastry?”

“Sorry.”

“Well can you help chop the vegetables?”

Oh yes, I could do that. I was good with knives. I forced myself to slow down, but I still sliced three cucumbers perfectly in under two minutes. I didn’t scare the old dudes by demonstrating my ability to do it with my eyes shut too.

Lunch took the entire afternoon, and most of the people present went straight from the church hall to the village hall for bingo. I’d expected a subdued affair, but I’d underestimated this crowd.

The alcohol flowed and a couple of bottles of home-brew were produced. I had no idea what was in it, but from the way it burned my throat it had to be 160 proof. I half-carried Carol when we eventually left, our raffle prizes balanced on my other arm. Mine was a toiletry basket, and Carol had a fruit cake she’d tried to leave behind.

“Mildred Armitage made it,” she’d whispered, too loudly. “Her cakes are always far too dry.”

I caught Mildred watching us from over her beak-like nose. “We need to take it back with us. You can use it as a doorstop or something.”

I thought after that evening I’d earned a reprieve, but no such luck.

“The tea dance is today at three,” Carol told me over breakfast the next morning.

I stifled a groan. I hadn’t slept well and the last thing I wanted was to go out again. “I’ll have to pass.”

“You have something else on?”

“I fancy some time on my own.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. Sitting alone won’t help matters.” She snapped her fingers. “Vera mentioned yesterday that her son’s looking for a nice young lady. I’ll invite him over to keep you company.”

I went to the tea dance.

Between eating cakes and the endless cuppas, I gained new friends by taking some of the old boys for a spin round the dance floor. Well, more of a shuffle. I didn’t want to, but Carol insisted.

“Are their hearts up to this?” I asked.

“If they’re not, at least they’ll die happy.”

My husband taught me to ballroom dance soon after we met, insisting it was a useful skill for undercover work at posh functions. I’d grown to love it, and even though he pretended it was a chore, I knew he’d secretly enjoyed it too. He had a particularly dirty tango in him, but we reserved that for the privacy of our own home. 

Now we’d never dance again.

The day after the dance found Carol and I at the parish council meeting, which wasn’t so much a meeting as a bunch of self-important idiots bickering.