Zack banged on the door with his fist. Once, twice, and paused, then a third time. I peered at the windows, but the blinds were down. There was no answer. “Round the back,” he muttered, and led me down a narrow path. The side garden was as tidy as the front, with neat lavender bushes and a rambling rose that scrambled over a wooden trellis. We rounded the back of the house, past more windows with the blinds drawn, to another yellow door at the end of a raised wooden deck.
Beside me, Zack paused, his fingers tightening to the point of pain. He swallowed hard, his breathing suddenly ragged. “There,” he whispered, nodding to a small door set into the side of the house. “That’s the cellar.” Where she died.
I didn’t know if I felt hot or cold, and my stomach felt all quivery inside. How must he be feeling now? I twisted to wrap my arms around him, standing between him and the door.
“I have to go in there.” He buried his face in my hair, his agonized whisper hot against my ear. “I have to see it for myself.”
Chapter Seventeen
Zack grasped the door handle, flicked up the old-fashioned latch, and pulled. It opened easily onto a dark space, and I squinted, trying to see more clearly. He fastened the door against the wall and then fumbled around on the inside. Seconds later, light flooded the cellar. He took my hand again. His palm was damp, or maybe that was just mine.
Six or seven broad wooden steps led down, with a sturdy handrail attached to the wall. It looked safe and clean, and as well tended as the rest of the property. Zack made a strange noise in his throat and lifted his eyes to the blue sky above. “I’ve walked into live firefights, had bullets whizzing over my head, and survived a fucking ambush, but I’ve never been freaked out like this before. What kind of a fucking coward am I, Holly?”
“You’re no coward.” The cellar held no anguished memories for me. I slipped my hand free and, clutching the handrail tight, walked down the stairs to a flagstone floor. It was the size of a small garage, dry and tidy, with a stack of dusty logs against one wall and a pungent smell of ammonia. Cat piss. A small high window, the glass thick with dust, lay open on the opposite wall.
The hand on my shoulder made me leap almost out of my skin. I hadn’t heard Zack creep up behind me. “Holy mother of God, you startled me.” I pressed a hand against my racing heart as I spoke. “I’m going to put a bell on you if you do that again.”
“Nobody’s mentioned her cat. She wouldn’t have left Tabitha behind.”
“Would your mother have taken her?” As soon as I’d said it, I guessed it was unlikely.
Zack gave a short, wry laugh. “You’re joking, aye. Nurturing has never been her strong point.” I thought of my own mum with a pang. She gave the most amazing hugs that could cure everything from a scraped knee to a case of the blues. All these years later I still missed my parents. Poor Zack had never known that kind of love.
He stood very still, and I looked up to see him blinking hard. “Let’s check out the house. I want to find that bastard.”
The sunlight outside was a welcome contrast to the cellar, and Zack strode to the back door, banging on it with his fist. No answer, and I could hear nothing from inside the house. On an impulse, I tried the handle and the door swung open. Zack went ahead of me and stopped dead.
There was a different smell in the kitchen. A shallow bowl of fruit sat on the counter, blackened bananas oozing through split skins. The remnants of an abandoned breakfast spoke of someone leaving in a hurry, as did the open bottle of milk on the table. The sour stink turned my already churning stomach. Zack stared at the half eaten bowl of cereal and voiced my thoughts. “Nobody’s been here for days.”
I trailed behind him as he looked through the rest of the house, but there was no sign of Marnie’s boyfriend, or anyone. “Did he have a car here?”
Zack paused and thought. “Dunno. There was a silver truck last time I came.” He shrugged. The only vehicle there at the moment was my Honda.
“So what happens now?”
“I call in some favors.”
…
Neither of us wanted to stay in the house, so we sat on a low wall outside, pleasantly cool in dappled shade. While Zack sent texts and made calls, I rang Jas and updated him. Zack eventually put down his phone and scooted up next to me. “We may as well wait here. It won’t take long before my mates get back to me.” He draped his arm across my shoulders, and I snuggled in to his side. It felt strangely peaceful here after the horrors of the morning. Birds cheeped and sang. Small children’s voices drifted from a nearby garden.
“Talk to me, Holly.” His voice was hollow, as though he clung to his composure by the narrowest of threads.
“What do you want to know?”
His fingers beat a restless tattoo on my upper arm. I waited. “Your husband. Start there.”
Jesus. He made it sound easy. It was anything but. “I met Davey at school. His family had just moved to the area, and he didn’t know anyone. He was, uh, being picked on and I stepped in to help.” He followed me around like a lost puppy after that. “We became best friends, and I guess I fell in love with him.”
“You beat off the bullies, huh? Well done, you. How long were you together?”
“As in married? Not long. Only two years.”
The insistent rhythm on my arm slowed a little. “What happened?”
“I guess I didn’t love him as much as I thought.” His neediness suffocated me. Every time I tried to break up he begged me to stay.
“What did you do after that?”
“I went traveling around Europe for a year and then got a job in London. I was born in England, just before my parents emigrated to New Zealand, so I hold a European passport.” I tried to reinvent myself. Didn’t do a very good job of it.
“How long were you there?”
“Right up until two weeks ago. I only came back when Jas had his accident.”
“Oh, right. What do you do at work?”
“I’m part of the marketing team for a major advertising company.”
“You going back?”
“Of course, I’m just not sure when. As soon as Jas can manage without me.”
I was just about to get promoted into a management position and represent the team at a New York conference. If I could get back within the month, I might be able to salvage the promotion, but the New York trip would be long gone.
Zack went quiet, and I mused some more on the bad choices I’d made. Marrying Davey because I couldn’t bear to break his heart by refusing his very public proposal. Falling in love with Paolo as we backpacked across Italy. He’d had his wallet and passport stolen, and had been pathetically grateful to me for helping. Once he made it home, I was forgotten. Next one to shred my heart had been Luthor. He’d played the stereotypical role of starving artist to perfection. He even had a tiny top-floor apartment in Paris. Someone had beaten and robbed him, and I’d taken him to the hospital, and then back to his place. That affair lasted until his next sale and the emaciated beauty who modeled for him.
Arriving in London, I dropped my old personality like a pair of dirty shoes. I dated suave, confident men. I only slept with Fabian, and that was just a handful of times. I couldn’t handle casual sex.
And now here I was, wrapping up my heart, ready to hand it over to a man I felt sorry for, in the full knowledge that he was only using me as a distraction. I hadn’t changed at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Zack’s voice sharpened when he took the next call. He paced up and down, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in clipped phrases, before returning to me.
“Barry’s not been at work this week, so there’s no point going there, but apparently he hangs out at The Pines.” I must have looked blank. “The pub in the next village.”