There didn’t seem to be any point in hanging about. She looked down at the shirt and jeans she was wearing, wondered if she should change into something smarter, something more expensive. Then she laughed, the sound slicing through the quiet. She could dress in her very finest, and she still couldn’t compete with Hannah. Unwilling to waste her time on a pointless exercise, she went to the coat stand and took down the first jacket, a worn, scruffy one she usually wore doing the gardening. It had pockets spacious enough to take her purse, keys and phone.
The journey took longer than she expected, heavy rain slowing the traffic, reducing visibility at times so she was forced to peer through the rain-washed windscreen as the wipers battled to clear the downpour.
To give her aching brain a rest, she slipped an ABBA CD into the drive and made herself sing along to all the songs. By the time she reached her destination, her throat was hoarse but rather than feeling calmer, she could feel anxiety sizzling through her veins as she looked through the open gate to the old house.
Susan hesitated only a moment before turning into the short driveway. A car was parked directly in front of the entrance, another parked to one side. She pulled in beside this one and switched off the engine.
Climbing out, she leaned on the roof of the car and stared at the house. It was very pretty and, unlike the entrance gate, had been well-maintained over the years. The paintwork was fresh, the driveway around the house, weed-free. Someone loved the place.
Ivan Butler. Not Hannah, who only loved herself.
Despite the cars, there was no obvious sign of life. The rain had eased to a soft drizzle. It was a bit silly to be standing there getting wet when she could be inside finding out if Hannah was there. If not, she’d have a word with Ivan Butler, throw herself on his mercy. He might have something she could use as leverage to pry Hannah away from Mark.
Assuming Ivan was still alive. The drive had given Susan time to put Ethan’s cruel assessment of Hannah into perspective. He’d had his fingers burnt for the second time, he was hardly going to sing her praises, so Susan would take what he’d said with a pinch of salt.
Edging around the smart, red BMW, Susan reached the front door and looked for a doorbell. With none to be seen, she stepped closer to the door and put a hand out to lift the knocker but as she touched it, the door swung open.
Already on edge, she gave a nervous giggle, stepped back and waited for someone to appear in the increasing gap. The drizzle had morphed back into heavy rain. There was little shelter in the doorway; the jacket she was wearing, the fabric thin with age, provided little protection and she was soon wet to the skin. That’s what had her shivering. Nothing to do with the crack of thunder that rolled in the distance, or the black chasm that lay before her.
She looked over the roof of the car to where hers sat. She could run back to it, drive away. To a café where she could get warm before heading home and forgetting about this ridiculous idea.
Or she could go inside. Do a bit of exploring. Be brave.
She had nothing, so what did she have to lose?
A gust of wind-driven rain at her back made it easier to decide, and she hurried forward and through the door. She pushed it shut after her, the click as the catch engaged sounding loud. With her hand still on it, she looked around. The entrance hall with its oak-panelled walls was a grim space. Light would have come from the window on the stairway return had dark clouds not been hanging over the house like a bad omen.
Susan, her hand still on the door, felt a dart of fear colour the anxiety that had solidified over the last few hours. This had been a very bad idea. She shivered again. The darkness was bad enough, but it was the smell that made her gut twist and her hand clutch the catch on the door. It was the faint stink of meat that had gone off, the unmistakable odour of decay.
Ethan might have been biased, but was it possible he was right? That Hannah had killed her husband? That his body was in a room somewhere, rotting away.
Her free hand closed over her mobile. She should ring the police and tell them… tell them what? That she’d pushed her way into the house of a man she didn’t know and was afraid he was dead? Even with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention and that throat-catching stink making her feel nauseous, she had to acknowledge she sounded ridiculous.
It was ridiculous. She’d let Ethan’s bitter words colour her thoughts. The stench might have a more reasonable explanation. Bad drains or something. It was an old house. It was possible. She wasn’t sure she believed the reassurances her inner self was trying to sell but she took her hand away from the door and walked forward. There were rooms off the hallway on both sides. Their doors ajar, it was easy to see they were in darkness. Guessing a kitchen would be situated to the back, she crossed to a doorway under the curve of the staircase and pushed it open. Windows overlooking the rear garden allowed some light through. The room was empty but when she crossed to a kettle and rested her hand lightly against it, it was warm.
There was someone in the house. It was simply a matter of finding them.
Back in the hallway, she put a foot on the first step of the stairway and looked up. Everything was in shadow. The torch on her mobile was powerful. She switched it on and directed the beam upward, relieved when it showed nothing scarier than a few dubious landscape paintings.
Step by step, stopping each time to listen, to look up, then to peer down over the banister, it took a couple of minutes to reach the landing. There were windows open somewhere, she could hear the wind whistling through the gaps but it did little to disperse the stink, stronger, more offensive here. Ethan was right. Susan could be in danger; she should get out of there.
Instead, she stood looking down the corridor that stretched in both directions. The beam of light from her mobile picked out doorways but there were no lines of light seeping from under any of the doors to indicate a room was in use. She stood swinging the beam to and fro for several seconds before grunting in frustration and heading down the corridor to her right.
The first door she came to opened into a large bedroom. It was empty. She slid a hand along the wall, found a switch and pressed it to fill the room with light. It was a pretty room, nicely furnished. A window had been opened far enough to allow the rain to batter the net curtain. It flapped wetly between the wall and the glass.
Her house-proud fingers itched to cross and shut it. Then she remembered the stench and nodded. Maybe opening the windows had been a good idea.
The next door led into a spacious and surprisingly modern bathroom. Her hand rested on the pile of fluffy white towels. There had been no expense spared here.
Her anxiety level increased as she walked further along to reach the next room. She rested her hand on the handle and took a deep breath before pushing it open.
The room was in darkness, but although she couldn’t see anyone, she immediately knew she wasn’t alone. The beam from her mobile phone torch was pointing towards the floor. She raised it slowly and shone it around the room. It was furnished in a similar way to the first bedroom but there was one dramatic difference. Here, there was a body stretched out on the bed.
Suddenly, startling her, it sat up. Keeping the beam low, Susan stared at the woman she recognised from the photographs. Hannah Parker. She was rubbing her hands together and staring at her as if she’d seen a ghost. ‘Hello,’ Susan said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
When Hannah didn’t reply or acknowledge her, she cleared her throat and tried again, louder, more firmly. ‘Hello.’
Rather than replying, Hannah reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on, immediately throwing half her face into relief.
She looked like the devil. Panic shot through Susan as she turned the torch towards the wall and scrabbled to find a light switch.