The Land Rover was parked beneath the thick, gnarled branches of an ancient yew tree, which curled and twisted liked the tentacles of a Lovecraftian beast. The driver door was open, its window shattered. Shards of glass carpeted the earth. Emily stared through the open door. Splashes of blood dotted the steering wheel. A partial bloody handprint was pressed into the windscreen. Her throat drying, she turned and examined the ground. Blades of grass beneath the tree were flat, as if something had been dragged through. Stooping, she ran her hand through the blades, then recoiled when her fingertips came away wet and dark.
“I don’t believe any of this,” Melody said, her voice shattering the silence. She was crying. “Sam is a good person. He would never hurt anyone. Especially not Marcia. He loves Marcia.”
Emily stood and wiped her fingers against her jeans. “Hold on now, Melody. No one said anything about Sam being responsible. And we have no idea what happened here. Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?”
“You don’t need to say anything! I can see it on all of your faces. But you’re wrong. Sam is good and kind.” She turned on Emily. “You think he killed Oscar, don’t you? That he’s run away. He doesn’t even know Oscar!”
“You need to calm yourself down. Get a grip,” Helen said, clearly lacking any degree of patience.
Emily stared at her. With the discovery of Oscar’s wallet and now the blood-covered Land Rover, it was not the time for more ill-feeling.
“Someone’s taken the picture from Oscar’s body,” she said. “I need to know if it was you.”
“Me?” Helen pressed her hand against her chest. Her wounded façade lasted for about three seconds. “Look, I agree I may have overstepped the mark a little today, and that I can sometimes be a little forthcoming with my opinions, but one thing I don’t do is lie. And I’m telling you that I have not been back to Oscar’s body since we left it.”
Emily nodded. “I believe you.”
She did. There was an honesty in Helen’s eyes that could not be faked. It didn’t mean she was about to become friends with the woman, though. Or even polite acquaintances. She glanced over at Jerome, who had remained silent since bringing them to the Land Rover. He stood, watching the trees, his eyes darting back and forth.
“I have a theory,” Emily said, returning her attention to Helen.
“Let’s hear it.”
Jerome moved in closer. Melody had stopped crying and was now crouched over with her back turned to them.
Emily cleared her throat. “Oscar was a private investigator. Let’s suppose the reason he’s carrying a picture of that man is because he’s been hired to look for him.”
Helen chewed her lip. “Sounds reasonable. Often, families of missing relatives will turn to private investigators once the police have drawn a blank.”
“So if Oscar’s search brought him here, it can only mean one thing. The man from the picture must have visited Meadow Pines.” She paused, catching Jerome’s eye. “There’s something else. Oscar’s room is next to mine. Last night, I heard raised voices. He was arguing with someone. With a woman.”
Melody turned to find Helen staring at her.
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t even know him!” she cried, threatening to dissolve into hysterics one again.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me, either. So that leaves Janelle, Sylvia, Pamela, or Marcia.”
The bloody handprint on the Land Rover windscreen caught Emily’s eye. A sliver of ice slipped between her shoulder blades.
“Marcia wasn’t here. I saw her walking in with Sam this morning. She’d spent the night at his place in Lyndhurst.”
“Perhaps it was Sylvia,” Jerome suggested. “After all, she and Ben robbed us. Perhaps they killed Oscar too.”
Melody stood up, freshly-picked bluebells in her hands.
“It crossed my mind. But that doesn’t explain what’s happened to Marcia. Or to Sam,” Emily said.
They were quiet for a minute. Above them, a breeze rustled the canopies. It would be dark soon.
“I think we should go back to the house,” Jerome said. He looked tired, Emily thought. Tired and afraid. “Pamela needs to know what we’ve found.”
Everyone agreed.
As they turned to leave, Melody placed the bluebells on the front of the Land Rover, then caught up with the others.
They moved quickly, negotiating their way through the forest. All around them, shadows lengthened and merged. As they reached the house, dusk snuffed out the last embers of sunset.
“Why don’t you go ahead,” Helen said, stopping in front of the garden gate. “There’s something I want to check out.”
Emily shook her head. It was a bad idea. “In another half an hour you won’t be able to see your hands in front of your face.”
“Jerome and I found something. A shed.”
“You mean we found a shed with a big padlock on the door,” Jerome corrected.
“And who knows what inside. I’m going with my instincts on this one and they’re telling me that shed could be important.”
“Your instincts or your ego?” Jerome said. “We have no idea what’s going on here. People are missing and dead. It’s not worth the risk, Helen.”
“So you won’t come with me? It could be research for that slasher movie role.”
Jerome dug his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry but Emily’s right. It’s almost dark and we need to be inside.”
“That’s disappointing,” Helen said. She turned and tapped Melody on the shoulder. “You’ll do. Let’s go find a torch.”
Before Melody could refuse, Helen snatched up her hand and pulled her through the gate.
Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll be quick. We’ll be safe.”
The garden closed in on Emily.
“I can’t decide if I really hate that woman or admire her tenacity.”
“I’d say sixty-forty,” Jerome said. His expression soured as he stared at the house, then up at the sky.
Clouds were rolling in fast, their edges stained black like mould.
Emily squeezed his hand. She took in a breath, pushing down the anxiety blocking her throat.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do the talking,” she said.
Together, they walked towards the house.