The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist Page 10

  ‘I know I’m twenty-three, but this is our first dinner party,’ she admits. ‘Feel proper grown up. I bet you have them all the time, don’t you? I’ve been getting in a state all day. Worried I’m gonna make a mess of everything.’

  It’s touching how nervous she’s been about having us over. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, trying to put her at ease. ‘We’re used to having our tea on our laps in front of the TV, so anything’s a step up from that.’

  ‘Okay.’ She gives us a warm smile, and I can see that even Joe is charmed by her openness.

  ‘Here we go.’ Ian kicks open the lounge door and comes in with a tray of drinks. Two cans of lager, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of Coke, an empty glass and a glass of wine. Joe clears a space in the sea of crisps and Ian sets the tray down.

  ‘Cheers!’ We all clink cans and glasses.

  After about ten minutes of chatting on the sofa, we squeeze around the four-seater dining table set up in the corner of the lounge. Dinner is pizza, garlic bread and salad. We all dig in, helping ourselves to the hot slices, which have been served up on two bread boards. The evening is relaxed and fun. Ruby is sweet and Ian is a bit of a lad, but he’s okay.

  ‘You work in that shop down town, don’t you?’ Ruby asks me.

  ‘Georgio’s. Yeah, I manage it.’

  ‘Cool,’ Ruby says through a mouthful of garlic bread.

  ‘They had a break-in on Saturday night,’ Joe adds.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Ruby says, her eyes filling with concern.

  ‘Did they take much?’ Ian says, getting to his feet. ‘Want another beer?’ he asks Joe.

  ‘Please,’ Joe replies.

  Ian starts towards the door, but stops to listen to my reply.

  ‘They only cracked the glass,’ I say. ‘No one actually got inside the shop. We don’t think they did, anyway.’

  ‘Tell them about the magnetic letters,’ Joe prompts.

  I give him a look. It’s not something I wanted to talk about this evening. Tonight was going to be a break from all that. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

  ‘It’s not nothing,’ Joe persists.

  ‘Fine.’ I sigh.

  ‘You don’t have to tell us…’ Ruby says.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ I reply. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Wait till I get back from the kitchen,’ Ian says. He returns a few seconds later with two cans of cold beer and passes one to Joe before sitting back down next to Ruby.

  ‘So,’ I continue, ‘you already know about the letters I’ve been getting.’

  Ian and Ruby nod, their eyes wide, waiting for me to go on.

  ‘Well, the glass in the shop door was cracked, but the doors were locked when I got there, and nothing was stolen. But in the fitting room on the floor, someone had used magnetic letters to write me a message.’

  ‘What message?’ Ian asks.

  I swallow. ‘It said: “Hello Lizzy. Me again”.’

  ‘Shit,’ Ruby says. ‘That’s dark.’

  I take a breath. ‘Anyway, I’m not going to let it bother me. It’s just some saddo trying to make their life more interesting.’

  ‘So you’ve got no idea who’s done it?’ Ian asks.

  I shake my head. ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ Joe growls. ‘It’s that toff Sebastian Hargreaves.’

  ‘Erm, we don’t know that,’ I say. Again, thoughts of my sister climb unbidden into my mind.

  ‘No, but it’s pretty obvious,’ Joe says.

  ‘No, it’s not. Anyway, I asked Pippa and she said no way is it Seb.’

  ‘Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? He’s her brother.’

  I try my best to keep my cool and not come back with an angry retort.

  ‘Once the cops get the results back from the lab, they’ll know one way or the other.’

  ‘Results?’ Ian asks.

  ‘CSI,’ Joe explains. ‘Fingerprinting and stuff.’

  ‘Cool,’ Ian replies.

  I try to catch Joe’s eye to glare at him, but he’s not looking my way. Giving up, I turn to Ruby. ‘So, do you work at all?’ I figure that changing the subject is the safest way of not having a full-blown argument in front of the neighbours.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replies with a curl of her lip. ‘It’s not anywhere near as glamorous as your job, though.’

  ‘Believe me, my job isn’t glamorous,’ I say, trying to play it down. ‘It mainly consists of unpacking boxes and sticking prices on stuff.’

  ‘Well, give me cardboard boxes over rich people’s toilets any day.’ She wrinkles her pretty nose.

  ‘Our Rubes is a cleaner,’ Ian explains.

  ‘Not just any cleaner.’ She grins. ‘I work for a posh holiday letting company – Cotswold Country Retreats.’

  ‘Ooh, I’ve heard of them,’ I say, impressed. ‘Their holiday homes are supposed to be amazing. Pippa, who I work with… she’s always going on about them.’

  ‘Yeah, well, the guests might be loaded, but most of them are filthy slobs. The state of some of the places!’ Ruby goes on to tell us about some of the messes she’s had to clear up. And I’m almost put off my pizza by the grossness of some people.

  As Joe polishes off the last pizza slice, the conversation dries up and there’s a brief awkward silence. Ruby gets to her feet. ‘Does anyone want afters? I’ve got Ben and Jerry’s Rocky Road ice cream.’

  Everyone nods.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Joe says, gathering up the empty plates and following Ruby into the kitchen.

  ‘So, those letters,’ Ian says, leaning forward. ‘Do you really not know who’s behind them?’ His eyes gleam, and for a moment I get a horrible feeling that he’s going to admit to having sent them. But that’s ridiculous. He’s with Ruby, and seems besotted by her – Ruby is way out of his league in the looks department. Why would Ian be interested in someone like me when he’s got her?

  ‘No idea,’ I say, clenching my fists beneath the table. There’s something disturbing about Ian and the way he’s looking at me, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. I’ll be relieved when Ruby and Joe come back into the room. On second thoughts, I’m not waiting. I push my chair back and stand up. ‘I’ll go and see if they need any help.’

  Ian leans back in his chair and belches. ‘Okay. See you when you get back.’

  I leave the room feeling shaken. I’m not even sure why. Maybe it’s simply from being left in a room with a man I barely know. But as I head towards the kitchen, I tell myself that it’s madness to suspect every single person I come into contact with. That’s exactly what this psycho wants – they’re trying to unsettle me, to ruin my quality of life. But I can’t let them succeed. I won’t play the victim. Not any more.

  Seventeen

  After an uneventful day in the shop, I gather up my bag and keys and lock up the stockroom. Pippa left a few minutes ago, and I’m looking forward to getting home and putting my feet up. I’m nursing a mild hangover after last night at Ian and Ruby’s. We didn’t stay late, but I did manage to polish off a bottle of wine, and my head isn’t thanking me today.

  At least I won’t have to walk all the way home alone tonight. I’ve taken to driving to work and parking in the NCP car park around the corner. The car park fees are extortionate, but I’d rather pay the money than have a terrifying walk home thinking someone is following me.

  I head towards the staff exit and catch my breath as I hear a door bang shut. It sounds like the side door, but the only other person with another set of keys is George, and he doesn’t normally come to the shop at this time.

  I should do something – unlock the front door so I can make an escape, or barricade myself in the stockroom. Instead, I am frozen in place, standing next to the counter, unable to make a decision.

  ‘Hello!’ My voice is quavery. ‘Anyone there?’

  Footsteps down the side passageway, and then the door to the shop creaks open.

  ‘Evening, Lizzy.’

  My
hand flies to my chest and I exhale in relief. ‘George! You frightened the life out of me.’

  ‘Not that hideous, am I?’ He pats his face and grins.

  ‘’Course not.’ I attempt to smile back, but my heart is still beating frantically, I haven’t quite recovered from the shock. ‘It’s just, after that attempted break-in I’m a bit edgy, that’s all.’

  ‘Sorry, I should have let you know I was coming. Remiss of me.’

  I shake my head. ‘No, no, it’s your shop. It’s just me being paranoid.’

  ‘Can we chat for a minute?’ George asks, his expression turning serious.

  ‘Of course. What’s on your mind?’ I set my bag and keys on the counter top.

  ‘It’s delicate,’ he says, ‘but I’m just going to come out and say it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He’s got me worried now.

  ‘There’s stock going missing.’ George puts his hands in his pockets, jingling some loose change, or keys. ‘So either we’ve got a serious case of customer shoplifting, or…’ He opens his hands wide, leaving me to imagine the end of his sentence.

  ‘Or what?’

  George raises an eyebrow.

  ‘You think it’s me?’ My hand flies to my chest. I can’t believe George is accusing me of stealing.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘So, what are you saying?’

  ‘I’d like you to tell me what you think’s going on, before I get the police involved. Do you know why stock is going missing, Lizzy? You must have noticed, so I’m wondering why you didn’t speak up.’

  My face goes hot, and I have to admit I’m shocked by George’s bluntness. I feel guilty, even though I’ve never stolen a thing in my life. ‘How do you know stock’s going missing?’

  ‘For starters, there was that handbag yesterday. But it’s been going on longer than that. A few months back, there was a hundred-quid candle in the window.’ He points to the front of the shop. ‘I noticed it had gone, but there was no sign of it on the till roll. Fine, I thought to myself, it’s been nicked. I was going to tell you about it, Lizzy. Tell you to keep a better eye on the customers, but then I bumped into an old friend and she was wearing one of our outfits. Said she bought it the day before – it was a day when you and Pippa were both working. So I checked the receipts, and again, there was no sign of the transaction. I rang my friend up and asked her how she’d paid. She told me, cash, but she couldn’t remember who’d served her. So, it looks like someone’s being naughty and not been ringing all the cash sales through the till. I don’t think it’s you, Lizzy.’ He pauses. ‘Or is it?’

  ‘No! I would never in a million years steal from you, George. Or from anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. So it looks like Miss Hargreaves is our culprit.’

  I should have told George my suspicions about Pippa when I first found out. Now it will look like I’m blaming her to cover my arse. But it’s too late now. And I’m not about to take the blame for Pippa stealing. ‘What are you going to do?’ I ask.

  ‘We’ll set a little trap, get the evidence and then call our boys in blue.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just set the trap without telling me?’ I ask. ‘Because if it is me, you’ve just tipped me off.’

  George throws his head back and laughs, loud guffaws that rumble through the stuffy air. ‘Ah, I do like you, Lizzy. I knew it wasn’t you. ’Course it wasn’t. That Pippa Hargreaves hasn’t got two pennies to rub together and she’s trying to keep up with all her millionaire friends. But she’s chosen the wrong person to steal from. I’m throwing the book at her. Setting an example to the rest of my staff, in case they think they can rip me off too.’

  I know what Pippa’s been doing is wrong, but I can’t help feeling sorry for her. ‘George, would you… could you let me speak to her? Ask her to return the stock and the cash? I know she’s done an awful thing, but if she’s arrested it will be terrible for her whole family.’

  ‘She should have thought of that before she started helping herself.’

  ‘I know.’ I nod. ‘I know.’

  ‘And what if I let you speak to her and she denies it?’ George cries. ‘Then we’ll have tipped her off and we won’t be able to prove anything. I’ll have lost my stock and my cash, and I won’t be able to fire her because I won’t have concrete proof.’

  ‘Yes, but it won’t be good for business,’ I counter.

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Say you call the police and she gets arrested. Well, the Hargreaves are a well-known family, it will be all around the county in record time. The papers will get wind of it—’

  ‘All publicity is good publicity,’ George interrupts.

  ‘Not necessarily. What about all Pippa’s wealthy friends? You won’t see them for dust. No way will they come back here after that.’

  ‘Hmm.’ George scratches his cheek. ‘You could have a point there, Lizzy.’

  ‘Not saying they’ll all take Pippa’s side, but they won’t want to be associated with any scandal.’ I’m not sure why I’m sticking up for Pippa – I certainly don’t condone what she’s been doing – maybe it’s because she stuck up for me when Leon was in here the other day. Maybe it’s simply because she’s my friend and we’ve known one another since we were kids. It’s no excuse, but I know she wouldn’t steal unless things were really bad.

  ‘All right, you’ve convinced me,’ George says. ‘For now, anyway. Tell her to return the stolen items and all the cash she’s taken. Once she’s done that, she can hand in her resignation. But there’s no way I’ll be writing any kind of reference for her, got that?’

  I nod. ‘Thanks, George. I really think it’s the best way.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he replies, not looking at all convinced.

  I may have stopped George from getting the police involved, but now I’m going to have to bring the subject up with Pippa. How the hell am I going to do that? I’ve as good as promised George that I’ll get her to return everything she’s taken. But whether or not she’ll even admit to the thefts is anyone’s guess. I really don’t think this is going to end well. And I don’t know how Pippa and I will remain friends after something like this. I think I’ve just made a big error in judgement. But it’s either this way, or George getting the police involved. And I can’t do that to my friend. I just can’t. I only hope she understands…

  Eighteen

  As I walk in through my front door, all my thoughts are of Pippa and how I’m going to bring up the subject of her stealing from the shop. Why did I tell George I’d speak to her? I should have just kept out of it and let him call the police. Instead, I’ve given myself a massive headache. Pippa won’t thank me for saving her from arrest. She’ll blame me. She’ll think it was me who told George in the first place. I’m going to have to approach the whole thing carefully and take some time to think about how to bring it up. Thankfully, George is off on holiday for a week, so I’ve got a few days to work out how to broach it.

  ‘Hi!’ I call out to Joe.

  ‘I’m upstairs!’

  I slip off my work shoes, dump my bag on the floor and climb the stairs, resolving to ask Joe what he thinks about the Pippa situation. Although I can guess what he’ll say – don’t get involved. Mainly because he doesn’t like her.

  I go into the bedroom where Joe is towelling his body dry. As I walk in, he looks up, a worried expression on his face. My hello smile dies. ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘You better sit down.’ He wraps the towel around his lower half, sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space next to him.

  ‘Why do I have to sit down? What’s happened?’

  ‘Just sit, Lizzy.’

  I do as he asks. Thoughts of Pippa evaporate as I try to guess what’s got Joe so worried.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ he says, ‘but it looks like you might have got another letter.’

  I make a noise in the back of my throat, put my fingers to my forehead and try to let his words sink
in.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘Stupid question.’

  I exhale and then square my shoulders, trying to prepare myself for whatever weirdness I’m about to face. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘On the dressing table.’ He turns his head towards the cream and gold dressing table by the window.

  I follow his gaze to see a pink envelope on the table. ‘Did you touch it?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, sorry. It was on the front doormat with a load of flyers when I came in from work. Didn’t realise what it was until I picked it up to take a look.’

  ‘Shit,’ I say, my nerve endings tingling. ‘I kind of knew there’d be another one, but I was hoping there wouldn’t be, if you know what I mean.’ I should go over and take a look at it, but I can’t seem to move.

  Joe wraps an arm around me, brings me into his side and kisses the top of my head. His skin is warm and damp. ‘I’ll kill the bastard when we find out who it is.’

  ‘Did you open it?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how do you know it’s from… them?’

  ‘It’s got your name on it. Looks like the same old-fashioned writing as the other envelopes.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Want me to open it for you?’ he asks

  I pull back from his embrace. ‘No, I’ll do it. Or…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe we should wait and let the police… deal with it.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Joe shrugs. ‘I don’t know. You’d think the cops would have told you what to do if you received another one.’

  I make myself stand up and walk over to the dressing table, hardly feeling the floor beneath my feet. Sure enough, my name is written on the front of the envelope, those looping letters now increasingly familiar, producing a tight feeling of dread deep in my guts. The only difference with this envelope is that it’s pink, not white. I wonder what the contents of the letter will say. I wish I didn’t have to find out. But the not knowing is killing me. Against my better judgement, I snatch up the envelope and untuck the flap. Like the others, it hasn’t been sealed down.