Lies at Her Door: A Psychological Thriller Read online

  LIES AT HER DOOR

  by A.A. Abbott

  Copyright © 2022 A.A. Abbott

  A.A. Abbott asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The characters and incidents portrayed in the book are a product of the author’s imagination. The Samoyed dog is only loosely based on a much-missed family pet. Too docile to lend assistance in a fight, he was a cheerful companion and friend. He also stole a roast chicken. Some locations in the book exist but Jackson Crescent does not. Although a mysterious cellar did collapse below a garden in Bristol, England, on Christmas Day 2020, that event has been used for inspiration only. Jackson Crescent is not a real place and its residents are not real people. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events, is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Katharine D’Souza Editorial Services.

  Proofreading by PG Print & Office Services.

  Cover design by Getcovers.

  Published by Perfect City Press.

  This book was written by a British writer in British English. Dialect terms like ‘my lover’ are occasionally used.

  Contents

  JULY 2000

  CHAPTER 1

  DECEMBER 2019

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  JANUARY 2020

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  6 MONTHS LATER

  CHAPTER 31

  JULY 2000

  CHAPTER 1

  NEIL

  The music rose from the earth. He was alone in this massive garden, yet somehow a melody surrounded him. The four-year-old boy darted around the lawn, failing to find headphones or speakers. He peeked at the hedge that enclosed the plot, the black-railed gate that broke the ring of glossy green leaves, and the five trees at the edges. Earlier, he’d counted them and been proud of himself. Now, hearing the sound was louder beneath it, he drew closer to the largest. Frilly-edged leaves tickled his cheek. He began to dance.

  The rhythm was fast. Shrieking with delight, he twirled round and round. As he expected, giddiness overcame him and he fell to the ground, laughing. Lying on the warm, yellowed grass, he could feel a drumbeat pulsing through it. Who was playing the tune? Did fairies live in the tree? He hummed along with them.

  The music stopped.

  The boy stared up at the tree’s canopy looming above, then down at its solid trunk. All was still. The world was quiet again, and it had finished spinning.

  He staggered to his feet. His elation had subsided and he wanted his mother. He fumbled with the latch of the gate. When it opened, he bolted onto the cobbled path that ran between the hedge and a row of houses. They were tall and white. One had a red door. In the front yard outside it, he had left his mother talking to her new friend.

  “Mummy!” He chuckled with relief as he saw the two women sitting together, sipping tea and smoking. His mother waved.

  He hurtled into her, clutching at her trousers. “Mummy, there are fairies in the garden. I heard them singing.”

  “Don’t be silly, Neil.” She flicked ash from her cigarette. It landed in one of the pots of pink flowers near her feet. Today, she wore shiny black shoes. They glinted in the sunlight. For hours, she had stood in those shoes, talking to strangers in a huge room crammed with tables, chairs, and chatty people. Neil had been on his best behaviour, sitting quietly with small toys he’d been given. There was a squeezy ball, a little puzzle, and some pencils. He had been good; playing in the garden was his reward.

  His mother’s friend, the lady called Jennifer, smiled at him with scarlet lips. “You’re bored, aren’t you, Neil? I’ll get my daughter to come and amuse you. She’s thirteen and she loves children.”

  He flinched as Jennifer’s bony fingers reached towards him. When lacquered nails ruffled his hair, he willed himself to stand still.

  “He’s a cutie,” Jennifer said. “I bet Lucy would babysit for you. Why not leave him here tonight, and you can come to the conference dinner with me? Bristol University’s catering isn’t bad. Anyway, we both know all the business is done in the bar at these events.”

  His mother said, “Isn’t thirteen a bit young?”

  “She’d be thrilled,” Jennifer said. “It does her good to take on adult responsibilities. Stops her getting spoilt. She won’t be by herself, either. My son will be around to keep an eye on them. He’s in his twenties.”

  Neil could barely count to thirteen. He imagined anyone of that age must be grown up. Twenty was beyond him.

  His mother was silent, which Jennifer took as agreement.

  “Great,” Jennifer said. “I’ll introduce Lucy, then we can sort out the paperwork for your book order. I’m glad I can help.” She stood and stretched, calling for her daughter as she vanished behind the red door.

  Neil couldn’t pretend to understand. He held out his arms for his mother to pick him up. She dandled him on her knee, her dark trousers stark against the white metal chair, ornate like lace. A matching table held an ashtray, teapot, cups, and a plate of shortbread. There was a notepad too, in which she had been writing. Her fingers were inky. An unfamiliar smell of tobacco clung to her. He knew people smoked sometimes, but he didn’t remember her doing it before. This was no ordinary day, though. She had taken Neil to work, and then to Jennifer’s house, and accepted Jennifer’s offer of ‘just one, to keep me company’.

  “You heard,” his mother said. “Jennifer thinks Lucy should babysit for you later. Would you like that?”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he knew what he would really like. His mouth watered as he gazed at the shortbread.

  His mother’s eyes followed his. Laughing, she handed him a piece.

  Jennifer reappeared, trailed by another female nearly as tall and much wider.

  “This is Lucy,” Jennifer said. “Why don’t you play with Neil in the garden, Lucy? Mrs Slater and I have business to discuss.”

  “Hello.” Lucy smiled. Her messy hair, the colour of rope, swung over her face as she reached down for the plate.

  Jennifer placed her hand over her daughter’s. “They’re not for you, Lucy.”

  “Sorry.” Lucy’s smile dimmed, glowing again as she turned to Neil. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Let’s play in the garden. Mum said you were frightened, but you needn’t be. There’s nothing scary here. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  DECEMBER 2019

  CHAPTER 2

  LUCY

  Handsome and monied, the houses of Jackson Crescent slotted neatly into Bristol’s upmarket Clifton district. A snow-white terrace, front yards behind railings, swept in a curve off Jackson Road and then joined it again. A straight row of similar properties backed onto Jackson Road. The focal point of the crescent was the communal garden in its centre, a semi-circle planted with grass and trees. Already, fairy lights would be strung up, the hedge clipped and fallen leaves tidied away. The space would be perfect for the residents’ carols
that night, when wealth and success would be on display, all darkness buried deep in the past.

  Lucy Freeman couldn’t see the garden from the rear of number 13, but she still tingled with anticipation. Like fantasy novels and online games, music was a means of escape. Without it, she was just a chubby loser living with her parents at the age of thirty-two.

  “Alexa, play madrigals,” she instructed.

  The virtual assistant obliged, sending the strains of ‘Come Away Sweet Love’ through her second-floor bedroom. Lucy joined in with the soprano part. A warm glow spread through her as she remembered childhood days singing with her brother and mother. In those rare moments, she’d experienced a sense of belonging and approval. Now Daniel was coming home for Christmas. With luck, he’d arrive in time for carols with the neighbours.

  Would it be the same as the old days? She’d be kidding herself if she fancied his rock star lifestyle had splintered off her brother from the rest of the family. He’d become distant well before then, after his best friend disappeared in France. According to her mother, it had been Lucy’s fault and shouldn’t be discussed further.

  Daniel had made it clear he didn’t wish to talk about it either. As the years passed, she’d never raised the subject with him. The space between them grew wider as he joined a glitzy world she could only dream about. While they weren’t close, she’d enjoy seeing him. The neighbours would be ecstatic, of course. A rock icon’s presence lent glamour to the evening and fuel to their gossip.

  A dog barked. Lucy peered outside at number 13’s back garden and busy Jackson Road beyond. There was no sign of an animal. A recycling lorry clattered past, its tins and bottles rattling. She raised her voice, then stood on tiptoe to stare through the other window in her room. This was on the end wall, a tiny porthole giving a bird's-eye view of Brian and Marilyn's place on the opposite corner.

  Lucy’s father was rapping on the smart brass doorknocker. From above, she saw a bald patch amid his neat grey hair. Sebastian looked every inch the academic, tall and stooped, a smart charcoal jacket almost hanging off his thin figure. Her mother, Jennifer, was elegant in a spangled shawl. Lucy squinted, unable to make out Jennifer’s red lips and smoky eyeshadow, but still proud of them. She liked working on Jennifer’s cosmetics for her, even though she never used them herself. There wasn’t much point. ‘Why put lipstick on a pig?’ as Jennifer had once said.

  Her parents allowed chatty Marilyn to air-kiss them, then Sebastian pushed Jennifer’s wheelchair inside. The invitation for afternoon drinks had been addressed to Sebastian, Jennifer and Lucy, but Brian had told her she wasn't expected if it suited her to stay away. He supposed she didn’t have much time to herself, he’d said, as Lucy nodded gratefully. Perhaps he understood how she dreaded polite conversation with a bunch of people twice her age.

  Finally alone, Lucy’s gaze flitted to her laptop. Switched off and forlorn, it called to her. She wished she could wield a magic talisman, defeat dragons and loot temples online just for an hour. Perhaps there would be time later when she’d finished her tasks for Christmas Eve. There was so much to do: presents to wrap and food to prepare for the big day.

  A series of louder barks interrupted her thoughts.

  “Alexa, stop.”

  Lucy glanced out of the rear window again. To her astonishment, a fluffy white dog capered across the back garden. This was a small square of lawn bounded by the house, a garage opposite giving out onto Jackson Road, and high stone walls on either side. There was no obvious way in. Lucy rubbed her eyes. When she removed her hands, the dog remained in sight. It was yelping at a high pitch now, frantically scrabbling at a wall.

  Concerned about the creature’s distress, Lucy ran down three flights of stairs. She rested, breathless, against the French doors in the basement kitchen. Outside in the garden, the dog noticed her. It pressed its nose to the glass, whining and wagging its bushy tail. Enveloped in a cloud of snowy fur, it was a handsome animal and appeared well cared for.

  “We’d better find out who you belong to, boy,” Lucy murmured, feeling foolish at speaking to a dog and uncertain it would understand. Presumably, it would have an owner’s tag on its collar. Could it be bribed with biscuits to let her check? She shook a few crackers from a tin she’d planned to serve with cheese on Christmas Day.

  Snacks in hand, she opened the door. Accompanied by a gust of wind, the dog leaped inside, nearly bowling Lucy over. It stopped, sniffed at her fingers, and whimpered.

  “Here boy.” Having closed the door, she offered the crackers. They vanished in seconds. A hot, wet tongue licked every crumb off her hand.

  “Let’s see if there’s a clue.” She knelt down. The dog seemed friendly enough, but would it bite? Tentatively, Lucy reached for the collar.

  Still amiable, the animal stood still. Lucy found a brass disc with a mobile number. Retrieving her phone from a pocket, she typed in the digits.

  “Who’s that?” At the sound of the man’s voice, the dog’s ears pricked up.

  “I’m Lucy Freeman. Er, I’ve got your dog. Will you come and collect it?”

  “Depends where you are. Bristol, I presume?”

  “Yes, Jackson Crescent.”

  “Then no. I’m out of the country. My mother’s looking after Sasha for me. Do you know Margaret Forsyth at number 12?”

  “That’s next door.”

  It began to make sense. Margaret, Lucy’s occasional employer, owned a garden flat. Lucy supposed Sasha had either climbed over the adjoining wall or tunnelled under it.

  “Want me to call her?” Margaret’s son asked.

  “No, I’ll do it. I’ve got her number.” Lucy already felt guilty about disturbing him. He must be with other people, perhaps at a business meeting; there was a babble of conversation in the background.

  It wasn’t long before Margaret stood at the front door, stylish in a purple cape trimmed with black velvet and fulsome in her apologies.

  “I am so terribly sorry. I don’t know why I agreed to take this dog.” Her brown eyes nevertheless sparkled with amusement. She handed Lucy a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray. “Can you use a few more chocolates, do you think?”

  “Thank you.” She would offer them round when Daniel arrived. “I like your eyeshadow, by the way.”

  It was a shimmery gold, perfectly suited to Margaret’s coffee-coloured skin. Although their neighbour drew a pension, she conveyed an air of youth and glamour.

  “So kind of you.” Margaret beamed. “Well, I must take this troublemaker home.”

  “He’s no trouble.”

  Sasha accepted the praise by licking Lucy’s hand.

  “Sasha is a she,” Margaret explained. “Such a sweetheart, but a bit of a surprise. My son was offered a contract abroad at the last minute, so I agreed to look after her. I hope I won’t regret it.”

  “I’m sure you won’t. She’s nice.” Lucy suspected Sasha understood the compliments and enjoyed them.

  “A Samoyed. They’re a beautiful breed, and docile, but rather adventurous. She must have jumped over the wall to chase squirrels. Lucky she landed on your lawn. Well, I shall be rearranging my garden furniture so she can’t do it again. See you at the carols.”

  Unexpectedly, Lucy felt a lump in her throat as she watched the dog trot cheerily away. The house seemed so quiet. She comforted herself by returning to her madrigals upstairs.

  Wrapping didn’t take long. While Lucy had saved money from her part-time job playing the piano for Margaret, most of it had been spent on charity. Goats for faraway strangers or a modest donation made a huge difference in Africa. Closer to home, a slice had gone to the local night shelter. If she’d had time, she would have volunteered there, but they were grateful for money too. She’d split the remaining cash between her mother, father and brother: one special thing each.

  For Jennifer, Lucy had selected a silk scarf. Spotted in a charity shop, it boasted a designer label. Her mother would appreciate that. The marbled effect, shades of blue blurring tog
ether, would suit Jennifer’s platinum hair. Best of all, the material would feel soft against Jennifer’s skin.

  There were malt whisky miniatures for Sebastian. Her father's first love was the books heaped on shelves throughout the house, but he was so particular about them that Lucy couldn’t choose another with confidence. Sebastian read about metaphysics, moral dilemmas and the works of famous, infamous and obscure philosophers. These tomes were the tools of his trade as a professor of moral philosophy. He enjoyed sipping Scotch as he studied late into the evening.

  Finally, she folded pretty paper around a Tupperware box. What do you give the man who has everything money can buy? She hoped she’d found the answer with the truffles she’d made from Fairtrade chocolate. Lucy had even limited her testing to one intense mouthful.

  The doorbell rang as she snipped the last piece of ribbon. Lucy hurried to the front of the house, where Daniel’s old room had been dusted and aired in readiness. She slid open a sash window to yell at the visitor. “I’m coming.”

  “And I’m waiting, Miss. I need your signature.”

  It wasn’t the postman, but an old fellow from a private delivery company. He looked as exhausted as Lucy felt by the time she’d dashed down two flights of stairs. She was gripped by a rush of sympathy.

  “Busy day?”

  “Busy month. Sign here.” He passed a handheld terminal to her, then gestured to the two large boxes at his feet. “Who’s the lucky one? Flowers and booze, at a guess. Want me to bring them inside for you?”

  “Yes, please. Can you leave them near the stairs?” The labels, addressed to ‘The Freeman Family’, gave no hint at the contents or their sender. This was an exciting surprise. She made a squiggle with the plastic stylus and handed the device back.

  As soon as the delivery man had shuffled back to his van, Lucy attacked the boxes. The courier hadn't been wrong. She found a crate of champagne from Fortnum & Mason and a lavish arrangement of cream lilies tied with a gold ribbon. Drinking in the scent of the blooms, she noticed the gilt-edged envelope beside them.