The young woman walked briskly down the street, her head high, her eyes bright, the sun glinting on her newly coiffed blonde hair. She had been in the hairdresser’s for longer than usual today, but the results were worth it. She’d had a manicure, too, her nails delicately shaped and glowing red. Red. All ready for her important date tonight. She was young, beautiful, self-assured, striding towards happily-ever-after.
Unsuspecting.
The head was waiting for her in her bedroom closet.
Gift-wrapped. With a perky bright red bow.
Sooner or later, she would find it. When, didn’t matter. It would keep.
Rather – a long whinnying snicker escaped him – it wouldn’t keep.
The red blood pooling into the bottom of the plastic bag beneath the pretty wrapping would darken and turn brown. The face would darken, too, and begin to dissolve. If she hadn’t found it before, she would find it then.
When it began to smell.
Even then, she would not imagine the reality. The bright expensive wrapping would fool her into thinking it was an overlooked gift. Perhaps one that had been put into her closet to surprise her.
A basket of fruit, perhaps. Gone rotten because not discovered in time. Guiltily, she would begin to open it, perhaps tearing at the wrapping, hoping to find a card from her well-wisher.
The head was his calling card.
Then she would know. Or begin to know.
The second head – the one that was draining in his bathroom sink now – would convince her.
Especially when she recognized them. One by one, her best friends were going to be returned to her in pieces.
And she would know it was going to happen to her, too.
Soon.
And slowly. He had learned a lot since that first amateur effort. He could keep them alive a lot longer now, while he …
Lorinda squinted her eyes to blur the type and checked the pages to the end of the chapter. Twelve pages of gut-wrenching detail as the killer reminisced.
She hoped the editor hadn’t been trying to digest his lunch when he read them. On second thought, she hoped he had. It would serve him right. Except that he was probably so hardened to this sort of thing that he wouldn’t notice how sickening it was. Or perhaps it was a she – some of the worst of them seemed to be edited by women. What did they have against their own sex? And the more gruesome the book, the bigger the advertising budget it seemed to attract.
New York Times Best Seller List
was emblazoned across the cover, just above the title. No wonder Macho got so upset, there was no justice!
And where was Macho? She had witnessed his not-so-rapturous reunion with Cressie yesterday and had expected him to have dropped over – or, at least, telephoned – by now. Of course, it was still early, not quite noon, although you couldn’t tell that from the darkness outside.
Another grey gloomy day – well, it suited the mood the book had put her into. Lorinda hurled the paperback across the room so violently that it bounced off the opposite wall before dropping into the waste basket below, narrowly missing But-Known.
‘Come back, darling!’ Lorinda called, as the cat skittered out of the room. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it for you. It’s all right. Come back …’
It took minutes of coaxing before the small head poked cautiously around the door frame. By this time, Had-I, attracted by the dulcet tones, behind which lurked the promise of impending treats, was also on the scene. She paused, communed briefly with But-Known and led the way over to Lorinda. They sat at her feet and looked up at her expectantly.
‘Oh, all right.’ She gave in, leading them kitchenwards. ‘I think we still have some munchies in the cupboard.’
They looked with disfavour at the thin stream of munchies that trickled into their bowl.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lorinda said. ‘I thought we had more than that. I’ll get a fresh supply when I’m out shopping tomorrow. Can’t you make do with these for now?’
They gave her a haughty look and stalked across to the back door, staring pointedly towards Freddie’s house.
‘She isn’t home,’ Lorinda told them. ‘I saw her leaving this morning. She took the car, so there’s no telling when she’ll be back.’
That wasn’t good enough, they let her know. Furthermore, they had no intention of using the cat flap. The least she could do was open the door for them.
‘All right.’ She opened the door. ‘Go and see for yourselves.’
To add insult to injury, it began to rain. They stopped on the doorstep and stared at her accusingly.
‘Honestly, it isn’t my fault,’ she said, as the first splattering of drops rapidly became a heavy downpour. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’
Disbelievingly, they turned as one and marched back across the kitchen and into the living room. When she checked on them a few minutes later, she found them, as she had expected, curled up together in a corner of the couch and fast asleep.
They had the right idea. The rain was teeming down now, with no promise of a let-up. The best thing to do with this sort of day might be to sleep through it.
Of course, that option wasn’t open to everyone. Through
the front window, she saw Gemma battling her way down the High Street, struggling with dogs, umbrella and … yes, Cousin Opal. They appeared to be arguing.
Briefly, Lorinda wondered if Opal really had been off somewhere with Macho yesterday when Gemma and Cressie were looking for them. That would be amusing, she thought, and abruptly realized that she wasn’t so amused at all.
Cressie would be incandescent. The thought cheered her for a moment. And yet, why shouldn’t Macho, a former history teacher, want to spend some time with a colleague who was an historical novelist? They must have a great deal in common. Perhaps Opal was even consulting him on some aspect of the Tudor era. If anyone knew most of the ins-and-outs of that particular period, it would be Macho.
As she watched, Opal drew herself up and snapped something obviously offensive at Gemma, who also drew herself up as far as was possible with the dogs tugging at their leashes and keeping her off balance.
Opal stamped off and Gemma stumbled her way to the nearest lamp post where there was a long pause while the pugs occupied themselves and Gemma rootled in her bag for the pooper-scooper. Her umbrella tilted as she did so and a trickle of icy water found its way between the collar of her raincoat and her neck. She shuddered visibly.
‘You may have your drawbacks,’ Lorinda turned away from the window and addressed the sleeping cats, ‘but I wouldn’t swap you for that lot.’
Had-I twitched in acknowledgement before burying her nose deeper between her front paws. But-Known opened one lazy eye and shut it again in what might have been a conspiratorial wink.
There was a sudden telltale clunk from the kitchen. The cats heard it, too, and raised their heads, abruptly alert.
‘What do you want to bet?’ she asked them. They uncurled themselves, leaped to the floor and followed her into the kitchen.
Sure enough, a wet bedraggled Roscoe was crouched by the feeding bowl, gulping down the munchies Had-I and But-Known had so recently despised. Of course, now that someone else wanted them, they were changing their minds. They advanced upon Roscoe, determined to remind him just whose territory this was.
‘Poor baby, you’re drenched.’ Lorinda tore off some paper towels and proceeded to blot Roscoe. He gave a rusty purr, but was not to be distracted from his purpose. He didn’t lift his head until the bowl was empty. Then he looked around for more.
Lorinda watched the door expectantly. If Roscoe had arrived, could Macho be far behind?
She set out another cup and saucer, but the afternoon wore on and there was still no sign of Macho. She went back to work, while Roscoe, having eaten everything available, joined in as the cats resumed their interrupted nap.
The rain settled into a steady downpour, eliminating the temptation to do anything other than work – except, perhaps join the cats in their nap. Along about what would have been twilight, had there been any brighter light at all that day, she heard the sound of Freddie’s car returning.
She was not surprised when, after a suitable interval – long enough for shopping to be unpacked and stowed away – the telephone rang.
‘I may go mad!’ It was not the voice she expected to hear. In fact, it was one she would have considered most unlikely.
‘What’s the matter, Dorian?’ She refrained from saying that, whatever it was, he had probably brought it on himself.
‘Adèle! Adèle Desparta! She’s driving me out of my mind!’
‘Oh?’ Yes, he had definitely brought it on himself. ‘Perhaps you ought to get together with Gemma. I gather she’s having rather a difficult time with Opal. You can commiserate with each other.’
‘God forbid!’ he snarled. ‘Gemma and that damned
cousin of hers are the problem where Adèle is concerned. It would be more than my life is worth to go near either of them. Adèle would kill me!’
‘I suspect that Opal would take exception to Gemma talking to you, too. She’d think it was consorting with the enemy. It’s a shame they both had to visit at the same time.’
‘This town isn’t big enough for both of them,’ Dorian agreed. ‘And I’d rather not be around for the shoot-out.’
‘How much longer is she staying?’
‘Who knows?’ She could hear his shudder over the phone. ‘How much longer is Gemma’s cousin staying?’ he asked hopefully.
‘I gather she may sublet Rhylla’s flat for the summer. She’s staying with Gemma while she considers it.’
‘Hmm … pity.’ Abruptly, he changed tack. ‘Anyway, why don’t you come up and have a drink?’
‘What?’ She looked at the waterfall streaming down the window panes. ‘You mean … now?’
‘No time like the present. Come along,’ he coaxed. ‘You’ve done enough work for one day. Come and relax.’
And take some of the strain of entertaining his tiresome guest, he meant.
‘Actually …’ She stretched the truth a bit. ‘I was just going over to Freddie’s.’
‘Bring her along.’ He sounded slightly desperate. ‘The more, the merrier.’
‘She’s very busy.’ Freddie would be no more enthusiastic than she was about trudging through this downpour to pull Dorian’s chestnuts out of the fire he had, as usual, lighted himself.
‘Oh, but all work and no play … You need a break … refresh yourselves …’ He was close to babbling.
‘Not today.’ The rain drumming against the windows helped her to stand firm. ‘Honestly, Dorian, another time.’
‘Oh, come along. I’ll open the jar of caviar my Russian publisher sent me …’
The offer might have tempted the cats, but Lorinda was able to resist it. She recognized Dorian’s magnanimity however. He really must be desperate. For a moment, she had thought he was actually going to utter the word ‘please’.
‘Just for a few minutes … half an hour … and I’ll … I’ll …’ Somewhere in the distance behind him, a door slammed loudly. ‘Oh, very well then – ’ His voice changed. ‘I see I can’t persuade you, so we’ll make it another time.’
‘Adèle has just gone out,’ Lorinda surmised.
‘Er … actually, yes. And – ’ his voice brightened even more – ‘she’s getting into that car she hired. That means she’ll be gone for some time, perhaps the rest of the day.’
‘Congratulations – ’ But he had already rung off.
Lorinda shrugged and replaced her own receiver. It was only a temporary reprieve, but it was better than nothing. And next time he issued an invitation, the weather might be better.
The yawn caught her by surprise, just as she was wondering whether or not to ring Freddie and suggest a drink.
That settled it. She didn’t really want to go out in this monsoon, not even the short distance to Freddie’s house. Nor would it be kind to make Freddie venture out again into the storm.
The cats had the right idea: a cat nap.