The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) (9 page)

I
T WAS nearly ten o’clock when Zanna awoke. She lay very still, hoping that the thumping in her head would subside long enough to allow her to go and dig out some painkillers and fetch a glass of water to quench her raging thirst. After another half an hour she made a cautious foray into the bathroom, took the tablets and lay down again, listening to the sounds of the busy Thursday morning traffic in the street outside. That was two nights in a row she’d had too much to drink, which wasn’t a good idea with the antidepressants, even though she was only on a low dose now. Still, she consoled herself with the thought that she was on holiday—kind of, anyway—so she could be forgiven for pushing the boat out a bit. Patches of memory came back to her as she lay there. What had she done last night? There had been karaoke, and things had got a bit riotous in the bar, but other than that it was mostly a blank. No doubt Garrett would fill her in on all the details. But there had been something else. What was it? She tried to remember, but the wisp of memory eluded her. The light filtering through the curtains alternately brightened and then dimmed, from which she surmised that the day was a sunny one with passing clouds. She had been planning to visit Alison Maudsley today, but it would have to wait until later, as there was no way she was in any fit state to ask sensible questions of anyone. She would never drink again, she vowed to herself. And with that thought she fell asleep.

It was half past eleven before she made it downstairs, after a long, hot shower. She found Garrett in the bar ordering a late breakfast.

‘Full English?’ he said when he saw her, and she closed her eyes briefly.

‘Ugh. I don’t even want to think about food,’ she said. ‘I’ll just have some coffee.’

‘A bucket of espresso and a drip coming right up,’ he said, as she went to sit down. Garrett brought over their hot drinks and she took a sip, then sat and stared into space.

‘So, then, this artist woman,’ began Garrett, but got no further before the door to the street opened and Will Devereux came in. Garrett lifted his hand and he came over to join them.

‘You’re awake, then,’ he said. ‘I came in before but they said you weren’t up yet.’

He was looking from one to the other of them.

‘Sit down,’ said Garrett. ‘Our topic for today is Zanna’s hangover.’

Zanna whimpered.

‘How come you got off so lightly, anyway?’ she said. ‘I’m sure you had as much as me.’

‘Years of practice,’ said Garrett.

‘You—er—seemed like you were having fun last night,’ said Will. He looked as if he were trying to keep a straight face. ‘The singing was quite something.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Zanna in sudden horror. ‘Tell me I didn’t.’

‘All right, we’ll tell you you didn’t,’ said Garrett.

Zanna put her face in her hands and let out a moan as it all came rushing back to her.

‘You let me!’ she said accusingly to Garrett at last.

‘And I’d let you again,’ he said. ‘It was too good not to repeat.’

‘I hate you,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Will. ‘You have a much better voice than I do.’

‘You didn’t sing, did you?’

‘You must be joking,’ he said. ‘Believe me, you do not want to hear me sing.’

He smiled and she forgot her headache and smiled back.

‘I brought this,’ he said, and handed her something. ‘It’s Helen’s letter,’ he explained.

‘Oh,’ said Zanna. The envelope in her hand was old and worn, and had a tear that had been mended with tape. On the front someone had written Alexander’s name in blue ink—presumably Helen. ‘Can I—can I read it?’

He nodded, and she looked inside and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It was coming apart where it had been folded, but the scrawled handwriting was still legible. Zanna and Garrett bent their heads over it and read it together. It was dated the sixth of August, 1989, and it said:

Darling Alex,

I ought to have told you this in person, but I’m afraid I was too much of a coward to do it. It’s even taken me four tries to write this letter, and I can’t bear to think of your face when you get back from New York and find it, but I know it’s not fair on you to just disappear without a word, so I won’t. The fact is, I’m feeling the need for a little time and space to think about things, so Rowan and I are going away for a while until I can get my head together and decide what to do. I realize it’s all a bit sudden, but it’s something that’s been building up for some time now. I promise you it’s nothing you’ve done, so please don’t worry about that. But in the end I think you’ll agree it was for the best. You have plenty of things to keep you busy, so I dare say you won’t even notice we’re gone.

Please don’t try and find us—I’ll call or write as soon as I can, but I’d like you to understand that this is something I need for my own peace of mind. We’ll miss you.

All our love

Helen and Rowan

Zanna looked up.

‘Where were you at the time?’ she said. ‘Your dad was away in New York. Did she just leave you?’

‘I was at my mother’s,’ he said. ‘They were long gone by the time I got back.’

His face had taken on the wary expression it always held whenever Helen was mentioned, and Zanna wondered how he had coped with the loss of his stepmother and stepbrother. Alexander had said something about his having had nightmares for a few years afterwards. It couldn’t have been easy for a seven-year-old boy, whose family had already been torn apart once after his parents’ divorce, to deal with this second break. And there had been no mention of him in the letter, either. Had he got on with Helen, or had he resented this woman who had come and replaced his mother in his father’s affections? His closed manner seemed to forbid all enquiry of that nature.

‘It’s a pretty short letter for someone who was presumably planning to leave forever,’ said Garrett. ‘I wonder why she didn’t say more?’

‘That’s obvious enough,’ said Will. ‘She didn’t want to give any clues about where she was going.’

‘Silly question, but this
is
her handwriting, isn’t it?’ said Garrett. ‘I mean, is it certain that she wrote this letter?’

If Will understood the implication he gave no sign of it.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s definitely her writing.’

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ said Garrett, and took a photo of the letter with his phone, then handed it back. ‘Just for the record,’ he explained. ‘I’m a journalist. Force of habit.’

‘I don’t know what it can tell you,’ said Will.

‘You never know,’ said Garrett cheerfully.

‘I don’t suppose anyone managed to find the correspondence from the private investigation agency?’ said Zanna.

‘No,’ said Will. ‘Corbin had a look, but he thinks he must have thrown it out.’

‘Maybe the agency will have it on file,’ said Garrett. ‘What was the name?’

‘He says he can’t remember, but they were based in Newcastle.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Garrett. ‘That might have been worth a try.’

So that was another avenue of enquiry closed off. It seemed that circumstances had conspired to allow Helen to disappear without trace—as presumably she’d wanted.

‘Thanks,’ said Zanna to Will, as he stood up to leave.

‘Thank my dad,’ he replied. ‘He’s the one who sent me.’

He went out, leaving Zanna feeling as if she had been put in her place. His moods seemed unfathomable; one minute he seemed perfectly friendly and normal, then the next the bars came down and closed him off to the world. It did nothing to ease her nervousness in his presence.

‘I wonder how we can get another sample of her handwriting,’ said Garrett thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose your dad had any, did he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Zanna. ‘Why do you want another sample of her handwriting? You don’t mean you think someone else wrote the letter, do you?’

‘It’s always possible.’

‘So you really suspect foul play, then? But the police checked all this years ago, remember? If they looked into whether Alexander had an alibi for the time she disappeared, surely they must have had the sense to make sure the handwriting on the letter was actually hers.’

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘It was never an official missing persons case, was it? I’m surprised they even bothered checking that Alexander was where he said he was, to be honest. But I know—I’m probably barking up the wrong tree. There’s no reason to think anything dodgy happened. I just wanted to get a reaction from him, that’s all.’

‘Is that why you asked him whether it was her writing? I don’t think he’s the sort to react much to anything. He seems pretty unflappable. Besides, he was only seven, and he was away at the time. What could he know? Even if their disappearance was suspicious, he couldn’t possibly have been involved.’

‘Are you kidding? Have you ever met a seven-year-old? They’re pure evil. Or at least, I’m pretty sure I was.’

‘That figures,’ said Zanna, then looked at Garrett curiously. ‘You don’t like Will, do you?’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘But only because he fancies you.’

‘Does he?’

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He wanted to know if we were together.’

‘When did he ask you that?’

‘Last night. He didn’t ask in so many words, obviously, but I could tell what he was getting at.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘The truth, of course. I said it was an on-off thing.’

‘Garrett, that’s not—’ said Zanna, but didn’t finish, as Joe had just come in with some boxes from the cash and carry, and wanted her to hold the door for him. When she sat down again the moment was gone and Garrett was already talking of something else. She was cross at the impression he’d deliberately given to Will. They had had this discussion many times before, and she had thought he’d finally got the message, but it seemed he hadn’t.

She said nothing more to Garrett, although in reality she was dying to know exactly what Will had said. Did he really like her? He certainly seemed to look at her a lot, but half the time it seemed to be out of mere annoyance, as far as she could judge. Her attraction to him was greater than she liked—or felt ready for, given her still-delicate mental state, and she knew she should stop thinking about him, since those odd moods of his were unlikely to do her any good, but she couldn’t suppress a flutter of pleasure at the idea that he might be interested in her. Still, she told herself, it was probably just a passing thing with him—and even if it wasn’t, nothing was likely to happen with Garrett there, breathing down her neck. At that she immediately felt guilty. It wasn’t Garrett’s fault she couldn’t give him what he wanted. He was a good friend, and had given up his time and come all the way up here to help her. She should be grateful to him, and she was—or would have been had it not been for the complication of her confused emotions. It was all too much for her at the moment, and she’d probably be better off ignoring everything else and focusing on the reason she had come here in the first place, which was to find Helen.

Helen. At that, she suddenly remembered the voicemail message, and gave an exclamation.

‘What is it?’ said Garrett.

‘I got another message,’ said Zanna. ‘A voicemail this time.’

‘You’re kidding. When? What did it say?’

‘Last night, after I went to bed. It was some woman claiming to be Helen.’

‘What did she want?’

‘Nothing. She just kept saying, “It’s Helen, it’s Helen,” over and over again.’

‘Are you sure? What’s the point in that?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’ She dug out her phone and dialled the voicemail number. ‘No messages?’ she said after a minute. ‘Oh, come on, phone. I know I didn’t delete this one.’

‘Let me try,’ said Garrett. He dialled the number again and listened.

‘It was there, I know it was,’ said Zanna. ‘I didn’t delete it.’

‘You were drunk in charge of a mobile phone,’ said Garrett. ‘You must have pressed three by mistake.’

‘I didn’t,’ she insisted.

‘OK, then, we’ll say you didn’t. But the message has gone somewhere, because it’s certainly not here any more. Doesn’t matter, though, we can get the number from the call log if she didn’t withhold it. Let’s have a look. Nope—nope. What about this one?’

‘That’s the bank,’ said Zanna, glancing at it.

‘Then it’s not here either,’ said Garrett. ‘Are you sure there was a message? Can you remember what time it was left?’

‘About nine, I think. Nine-something, anyway.’

‘Right around the time you were singing your little heart out in here. It’s a pity you didn’t hear it then. We could have answered it and caught her by surprise. I’ve never spoken to a dead woman before.’

‘Will you stop that? It’s not funny.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he agreed. He was looking at her strangely. ‘Look, I know we joke about it, but are you sure you’re all right?’

‘What do you mean? Of course I’m all right.’

‘It’s just—’ he broke off.

‘What?’

‘Are you still on those tablets?’ he said suddenly.

‘You mean the antidepressants? I’m on a lower dose since last week,’ she said. ‘Every other day. I should be completely off them by Christmas.’

‘Isn’t that a bit soon?’ he said. ‘I mean, aren’t you supposed to come off them slowly?’

‘Yes, and I am,’ she said, but as she said it she realized she couldn’t recall when she’d last taken a tablet. She knew she’d taken one on Sunday, but on Tuesday she’d been rushing to pack and catch her train, so it was entirely possible that she’d missed that day’s dose. She certainly hadn’t taken one yesterday or today. Was that the explanation?

‘Can’t they cause hallucinations if you come off them too soon?’ said Garrett. ‘Obviously I’m not an expert or anything,’ he added hurriedly.

‘You think that’s what this is all about? You think the withdrawal is making me imagine things?’ she said.

‘Well, far be it from me to accuse you of being bonkers.’

‘Even though I am, you mean,’ she said tetchily, although she could hardly blame him for making the connection, since she’d wondered exactly the same thing only last night.