Bourn’s Edge (6 page)

The black car changing course at the last minute, pulling away from the kerb, and speeding off into the distance.

The images stopped, and it was Drysi’s turn to drop her head onto her paws and sigh.

“Well done,” Tarian told her.

She went through to the kitchen and returned with a couple of boar’s thighbones, the flesh still clinging to them. The dogs caught them with a snap of teeth. Tarian resumed her seat and stared into the log fire, as gnawing noises joined the crackle of flames.

She doubted Cassie was even aware of her narrow escape. But if the doctor hadn’t arrived at just the right moment . . .
They didn’t want a witness. Wonder who they are, and why they want to kill her
.

The jangling buzz of the ward hadn’t gone away. If anything it was growing louder. Which meant the danger wasn’t over. She glanced out the window and saw that night was drawing in. The thugs would be back—while Cassie was asleep and vulnerable.

She got to her feet and began to pace. Drysi and Anwar continued their gnawing while they watched her. She halted by the sitting room window and gazed down the hill. Then an idea struck her and she began to laugh. The dogs exchanged a glance.

“Don’t mind me,” she told them with a grin.

It took Tarian a few moments to find what she was after: a tattered street plan of Bourn’s Edge. She spread it out on a table, traced a circle with her forefinger around the village, and followed it with a series of glyphs. Then she muttered a few words and gestured. Her head throbbed in response and she waited for the spell’s backwash to pass.

“Look after her,” she murmured, and went back to her book.

Chapter 6

Cassie knuckled grit from her eyes and sat up. It had been the worst night’s sleep she’d had in ages. Around midnight, what sounded like foxes rummaging through the rubbish sacks had disturbed her. Except now she came to think about it, hadn’t the bin men collected those yesterday? Then there were the weird dreams. She drew back the curtains and blinked.

All around the B & B’s front garden and along the road in both directions lay scarecrows toppled like ninepins. As for the garden itself, it looked like a herd of wildebeest had stampeded through it. Part of the fence had been flattened, the wooden bench lay on its side, and where was Prince Charles? Heavy footprints marred the once pristine borders, and the carefully tended plants and shrubs had been squashed flat.

Foxes don’t do that
.

Cassie pulled her jacket on over her nightie and hurried downstairs. “Liz. Liz. Are you all right?” She followed the clatter and appetising smells to the kitchen, where her landlady was cooking breakfast.

Liz did a double take at Cassie’s appearance and gave her a rueful grin. “You’ve seen the state of my front garden, I take it?” Cassie nodded. “Don’t suppose you heard or saw anything last night?”

“I thought it was foxes. Sorry.”

“Never mind. I know who must have done it. Young hooligans. Just wait until I tell their mother.”

Liz added two eggs and some sliced mushrooms to the frying pan and four rashers of bacon to the grill. Her matter-of-fact manner reassured Cassie, and she pulled out a chair and sat down.

“So who was it?” Cassie rested her elbows on the kitchen table.

“The Scott twins, who else?” Liz set a place in front of Cassie. “Couple of tearaways, those two. Well, they’ve gone too far this time. I’ve called the police.” She popped sliced bread into the toaster.

“But why would they do such a thing?”

“For fun. They once emptied the contents of my rubbish sacks all over the garden.” Liz wiped her hands on her apron and began spooning hot fat over the eggs. “It’s going to make Tarian’s job harder too.”

The non sequitur puzzled Cassie. “What’s she got to do with it?”

“Oh didn’t you know?” The toaster pinged, and the toast popped up, nicely browned. “The vicar was called away at short notice. She’s judging the scarecrow contest.”

ARMITAGE SCOWLED AT the phone. “What do you mean:
scarecrows
attacked you? Have you been drinking?” He could have done with a drink himself. Last night had been a disturbed one. A prisoner further along the landing had spent it shouting obscenities and rattling his cell door.

The voice at the other end continued its bleating, and Armitage could feel his blood pressure rising.

“For God’s sake, Rigby! Enough excuses. Four hulking men against a girl? How hard can it be?” He realised he was shouting and lowered his voice. “Look, let me spell it out. I’m paying you to sort out this little problem, and you’re going to do it or find me someone who can. So get back up there
now
and bloody take care of the Lewis girl.”

He switched off the phone and flung it across the room. Not hard enough to damage it though. A new phone would cost, and he didn’t have money to burn.

TARIAN SHOVED DRYSI out of her way and opened the oven door. The casserole was on schedule, so she left it to finish cooking, moved to the window, and stared out at the darkening sky.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had invited a mortal to dinner. But there was something about Cassie she found appealing. Now she wondered if her invitation had been a wise one. Still, the opportunity to find out more about Cassie and her mysterious pursuers was too good to pass up.

The day had started unpromisingly. One of the vicar’s parishioners had slogged up the hill to tell Tarian what had happened overnight to the scarecrows and that the Scott boys were at the police station being given a good talking to. Tarian suppressed a twinge of guilt—the boys might be innocent
this
time, but punishment was long overdue for past misdeeds. Pretending to be as amazed and outraged at the news as her informant, she said she would be at Liz Hayward’s house in quarter of an hour to assess the situation.

The chaos that greeted her astounded her. She hadn’t expected her spell to result in this much destruction. The men pursuing Cassie must have put up quite a fight. With a rueful grimace, she set about retrieving the situation.

“There’s no time to return the scarecrows to their gardens,” she told the villagers gathered there, “so I’ll judge them here.” Some grumbled at that, claiming their scarecrows couldn’t be judged fairly unless they were
in situ
, but a look from her quietened them down.

Scarecrow heads had gone missing, and twiggy limbs had been snapped in two. On Tarian’s instructions, people scoured the village for scattered body parts and accessories, such as the pirate’s parrot and the burglar’s bag of swag, and reunited them with their owners, now laid out in a line on the pavement outside the B & B.

She gave the entrants an hour to repair the worst of the damage to their entries, an ultimatum that brought yet more complaints. But a tart reminder that the contest was just a bit of fun meant to raise funds for the church spire reduced the discontent to a manageable level.

But if the logistics of judging had become simpler, the rest of the process was no less problematic. She had no idea how the vicar went about it, but she had no intention of tossing a coin or of putting names in a hat.

It was at that point that Cassie, bright-eyed with curiosity, had emerged from the B & B’s front door, introduced herself, and offered to help. From that point on, Tarian’s day had improved, and the chore of judging had become almost enjoyable.

“The problem is, it’s like comparing apples with oranges,” she confided to Cassie, who was jotting down notes about each scarecrow and had asked what criteria Tarian was using. “There should be some points awarded for imagination and for choice of materials, I suppose. Other than that, I’m just going with my gut.”

“Well, why not? I’ve seen your paintings in the art gallery, by the way. I like them.”

“Thank you. They’re not to everyone’s taste.”

“Your figures are very stylised,” agreed Cassie, “but they look
right
for the setting, somehow.”

Which was perceptive of her, and just the first of many indications that Cassie was more than just a pretty face and shapely figure. She had a sense of humour too, and Tarian found herself smiling at the comments Cassie made as they progressed along the row of supine scarecrows.

In the end, it had come down to a toss-up between the Morris Dancer and the Pirate, and though Cassie tried to persuade her to change her mind, Tarian plumped for the Morris Dancer. She tore out a blank page from Cassie’s notebook, scribbled on it the name of the winner and runner up, signed and dated it, and pinned it to the notice board in the church hall.

Then, unwilling to cut such an enjoyable day short, she’d asked Cassie if she would like to come to dinner that evening. To the surprise of both of them, she suspected, Cassie accepted.

Drysi’s ears pricked up, and, tail wagging, she hurried to join Anwar who was waiting just inside the front door. Tarian checked the clock and smiled. She found Cassie on her doorstep, arm raised, about to knock.

“Oh!” Cassie pressed her hand to her heart. “You startled me.”

“Anwar and Drysi knew you were here,” said Tarian. “Come in.” She stepped back, a word of command keeping the dogs from pushing their noses into her visitor’s crotch.

“Let me take your coat.”

“Thanks.” Cassie unbuttoned her suede jacket and eased out of it. “Mm. Something smells nice.”

“It’s boar casserole.” Tarian hung up the jacket. “Thought it would make a change from pasta.”

Cassie chuckled. “I’d forgotten you stayed at the B & B. Liz does serve pasta rather a lot, doesn’t she? Um, boar, did you say?” Her brows drew together. “I can’t say I’ve ever had that.”

“You’ll like it. Kitchen’s through there.” Tarian pointed. “Let’s go through.”

“While I think, I was hoping you might show me around your studio later,” said Cassie, looking hopeful. “If that isn’t too cheeky.”

“Not cheeky at all.” Tarian checked her watch. “Dinner won’t be ready for another quarter of an hour. Why don’t I show you round now?” She ushered a pleased Cassie to the door at the far end of the hall and followed her through it, the dogs bringing up the rear.

“Wow!” Cassie stopped in front of the easel and admired her work in progress. “This is wonderful, Tarian.”

“It’s not quite right, but I’m getting there.”

“You certainly are. Where do you get your inspiration from?”

“The forest. My imagination. Anything and everything around me.”

Cassie smiled at that and nodded.

Tarian watched her walk round the studio, taking in every detail, even the labels on the tubes and jars of paint laid out on the trestle table. Cassie crouched next to the paintings stacked with their faces to the wall and turned to look up at her.

“May I?”

“Be my guest. They’re unfinished though,” warned Tarian. “Sketches and daubs I’ve given up on.”

Cassie thumbed through the canvases, stopping every now and then to make noises that, to Tarian’s ear at least, sounded genuinely interested or appreciative.

She’d give me a swelled head, if I let her
. She was beginning to feel fond of Cassie.

The aroma drifting through from the kitchen told her the boar was cooked. “We should eat.”

Cassie stood up at once and came towards her. “I wish I could paint.”

“Have you ever tried?” Tarian ushered her out into the hall once more.

“It’s one of many things I plan to try one day.” Cassie’s eyes widened as she noticed the boar spear hanging on the hall wall. “That looks lethal. Is it real?”

Tarian urged her past it and into the kitchen. “‘One day’ may never come, you know.”

“I know.” Cassie sighed and took the chair that Tarian indicated, looking startled when the dogs plumped themselves down on either side of her and rested their chins on her shoes. “Are your dogs this friendly with everyone?”

No, was the short answer. “They like you.” She wondered whether to tell them to leave Cassie alone, but Cassie didn’t seem to mind their attentions. She couldn’t help but notice how at ease Cassie was. She had her elbows on the table and her chin propped on one hand. For some reason, Tarian found it gratifying.

“What breed are they?” asked Cassie.

“Wolfhounds.” She pulled on a pair of oven gloves and stooped to take the casserole out of the oven.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but they don’t look like any wolfhound I’ve ever seen.”

Tarian straightened and put the hot dish on a trivet. “That’s because the ones you’ve seen aren’t authentic.” She began to divide up the dinner.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re crosses.” Tarian had done her research. “With breeds like Tibetan Mastiff, Borzoi, Great Dane. Who knows what else?” She set a steaming plate in front of Cassie and took her own place at the table.

“Really?” Cassie picked up her knife and fork. “What did you say their names are: Dryser and An something?”

“Drysi and Anwar.” Tarian speared a piece of meat with her fork.

“So they’re rare, then?”

Mouth full, Tarian nodded.

“You should breed them. They must be worth a fortune.”

“I suppose they are.”
Now there’s an idea. If demand for my paintings dries up, I can always mate you two and sell your pups
.

At the thought, the dogs’ heads came up and they gave Tarian an indignant glance. She suppressed a snort. Point made, they settled their chins on Cassie’s feet once more.

Cassie chewed. “This is delicious. What’s in the sauce?”

“Mushrooms, redcurrants, red wine.”

“I haven’t seen boar on sale in Bourn’s Edge. Do you shop in Ludlow?”

“Sometimes.” Tarian thought it best not to mention that she had killed the boar herself. Mortals were surprisingly squeamish. “If I can get myself organised enough to catch the bus. There’s only one a day.”

“You don’t drive?”

Tarian shook her head. She could make a warhorse do whatever she wanted, but automobiles were another matter. She reached for the bottle. “Would you like some wine?”

“Please.”

She poured them both a glass and watched Cassie relax in her chair and take an appreciative sip.