The Fall Girl (3 page)

“In what way?”

“A bad way. I tried to shake it off. But by then I was down on one knee, with my wand aloft, and this bolt of energy shooting through me. The wand didn’t exactly glow, but it was a
bit of a Darth Vader moment. I felt this... this... presence... expanding and floating above me.”

“You mean you saw it... her?” Lexy’s hands were clenched.

“No. I stared down at the ground. I was too scared to raise my eyes in case the spell was broken. But she was there, all right.” Rowana swallowed. “Thing is, when it came to
it, instead of asking Helandra to help us with the shop and the rent and all that worthwhile stuff, I... well,... I found myself blurting out something else.”

“What?” For the love of...

“I said ‘Make me rich, Helandra. Whatever it takes.’”

“Ah.”

“It was, like, a moment of madness. I knew you should never do magic for personal gain. But, before I had a chance to take it back, I heard a noise – a door banging. It was Gabrielle
and Russell, back from the cinema.”

“What did you do?”

Rowana gave a short laugh. “Dived out of the circle, grabbed up my robe, blew out the candles, shoved everything into a bag and legged it up the fire escape to my room. Not the best way to
end an invocation, but I knew I’d blown it, anyway. Even so, part of me still thought Helandra would sort it all out. You know – lead me to some kind of lost inheritance, or
something.” She laughed again, harshly this time. “Trouble is, she did.”

Lexy leaned forward, palms up. “Rowana – Helandra doesn’t exist.”

“So it was just a coincidence that this woman fell from an upstairs window straight over the balcony, the very next morning after I’d done the magic, and died, leaving me a small
fortune?”

The very next morning? Lexy tried not to hesitate. “Yes.”

Rowana looked almost truculent. “So you don’t want to take this job?”

“I didn’t say that,” Lexy replied. “And I agree that it’s a bit odd that Elizabeth fell backwards to her death.” To put it mildly. “I’d like to go
up to the cottage and take a look around.”

“I’ve got the key here,” said Rowana, digging once again in her bag.

“How come? I thought you said...”

“When we went up there yesterday I found it under a pot by the front door. I didn’t tell the other two because I didn’t want to go in. Too creepy.”

She handed the key to Lexy. “Please just go there. See if you can find out anything. It was the front bedroom window she went out of. On to the rockery.”

Lexy grimaced.

“That’s why I didn’t want to go there.” Rowana looked down at her watch.

“One more question,” said Lexy.

“Oh, no – I’m going to be late. Dad’s waiting at the pier. He doesn’t know anything about this. He’d go loony tunes if he did. Got to go.”

“But... ” said Lexy.

“I’ll call you,” the girl said. “We can meet somewhere, when I can get away, that is.”

“But...”

Lexy’s protest hung in the air. Rowana had slipped out of the door, and was clattering down the wooden stairs that led to ground level.

Lexy stood at the window, clutching the key, and watched the girl run across the scrubby garden, her long hair flying out behind her, over the river bridge, and up the road towards the distant
pier.

Kinky, disturbed by the drama of the moment, jumped awkwardly from his perch and made his way through the still open living room door and down the steps. Moments later Lexy heard the scrabbling
sounds that told her he was clambering through the cat flap that a previous occupant had thoughtfully put in the main door to the cabin.

Lexy paced around her octagonal living room. How had she managed to get talked into this? More importantly, should she try to get out of it before it was too late? But how was she going to
contact Rowana? She pulled up short by one of the windows, glanced out, then stared hard through the fading, slanting rays of sun.

“What the... ?”

Cursing freely, Lexy clattered down to the front door herself, and yanked it open.

“Kinky!” Her voice was unnaturally sharp.

The chihuahua, despite his residual limp, appeared with alacrity around the side of the cabin.

“You didn’t see it, then?” Lexy grabbed his collar, relieved. “That big black dog... thing? Running down the edge of the dyke?”

He couldn’t have seen it, otherwise he would have done his usual party trick. But she’d probably got there just in time.

Lexy hustled him back into the cabin and locked the cat flap. Although he was a choice example of the smallest dog breed in the world, Kinky was blissfully unaware of this fact. He would
cheerfully square up to rottweilers, rampaging horses, harbour seals, ruddy great herring gulls... and anyone who took a pop at Lexy. In fact he had a past history of it, which explained the scars,
and the limp. Whatever it was out there, soon as he saw it, he’d have it. No doubt about that.

Lexy shook herself. There wasn’t anything out there. Not of the sort she thought she’d seen, anyway. That loopy kid had got right under her skin. She was starting to imagine things
herself.

She was in pitch darkness, her heart slamming against her ribs. She had been running – no, bolting – from some faceless pursuer. But now her legs had turned to
lead. She could only stagger, unable even to turn, while the thing behind her gained ground, until she could feel its hot breath on her neck.

A claw raked her cheek.

Lexy yelled out, her hand grabbing at the flowery curtain beside her.

Flowery curtain?

Pale dawn light filtered into the room.

“Kinky! You little shite!” Lexy shoved the chihuahua away, glancing at her watch. Six-thirty. She groaned. He usually had the decency to wait until at least ten past seven before
waking her up.

Her heart was still racing. She lay back, trying to control her breathing. Perhaps the dream was a warning from her own subconscious, telling her not to get mixed up with that Paterson girl and
her peculiar paranormal problems. And somehow, that black... thing she’d seen the day before, that was all tangled up with it. That’s what had been chasing her.

Lexy gave a snort. She was going soft. There was no black creature! It had just been a trick of the light. There was nothing supernatural going on, either in Clopwolde or in the world according
to Rowana Paterson. The kid hadn’t killed Elizabeth Cassall by magic, and the bad dream was just...well, a bad dream.

Lexy would nip over to Four Winds Cottage today, have a quick look around, just for the sake of form, then come back and convince Rowana that Elizabeth Cassall had toppled over her balcony
accidentally. Just as the coroner would soon confirm. Charge her for a half day, seeing as the kid was flush. But she wasn’t going to take advantage. And she wasn’t going to have any
more peculiar visions or bizarre dreams. That would be an end to it.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Kinky dashed eagerly to the stairs.

“No way! It’s too early for breakfast.”

He sloped back, tail down, jumped on the bed, and sat with his back to Lexy. She rolled over with a sigh. Might as well get up and feed the little git. She wasn’t going to be able to get
back to sleep again, not now.

Nevertheless she lay back for a moment and surveyed her surroundings with quiet pleasure.

Her bedroom used to be a fishing-net loft, and was accessed by a set of steep wooden steps from the main living area. Not quite what she’d been accustomed to in her previous life as a
trophy wife in South Kensington, but it suited her just fine. And it provided a perfect refuge from Gerard Warwick-Holmes, the husband from whom she had fled three months earlier. Each passing day
at Clopwolde, Lexy had relaxed a little more. He hadn’t tracked her down yet. Perhaps he never would. A genteel Suffolk coastal village had to be one of the last places he’d look.

Lexy smiled up at the protective rafters over her head. The sturdy wooden cabin used to be a base for offshore fishermen in the early nineteenth century. They took boats out into Clopwolde Bay,
in the North Sea, a rich herring ground. At least it was until they’d caught them all.

There were about a dozen cabins originally, but with the demise of the herring population, half got neglected and fell down. Then the remaining ones were rediscovered by artists, and after that
the river fishermen and holidaymakers moved in. Suddenly the humble dwellings were commanding as much as a semi-detached house in Reigate.

Lexy’s friend Edward owned the cabin she was now in. He wasn’t really a beach hut kind of man, and she had been desperate for a base, as her previous home had met with an unfortunate
end three months previously. So an arrangement had been made.

Lexy sat up and glanced out of the window. She hadn’t been wrong about that marquee yesterday – some kind of tent village was springing up on the opposite bank, a sea mist rising
rapidly behind it. Obviously a local show of some sort, probably involving home-made jam and peculiarly-shaped vegetables.

She continued to watch the activities, until the rising swirls of mist began to obscure the bank and blot out the sunlight.

“Right, I’m gonna have a quick shower, then I’ll get your grub,” she informed the chihuahua’s stiff, caramel-coloured back. She took the three strides into the
small bathroom and picked up her toothbrush. A minute later she heard Kinky barking savagely in the room below.

Muttering darkly, Lexy descended backwards down the steep steps to the living area, and joined him at the window that looked west, over the water meadows. Kinky’s hackles were raised, not
that anyone would notice, they were so tiny, and he was scrabbling at the window.

She stared out. Nothing, of course.

“Knock it off, Kinky. You’ve got me down here now, which was what you wanted.”

Lexy tore open a packet of dog biscuits and poured them into the chihuahua’s bowl. Uncharacteristically, he ignored the sound, remaining with his nose pushed against the window.

She turned to go back to her shower. Perhaps he’d gone deaf?

“Oi, dummy – your breakfast’s here.”

He gave a sharp bark.

Lexy stopped short, then moved to the window, staring into the eerie vapours outside.

What the hell was that, making its way along the raised meadow dyke to the side of the cabin? She pressed her face against the cold glass.

It was the thing she’d glimpsed the day before! Big, black and shaggy, with a large head, and gleaming yellow eyes. If it was a dog, it was a huge one. No wonder Kinky was so incensed. At
least he’d seen it this time, which meant it was real. She blinked rapidly. Damn – it had disappeared into the mist.

She ran for the door. Kinky leapt after her. If Lexy wanted to chase the black interloper along the river front wearing just her t-shirt and undies, he wasn’t going to argue.

They sped down the wooden stairs together, Lexy just managing to grab the chihuahua before he launched himself through the cat flap, locked or not. She fumbled to unlatch the front door, one
hand on the dog’s collar. They peered out. The cold sea mist was now furling around the cabin, making it difficult to see anything further than ten yards away, although Lexy could just make
out the ghostly outlines of the marquees on the bank opposite. Metallic clanks and clashes echoed from the site. Kinky struggled to be free.

“No way,” Lexy muttered. She reached up with one hand to grab a small chain from a hook by the door, and clipped it to his collar. Until she’d cleared up this mystery, Kinky
would have to be supervised at all times. She couldn’t afford any more vet bills. And she wasn’t talking about vet bills for the chihuahua.

“Morning, moi luvver!”

Lexy jumped violently as one of her neighbours, a hale and hearty type called Lonny, loomed out of the mist, carrying a fishing line.

“Blimey, girl, aren’t you cold in that little outfit? Oh, yeah – I can see you are. Want warming up?”

“No – you’re all right, “ Lexy assured him, folding her arms in front of her chest, wishing that Kinky would hurry up with the activity in which he was now engaged.
“Er... Lonny – let me know if you see anything unusual today.”

The fisherman stopped with a grin. “Like what? A bird in scanty underwear?”

“No,” said Lexy, patiently. “A... well, a big, black, shaggy dog-thing, actually.”

“You mean Old Shuck?” The fisherman gave an explosive laugh.

“What – you know it? Is it someone’s dog?” Lexy felt a pulse of relief. She’d have to keep Kinky under close surveillance until she had a chance to introduce him to
this particular canine neighbour. Must be a wolfhound or something. But at least it wasn’t...

“No, luvver. Old Shuck’s one of them local legends. A ’uge black hound of the Devil. Oh, dear, oh, dear – you ain’t seen him, ’ave you?”

“Course not,” Lexy snapped. “Come on, Kinky.” She dragged the indignant chihuahua back into the hallway, listening to Lonny’s laughter echoing through the mist.

A mythical hell hound. Great. Lexy might kid herself she wasn’t superstitious, but even she knew it was supposed to be bad luck to see one of those things on the loose.

She began to trudge back up the stairs, her expression dubious. No: that thing she and Kinky had seen had been flesh and blood – she would stake her life on that.

Two hours later, dressed in her usual combats, t-shirt and faded denim jacket, Lexy left the cabin with the chihuahua, both peering apprehensively out first. The mist was
clearing as quickly as it had arrived, blown away by a brisk sea breeze that Lexy was by now accustomed to, after three months of living on the east coast. She unlocked a rusting lime green Fiat
Panda parked in a lean-to next to the cabin.

“Four Winds Cottage, Freshing Hill,” Lexy muttered, checking she had the key that Rowana had thrust at her the day before. Freshing Hill was only a couple of miles down the coast
– she’d checked it on the map. Probably take at least twenty minutes to drive there though, as she’d need to negotiate the network of little lanes through the farms and salt
marshes south of Clopwolde.

Lexy checked her watch. There were a couple of things she needed to do first. She turned the ignition key a few times, waiting anxiously for the engine to fire. Depressingly aware that the car
was on its last legs, she drove into Clopwolde village centre, stopping off for a local newspaper. As usual, visitors cluttered the picturesque high street, and as usual, Lexy had to park on a
double-yellow.