Dawn Brown - The Witch Of Stonecliff

Eleri blew out a sigh. She had more to worry about than her housekeeper’s suspicious stares and innuendos. Following Mrs. Voyle, she trudged over the wide strip of wet grass between the estate wall and the road. The tangled blades wrapped around her mud-caked boots, threatening to trip her up. Her luck, she’d be the one to land on her face.

Wind gusted with mossy smells of rotting leaves, wet earth and the salty tang of the sea hidden by the woods. Bare branches only starting to green with spring rattled in the breeze, and frigid water droplets sprayed the back of her neck. She hunched her shoulders so her coat collar protected her bare skin.

This morning’s rain had stopped, but if the steel-colored clouds hanging low in the sky were any indication, the reprieve was temporary.

As Eleri drew closer to the wall, the words painted two feet tall in the same red slashing strokes as the others stopped her.

Killer.

Burn Witch.

Well, her vandal was consistent if not terribly original. “I’m beginning to detect a theme.”

“Whoever’s responsible had quite a busy night. Did you not hear anything unusual?” Another sidelong glance.

“Obviously not, or I’d have put a stop to it.” She bent forward and rubbed the edge of a letter with her thumb hoping the paint might smudge. Nothing. The stone had already absorbed the paint. Would turpentine take it out? Or would she have to replace the stone? And how much did it cost to replace three hundred-year-old stone? She didn’t have a clue, masonry not exactly being her forte.

She folded her arms, then lifted one hand to her mouth and nipped at her thumbnail.

Mrs. Voyle sniffed. “That’s a filthy habit.”

A little of the woman’s usual condemnation crept into her voice, and it was almost a relief—a cantankerous Mrs. Voyle was preferable to a wary one. Still, she shot the woman a hard glare and flicked her nail loudly off her front tooth before turning back to the wall.

“Repairing this mess will be dear,” Mrs. Voyle continued, her words like a probing finger in a gaping wound. “I don’t know where your father will find the money.”

Neither did she, actually. There was precious little left for the day-to-day running of the estate—and her attorney. Maybe she could convince her father to sell off another few acres of land. He’d been making a living from the proceeds of parcelling off property for years now. Convincing him to sell a little more shouldn’t be too difficult. Especially since he had so little time left.

Persuading him to sell the estate entirely was out of the question. He refused to let the house go. Though, why anyone would willingly stay on these tainted grounds escaped her. Burning the whole thing down and collecting insurance sounded good to her. Hell, burning the place down for nothing provided she could walk away and never look back sounded even better.

The low hum of a car engine cut the quiet. Mrs. Voyle turned to see who was driving past, but Eleri tensed and kept her attention fixed on the wall, heat creeping up her neck into her cheeks.

“What in the world could this be?” Mrs. Voyle said.

Eleri looked up in time to catch sight of a dark blue sedan disappearing down the driveway. Her stomach sank like an icy stone.

Well, this was it. They’d come at last.

“Expecting visitors?” Mrs. Voyle asked.

“No,” Eleri lied. Panic squeezed her chest, and the urge to bolt was nearly overwhelming. She’d been expecting this moment for weeks now. Every night when she went to bed, her last thought before falling asleep was tomorrow the good detective would come to arrest her.

Reece, her sister’s boyfriend, had been certain Detective Harding would be very careful before arresting her, dotting every i and crossing every t . Last month, her father’s nurse had murdered two people. And while Harding had been doing his best to pin the murders on Eleri, Ruth had nearly managed to kill Reece and Eleri’s sister, Brynn.

Eleri let out a slow breath. It seemed Harding finally had everything he needed to bring her down—even if the evidence was wrong.

“I need to get back.” She turned and kicked her way through the grass toward the driveway. Mrs. Voyle huffed and puffed behind her, but Eleri didn’t slow her pace. She wanted distance, some quiet so she could think.

She passed the stone pillars flanking both sides of the drive and a cold weight settled on her chest. The forest stretched out on either side of her. A thin layer of mist hovered above the leaf-covered ground, snaking between tree trunks and shifting with the breeze like a living, breathing thing. Skeletal branches tangled overhead like arthritic fingers, but offered little protection against the drizzle that had started falling again.

Her calf muscles tightened with the urge to run as fast and as far as she could. But she continued toward the house. Running now would only make her look guiltier, and there was nowhere to go, anyway.

Memories of men’s bodies hauled from the black waters of The Devil’s Eye filled her head. One after another—twelve in total. Her pace faltered and she stopped midstep. Mrs. Voyle bumped into her from behind and let out a soft gasp.

“What are you on about?” The housekeeper’s voice sounded reedy, and she scurried past Eleri.

Swallowing hard against the swirling in her belly, Eleri forced her feet to move again.Flashes of the house appeared between the branches. A section of slate roofline. A peaked window. Then the trees fell away and Stonecliff stood before her in all its hideous majesty.

God, she hated this place.

She’d tried to build a life away from Stonecliff, away from her past. And after a few years, she’d actually fooled herself into believing she’d managed to do it. Then Detective Harding had turned up at her flat with questions about a murdered man and she’d come to the sad realization that this place would never let her go.

So she’d returned to her father’s estate, planning to clear her name—it was the only way she could see of putting all this behind her—and she still planned to prove she was innocent. Unfortunately, she was a little fuzzy on the details just now.

Her gaze shifted to the car she’d seen turn down the drive and a small flicker of relief lit inside her. While the vehicle was the same blue as Harding’s sedan, it wasn’t his car, and she doubted the man’s fortunes had improved so that he could afford a BMW on his policeman’s salary.

So who, then? Another bloody reporter? Some passerby hoping to gawk at The Witch of Stonecliff?

Fast fury snaked inside her until her entire body quivered. She’d give the bastard a look, all right. She’d give him a close encounter he wouldn’t forget.

She strode across the drive, oblivious to the rain pelting her skin, her boots crunching over the wet gravel. Her step faltered when a man got out of the car, walked around and opened the boot. He unzipped a suitcase, pulled out a jacket and shrugged it on.

A trespasser with luggage? Unlikely. Though, very possibly another one of Hugh Warlow’s derelict hires. Her anger eased, replaced with annoyance instead. Had the butler learned nothing after the mess with Reece? Warlow couldn’t possibly have investigated this man thoroughly. He could be anyone.

The man tensed as she drew closer—no doubt her sloshing footsteps in the pooling puddles gave away her approach.

“Would you mind telling me just who in the hell you are?” she demanded.

He turned slowly, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk. He was oddly attractive, tall and lean, a shade away from skinny. His thick brown hair, damp from the rain, slicked away from the finely drawn features of his face. “I’m Kyle Peirs.”