The House Sitter Read online

  Copyright © 2016 Jill Barry

  The right of Jill Barry to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Crooked Cat Books

  This edition published in 2019 by Headline Accent

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  Cover images: front door © Alexey Fedorenko/Shutterstock; shadow © Chipmunk131/Shutterstock

  eISBN: 9781 7861 5 7331

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  Jill Barry is a former air hostess, secretary and guest house owner who now finds inspiration for her novels in her own quiet corner of Wales. She is the author of various contemporary and historical romance novels, including Love Thirty, Love on the Menu and Homefront. She also writes novellas and short stories. The House Sitter is Jill’s first venture into the crime genre.

  For more information about Jill Barry please visit www.jillbarry.com or find her on Facebook and Twitter.

  About the Book

  When Suzanne and Eddie decide to put their house on the market and move closer to their daughter, they neglect to tell their friend and house sitter Ruth.

  So, when Ruth finds a ‘For Sale’ sign perched outside their front door, she is outraged. She never imagined they would leave.

  What follows is a series of events that are set to ruin the couple’s plans – with dramatic and shocking consequences that no one could have predicted . . .

  For James and Penny

  Chapter One

  Bethan Harley closed her eyes and savoured the caffeine buzz from her first swallow of strong, black coffee.

  “Hi, Mum.” Her seventeen-year-old daughter headed for the fridge. “You look much too chilled for a Tuesday morning.” Poppy took out a carton of semi-skimmed. “Nothing to do with Dad, I suppose?”

  Bethan felt a pang. Her daughter’s tone was too hopeful. “Sorry, lovey, but I haven’t spoken to your father since the weekend. I was just thinking about work.”

  Poppy nodded. “Yeah, right.”

  Bethan looked down at her coffee. “You know I enjoy my job, Poppy.”

  “Chill, Mum. You don’t need to sound so defensive.” Poppy placed her bowl of muesli on the breakfast counter and clambered onto the tall stool next to her mother’s.

  “I’ve taken on two or three gems lately. Most importantly, The Sugar House.”

  “Is that the one you said you could imagine living in?”

  “Yep.” Bethan knew better than to bang on. “I’m thrilled to have it on our books, but don’t worry, I’m not thinking of buying it.”

  “That’s a relief.” Poppy bent over her mobile. “I’d hate to be stuck out there in the wilds.”

  “It’s not that bad, lovey. Three Roads is a great place to live if you enjoy walking and – and, well, want to escape the real world.”

  Poppy smirked and looked down at her phone again.

  Bethan knew her daughter mightn’t care about peace and quiet, but many people were willing to pay top dollar for it. She also knew Eddie and Suzanne Deacon, vendors of this latest acquisition, had obtained valuations from two rival negotiators but Briggs, Caldwell and Balls was the agency watching the others eat their dust.

  The Sugar House was a peach of a property. Some houses spoke to you the moment you stepped over the threshold. This residence welcomed you. Stole your breath. Yet it merged with the landscape like a 1950s Sunday school teacher unbuttoning her cardigan at a village fete. There was nothing flashy about the renovations and the vendors were proud of their house whisperer skills. To Bethan’s experienced eye, they’d created a home possessing what many people called the wow factor.

  A home. Not a house. Tucked away, up a track, in an almost forgotten community non-existent on any bus timetable, it demanded a buyer seeking a tranquil lifestyle, rather than a pleasant base for commuting to Cardiff.

  Poppy looked up. “If Dad does ring, ask him when his next leave is.”

  “I won’t forget.” Bethan glanced at the clock. “Hey, time I got moving.”

  “It’d be cool to do something together when he’s home again – the three of us, I mean.”

  Bethan slid off her stool. “Lots of teenagers wouldn’t be seen dead with their parents.”

  “But I’m not like lots of teenagers, Mum. Funnily enough, family’s important to me.” Poppy switched on Radio 1.

  Stung, Bethan went to get ready for work. One of her dark trouser suits plus silk shirt was already hanging outside the wardrobe.

  She still brooded as she drove across the Llanbrenin Wells boundary and headed for the car park, ready to work at the former spa town’s branch office.

  Her usual base was the Knightly branch near her home. The home she and Tim had chosen with such joy. When Poppy had come along, Tim described his daughter’s arrival as a shooting star showering them with fairy dust. Bethan smiled at this memory as she undid her seat belt. He’d soon toppled off Cloud Nine and they’d got on with life, dirty nappies, teething and all.

  So how ironic was it when, at the point where Bethan and her husband could afford to live somewhere of The Sugar House’s calibre, their relationship had wavered? She heaved a sigh. Checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. Perfect Plum. A shade her daughter had chosen.

  When Bethan walked into her office, she filed away her personal life. She needed to check how this quarter’s sales were going. One of her assistants had recently handed in her notice and Bethan must decide whether to advertise the job vacancy as part-time. Sales might dwindle now the summer hustle was fading. But what if her feeling about a golden autumn proved correct and the mid Wales property market didn’t falter, despite these first damp September days?

  With early browsers in mind, she turned the door sign around. Walked through the reception area and sat down at her desk. It would be fabulous if The Sugar House attracted a viewing today. Now that really would convince the vendors they’d chosen the right estate agent.

  �
��Can you smell the rain, Dylan?” Ruth Morgan stepped inside her back door, inspected her fingernails and stooped over the old Belfast sink to scrub away soil.

  The sleek black cat sprang onto the kitchen window seat, stared at his mistress and scrabbled his claws into the cushion’s faded sunset fabric. Ruth barely had time to dry her hands before the telephone rang. She picked up the call, unsurprised at hearing the voice on the other end.

  “It’s Suzanne here, Ruth. How are you? I hope you don’t think I’ve been avoiding you, my dear. It’s just that Eddie and I have been rather busy of late.”

  Ruth opened her mouth to speak.

  “I know it’s a bit early but I – that is we – wondered whether you could pop down.”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” said Ruth. “And no, I don’t think you’ve been avoiding me. I’ve been busy too, you know. I’ve only come in from the garden because there’s rain on the way.”

  “Ah.”

  Ruth listened to Suzanne’s silence.

  “But would you be free to come and see us? We do need to talk to you.”

  “Do you mean now?” Ruth eyed the slice of mountain range visible through her window, its distant peaks veiled in misty cobwebs.

  “The sooner the better, to be honest. We have some important news, though I’m afraid it’ll come as a shock.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “See you soon, then?”

  “All right but I don’t like shocks, Suzanne.”

  Her friend had cut the call. Ruth replaced the receiver, left wondering if either of the couple had been diagnosed with some life-threatening disease and, if so, which one was the victim. Expectation stirred within her, a mix of euphoria and apprehension. She grabbed her waxed jacket from the wobbly hook behind the door and put it on. Picking up her old black umbrella, she reminded herself, no matter what this was all about; she’d be ready with sympathy and advice.

  Outside, the first fingers of dampness found her shiver spot. Eager to find out what was happening at The Sugar House, she quickened her pace. As the road straightened out, she noticed something so astounding, something so unforeseen, she halted, sucking in her breath as if thwacked in the chest by a cricket ball.

  Planted upon the grass verge facing the road stood a sale board, displaying the red and white logo of Briggs, Caldwell and Balls, estate agents. Polite people knew them as BCB. Not so polite people referred to them as something far ruder. Ruth knew the bilingual reverse of the sale sign would read Ar Werth in tune with procedures. But whichever language it was, how could those words be true?

  Rain fell now. Horizontal. Sneaking in from the right. Seeking her out. She put up her umbrella, tilting it sideways, as if shielding herself from something more sinister than a shower and hurried down the unmade road towards the house, thoughts buzzing like furious wasps.

  Her hostess must have been watching for her. Before the tip of Ruth’s finger touched the bell push, the elegant timber door swung open to reveal a petite figure. Why must Suzanne dress as though she still controlled the reception desk of the English seaside hotel she and Eddie once owned? Ruth eyed the knife-edge crease in her friend’s navy gabardine trousers, her fine wool sweater in baby pink. A deeper pink silk scarf aimed to conceal the aging skin of Suzanne’s throat. A wide, welcoming smile aimed to conceal guilt over hiding an important decision.

  “I see you’re using your Mary Poppins brolly! Very wise. Come in, Ruth, do.”

  Ruth wiped her feet on the coir doormat. How typical of the Deacons to have bought a mat embossed with the image of a big, friendly canine. The item doubtless cost twice as much as the ordinary sort.

  “If I’d realised it was turning so nasty out there, I’d have asked Eddie to fetch you. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way the rain creeps across the landscape.” Suzanne’s expression changed into sucking lemons mode as she propped the dripping umbrella in the porch and shut the door in the weather’s face.

  She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss Ruth’s cheek. Patted her friend’s severe dark bob. “You’re so lucky the damp doesn’t frizz your hair. Come on through, dear. Eddie’s been playing with that new coffee machine of his again. He might even have got it right this time.”

  The woman was twittering like a nervous fledgling. Ruth’s lips twisted in a grim smile as she followed Suzanne towards the flight deck of the Starship Enterprise, her private name for the streamlined kitchen Suzanne and Eddie had installed. The aroma of gourmet ground coffee beans drifted into Ruth’s nostrils.

  “Do sit down, Ruth.” Suzanne remained where she was.

  Eddie stayed on his side of the central table. “Greetings, my dear. Coffee’s on the way.”

  Suzanne still hovered. “We do appreciate your coming round so quickly.”

  “I imagine I’m here so you can tell me why you’ve put your house on the market?”

  Ruth dragged out a chair, not missing the surprised glances the couple exchanged. Eddie hunched his shoulders. Shuffled his feet. Glanced at his wife a second time, his expression uneasy.

  “How, er, how did you find out? Eddie and I decided to keep our decision secret from people until the sale was publicised.”

  “Really?” Ruth kept her voice calm, almost nonchalant. “Surely the clue is in the signboard?”

  Suzanne groaned. “Oh, no. I didn’t realise they’d stuck that up already.”

  “Someone must have done the job late yesterday afternoon.” Eddie turned to tweak his shiny new toy.

  “We haven’t been beyond the back garden so far today.” Suzanne folded her arms, heavy gold charm bracelet rattling. “What a shock that must have been for you. Oh, bless!”

  Ruth fumed behind her calm façade. They’d kept their decision secret from people. People? Was that how they regarded her, after all those years of supposed familiarity? Did they really think of her as lumped together with other folk fortunate enough to share the same postal code as the golden couple of Three Roads?

  “I suppose that means the jungle drums will be banging, eh?” Eddie swivelled round again. “What are they like? We’ll explain all to you, dear girl. I’ve made a batch of that almond shortbread you’re fond of.”

  “Once again he puts me to shame. But we all know he’s a far better baker than I am.” Suzanne’s tinkling laugh didn’t quite ring true.

  Ruth eyed her friend. That annoyingly immaculate clothing couldn’t disguise a neck made crepey by time. The gleaming platinum hair, helped by honey and toffee glimmers, revealed the frequency of trips to Abergavenny. How could anyone justify visiting the hairdresser so often? How could anyone enjoy spending hours roaming shops, scouring an upmarket store for exotic fruits flown from places where desperate workers braved scorching sunshine to pluck them?

  Eddie broke the silence. “We’ll do our utmost to find nice people to buy the old homestead, my love. Don’t you fret now.”

  Ruth noticed how oblivious he was to the tension sparking between his wife and their visitor. Humming beneath his breath, he placed a porcelain mug of dark, aromatic coffee upon the scrubbed pine table before Ruth, and treated her to a playful wink.

  “I must confess to feeling puzzled about your decision to sell. Isn’t it a tad hasty?” Ruth focused on making her expression cheerful and inquisitive. Inwardly she fought a powerful urge to punch Eddie in the jaw and terminate his toothy smile.

  “To be honest, it’s really not.” He fumbled with the strings of his navy and white apron but abandoned the struggle. “It’s something that’s been simmering for a while, actually. There’s a combination of factors we’ve borne in mind.”

  Ruth pursed her lips as he took a seat opposite. How long had they been plotting without consulting her?

  Suzanne leaned against the front rail of the Aga, beringed fingers wrapped round her coffee mug. Her expression remained wary. Ruth, knowing Suzanne shared certain knowledge with her, wondered why she didn’t speak up. She must surely be anticipating a cloudburst of questions?

  “Now, don’t get me wrong,
I haven’t fallen out of love with this house and nor has my lady wife.” Eddie gave a rueful grin. “The truth is, we’re not getting any younger. Breathtaking as the landscape is, each time another mid Wales winter rolls round, it’s like one more nail being hammered in the coffin.”

  “Eddie, please!” Suzanne smiled at her friend. “What he means is, we’re finding the months of bad weather drag terribly. Winter seems to affect us more than it used to.”

  “I didn’t realise you both felt so strongly.” Ruth made a point of looking around her, deliberately retaining a bewildered expression, taking in the spotless Aga radiating warmth, the strategically placed radiators, and triple-glazed windows. “This house must be the most inviting, environmentally viable and easily maintained property for miles around.”

  “Absolutely,” Suzanne abandoned her default position in front of the dark green range and pulled out the chair beside Ruth. Her heady perfume sat down with her, like a companion mismatched by a dating agency. Her nails, enamelled shiny-turquoise, rivalled the Aga’s gleaming façade.

  “You’ve hit on one of the many prime selling factors, sweetie,” she said.

  “Sheesh, my dear wife’s starting to sound like an estate agent.” Eddie looked expectant, as though awaiting some sign of appreciation from Ruth. She didn’t laugh.

  “The worst thing is, we’re finding it more difficult, driving to see Penny and the children,” said Suzanne. “Apart from our creaking joints, eyesight’s a big consideration, especially when we have to travel after dark.”

  “But I could drive—”

  Suzanne cut her off. “It’s all very tedious, sweetie, but it’s true to say we’ve been pondering a while now.” She waited a couple of beats. “And we think it best to make a move while we’re still active enough to handle the hassle.”

  “You can be sure of smooth sailing if I have anything to do with it.” Eddie pushed the plate of homemade biscuits closer to Ruth. “Dig in, girl!”

  Ruth shook her head. She still waited for Suzanne to refer to the decision the two of them had made a while back. She must have talked to Eddie about it? Ruth longed to fling the china plate and shatter it along with his complacence but instead managed a tight smile.