Stranger in the Woods: A tense psychological thriller Read online

  “Nothing,” Trent told him tersely, then strode out of the room.

  Peyton watched him walk away. “Okay, that was odd,” he said to me. “Do you two know each other from before?”

  “No. He’s a bit strange.”

  “I’ll take you home, if you like. My sister’s busy with that excuse for a human being she calls her boyfriend. And everyone else is too wasted.”

  I exhaled a tight, relieved breath. “That would be great, thanks.”

  “You sure you don’t want to stay for a while though? We don’t bite.”

  “I’m just tired. I only came because Aubrey didn’t want to walk back here alone.”

  He laughed. “That’s my sister for you. She always was a scaredy-cat.”

  Two minutes later, I was sitting on the leather seats of Peyton’s Audi coupe. I almost expected him to tear down the driveway, like most young men would who owned a sportscar like this. But he didn’t. He drove smoothly, putting me at ease.

  “I’m dead sorry about Trent,” he said. “I won’t abide men being rude to women. You were just there minding your own business.”

  “He’s one of Aubrey’s friends, right?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. She’s always picking up strays. He’s been coming to the house for a few years. As far as I know, his father is in mining—iron ore I think—and Trent runs a division of that. He and Bridget had a thing going there for a while. It didn’t last. Bridget doesn’t last long with anyone.”

  “Trent seems like he has a screw loose.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with that.” He rounded the corner. “So, is this your first time coming to Scotland in winter? I thought I heard Trent mention something about that.”

  “Oh, he was just questioning my decision to come here, for some strange reason. It’s actually my first time coming to Scotland. And the UK, for that matter.”

  “Seriously? Your first time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t run into any more nutters. It’ll give you a bad view of your time here. I’m just glad Trent’s not one of ours. He’s one of your nutters, from Australia.”

  I laughed.

  “How’s your photography gig going so far?” he asked.

  “It’s been a bit of a rough start,” I told him. “But I’ll get there.”

  Peyton pulled into the McGregors’ driveway and drove up to the cottage. As he turned to me, I noticed that he had the same full mouth that Aubrey had and the same classic good looks.

  “I’ll have to look up your work, Miss Wilson. You must be good for Greer to think it was worth getting you here all the way from Sydney.”

  I felt almost shy. “I hope I’m worth the trouble.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He sighed. “I think I’ll tell that Trent character to get lost. He and Simon can pack up and go together. As far as I’m concerned they’re not welcome if they’re going to cause trouble.”

  “Well, don’t do anything on my account. I’ll be okay. Tell Aubrey goodbye from me. And tell her…tell her to draw a line around Simon.”

  He grinned. “Draw a line around him, huh? I like the sound of that.”

  “Thanks for the ride.” After jumping out of the car I bent low to wave him goodbye.

  A wind sprang up as I walked to the cottage. I completed my usual bedtime routine once I got inside—getting into my pyjamas, brushing my teeth and taking my medication. But I still felt unsettled. I wished that Trent guy hadn’t been at the Chandlish house.

  I put myself to bed, and I couldn’t help but listen out for every tiny noise outside.

  By midnight, I still hadn’t managed to drift off to sleep. Lack of sleep was bad for me, and the worry of that added to the ball of anxiety already rolling about in my head.

  My thoughts stopped as an unexpected sound floated on the wind.

  My name.

  Someone was calling my name.

  Trent’s voice.

  Isla… Isla….

  He sounded drunk. Isla….

  Pebbles rained on the glass of my bedroom window.

  I held my breath.

  15

  ISLA

  Trent’s face flashed into my mind as I woke. Last night, he’d stomped around the outside of the cottage for a while before he’d finally given up and left.

  Despite what I’d told Peyton last night, I really did hope he ordered him to leave. I was tired, irritable and more than a bit worried.

  I stepped out to the kitchen for a morning coffee, opening the shutters to flood light into the little dark cottage. I’d been closing all the shutters tight during the night hours.

  But only a weak, gun-metal coloured light limped in. A mist almost obscured my view of the McGregors’ house. I could see that they were back—Alban’s car was parked outside the house again. They must have returned very early morning while I was still sleeping.

  I wished I’d slept longer, until the mist had all vanished. I needed to see sunshine. But it was already late morning. I probably hadn’t dropped off to sleep until well after midnight.

  I had to stop hoping to see sun. There might be nonstop days of fog and dull weather ahead. I was here to work and to make the best of whatever the weather threw at me. And the fog wasn’t as anywhere near as thick as it had been the other day. Whatever I found out there this morning, I had to take my inspiration from it. Perhaps I could go up into the hills and take pictures of the mossy, rocky ranges that would be half hidden by the mist. The more I thought about how that could look, the more excited I became.

  Returning to the bedroom, I dressed myself in warm, comfortable clothing. Then, packing up the camera, I left the cottage, locking it securely.

  I stepped around the cottage to the forest. A chill sped down my back.

  A dark figure hung high in the trees, slightly swinging in the breeze.

  Too large to be human.

  Grotesquely long arms and legs.

  A scarecrow. One of the scarecrows from the hill.

  Someone must have dragged it all the way from the hills and hoisted it up in the tree last night. Right across from my bedroom window. I hadn’t heard anything.

  I marched up to the hanging scarecrow, anger boiling blood-red in my mind.

  Who did this?

  Was it Trent? Surely, he wasn’t so resentful that he’d go to this extreme for revenge? But maybe he would if he really thought I knew him and was blowing him off.

  Digging my hands deep into my jacket pockets, I headed into the woods, searching for clues. Too angry to think straight. Maybe the culprit had dropped something.

  I’d been wandering and searching the ground for barely five minutes when two hands clamped onto my arms from behind.

  “Trent, what do you think you’re—” I spun around.

  But it wasn’t Trent behind me. It was Alban.

  He eyed me quizzically. Dropping his arms, he stepped back. “Trent, eh?”

  “Forget it,” I said quickly. “You startled me.”

  “You shouldn’t go off into the woods in fog. You’ll lose your way in no time. I didn’t think you’d be quite so daft.”

  Before I could answer, he said, “You look a wee bit upset. Is something the matter?”

  “You could say that,” I answered. “Someone has strung a damned scarecrow up in a tree outside the cottage.”

  “Say what?”

  “A tattie bogle or whatever it is you call them.”

  “I know what a scarecrow is, Isla. You mean to say there’s one of those things hanging up there in a tree?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  He swore loudly, apologised, then sprinted away.

  I ran behind, giving up on finding anything useful in the forest.

  Alban stopped in front of the figure in the tree. “Who in the blasted hell would want to go pulling a prank like this?”

  Two figures stepped through the fog. One adult and one small child. Jessica and Rhiannon.

  Both Jessica a
nd Rhiannon wore long, cream-coloured winter dresses—Rhiannon’s with a thick ribbon around the bodice. The misty air made their hair colour look even paler than usual. Rhiannon pointed at the scarecrow, looking puzzled.

  Jessica stared from Alban to me, gasping. “What in the name of—?” She gathered her daughter in her arms, nestling her protectively against her shoulder. “Is this some kind of stunt?”

  “A stunt?” I eyed her blankly.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “something that you think will look artsy in the photographs?”

  Shocked, I glanced up at the slightly-swaying figure in the tree, then back to Jessica again. “You’re saying I did this? Of course I didn’t. How would I even manage to get him up there?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I’m sorry. I read this all wrong. I came looking for Alban and I saw that thing up there, and I jumped to conclusions.” She stopped for a breath. “This is just crazy. Please, let’s all get away from here. I don’t want Rhiannon getting distressed.”

  “Aye, get Rhiannon away.” Alban stepped over to Jessica, shielding Rhiannon from the sight in the trees. I joined them as they walked around to the other side of the cottage.

  I noticed that Jessica had been crying again, her eyes swollen and her lips pressed together tightly. I guessed that the trip away hadn’t gone well for the McGregors.

  “Did you hear anything out there in the wood last night?” Jessica asked me.

  “There were some people. One of the Chandlishes and a friend of theirs.”

  “Oh?” she said. “Whatever were they doing?”

  “Aubrey was out walking with her boyfriend. She ended up knocking on my door and inviting me over.”

  Jessica’s eyebrows shot up. “You went across to the Chandlish house?”

  I nodded. “Just for an hour or so. One of Aubrey’s friends—Trent—was about in the forest later on. I heard him talking.” I neglected to mention that Trent was calling my name. I didn’t want to have to explain that.

  “They’re troublemakers,” Jessica told me. “Aubrey’s the worst of the lot. She’s the ringleader.” She sighed, smoothing Rhiannon’s hair and turning to Alban. “Should we call the police?”

  He sighed heavily. “Ach, I don’t know. If it was just the Chandlishes larking about, then maybe it’s not such a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal?” said Jessica. “It’s scared the daylights out of poor wee Rhiannon. And probably Isla, too. They get away with too much.”

  “I’ll go take a look about in the woods,” he told her. “And then maybe go pay the Chandlishes a visit.”

  “I had a look to see if I could find something,” I said. “But I didn’t spot anything.”

  “You will come up for a tea, won’t you?” said Jessica. “I feel terrible about what I said. Let Alban deal with this. You don’t want to be out there. Whoever did this might still be roaming around.”

  I wanted to say no but instead bit my lip and gave her a nod. Tea with Jessica wasn’t something I had on my agenda this morning. I wasn’t even sure which I preferred—being thought of as the scarecrow culprit or being thought of as so delicate I had to bustle myself inside and have tea.

  Up at the house, Jessica began making me eggs and toast as well as a cup of tea.

  Rhiannon played at my feet with her giraffe, repeating her word for giraffe over and over—ruff, ruff, ruff. She sounded like a puppy. When Jessica noticed, she came and sat Rhiannon at the table.

  “Sorry,” Jessica told me apologetically, “you don’t need a toddler under your feet.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” I truly didn’t. Rhiannon was a quiet presence. I’d even enjoyed having her play near me.

  “Oh, you’re just being polite. Children are so frustrating. Never a minute to yourself.” She gave a high, thin laugh. “I do love her like crazy though, despite all that.”

  She seemed nervous and jittery—even more than usual. When she pushed her sleeves up to wash a bowl in the sink, I noticed small purplish bruises on her lower arms. As if someone had grabbed her. She seemed to realise the bruises were showing, shoving her sleeves down again quickly.

  What had she and Alban been fighting about? I thought of the domestic violence posters I’d seen back when I was at university. The poster had asked people to speak up if they saw something. It was a fine line between sticking your nose in and trying to help.

  I ate breakfast while Jessica dashed about, feeding Rhiannon, clearing things away in the kitchen and wiping down surfaces that already seemed clean. She refused all my offers of help, claiming to enjoy cleaning. I seriously doubted that, because she displayed no sign of enjoying a single second of it.

  It was now or never. I was going to tell her that I’d noticed her puffy eyes and then I’d ask if she was okay. Picking up my cup and plates, I headed over to the sink.

  “I’ll do them,” Jessica told me.

  “No,” I said firmly. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t clean up after myself.” As I washed the plates in the sink, I swallowed hard, finding the courage to speak. “Jessica?”

  She turned, cleaning cloth in hand, a smile that seemed forced and frozen on her face. “Yes?”

  “I wanted to ask you—” I began.

  The front door crashed open just then, and Alban raced in, a tense expression on his face. “Call an ambulance.”

  Jessica dropped the cloth on the floor as she ran to grab the house phone. “Oh my God. What’s wrong? What—?”

  He raked damp hair back from his eyes, catching his breath. “Should have taken a phone with me. Someone’s overdosed out there in the woods. Just tell the ambulance that.”

  “Who is it?” Jessica whispered as she dialled the number.

  “It’s one of those people that Aubrey and Diarmid have hanging around. I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know his name,” he answered.

  Jessica spoke into the phone. “Uh, yes, hello, someone—a man—overdosed in the wood on our property. No, we don’t know him.” She gave the address, then looked across at her husband. “What’s the exact location, Alban?”

  Alban’s tone deadened. “He’s in the playhouse.”

  Jessica stared at him, speechless for a moment before she gasped, “The playhouse?”

  Alban nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” Jessica said into the phone, “the man is located in a child’s playhouse in the wood. It’s quite near to the road. My husband will meet you out there when you arrive.”

  Her face was white as she ended the call. “He’s got no right being anywhere near there. None at all. They all know what happened there. They know.”

  “He’s a drug addict, Jess. If he did know, he was probably out of his head. I was introduced to him years ago, but I can’t remember his name now.”

  “Is the name Trent?” I took a shallow breath.

  “Yes, I believe that’s it.” He looked at me curiously. “How did you guess? Wait, wasn’t that the name you said earlier? You thought I was him at first.”

  “He was acting strange last night.”

  Alban frowned. “Was he? Well, he’s got himself in a wee bit of trouble now. I’m going to head back, to see what I can do for him. He’s breathing, but that’s all.”

  Alban dashed back to the entry and out the front door.

  Jessica was clutching the edge of the kitchen bench, her head bent. “I can’t deal with this right now. It’s bad enough that the bloody playhouse is still standing, but to have someone just come in and desecrate it, it’s too much. Just too much.”

  The look of raw grief in her eyes made me look away. “Can I do anything?”

  “No, there’s nothing. Wait, no, there is something you can do. I’m not in any state to talk to anyone. I’m taking Rhi upstairs to get her cleaned up. You can stay here and answer the phone if it rings. Take messages. An important client of Alban’s called early this morning—that’s why I went looking for him. He’ll probably call back. And—”

  “I’ll take
care of that,” I assured her. “Don’t worry. And I’ll clean Rhiannon up and watch her, too, if you like.”

  She shot me a glance that was almost hostile, then clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. “She’s very clingy. She just wants to be with me, I’m afraid.”

  Jessica scooped Rhiannon up and then the two of them headed upstairs.

  With everyone gone, the entire downstairs area fell into a jarring silence. I felt at odds, not knowing what to do with myself. I even felt somehow responsible for all this. If I hadn’t gone with Aubrey last night, I wouldn’t have met Trent—and all that followed might not have happened. The whole thing was all the worse for the fact that the McGregors were obviously not fond of the Chandlishes and their friends.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the silence.

  It was Greer. “Oh, gosh, Isla, Alban just called to tell me what’s happening down there. He’s waiting for the police and ambulance to arrive. Unbelievable. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. All pretty crazy.”

  “Well, I’m not letting you work today. I’m taking you out.”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Greer. It’s just a scarecrow. And while I’m sad that a man overdosed in the forest, I don’t know him. Jessica’s not taking it well, though.”

  “I thought she wouldn’t. But I lied a bit about you not doing any work today. I’m taking you to Inverness. Some of Alban’s best work is there and we need some photographs as part of the portfolio. I was planning on taking you there at some point anyway.”

  “In that case, yes, I’ll go.”

  “I’ll pick you up at ten thirty, okay?”

  The sharp rings of a landline phone echoed suddenly through the house. It wasn’t the house phone—it was coming from Alban’s office. Jessica had instructed me to take calls for Alban’s business, but I remembered that Greer had said that he didn’t like anyone being in his office. I guessed that seeing as I’d agreed to Jessica’s request, I should just go answer it.

  “Sounds fantastic, Greer,” I said. “See you soon.”

  I sped through the hallway and into the office.

  The call was from one of Alban’s clients. He sounded impatient, saying that Alban wasn’t answering his mobile phone. I didn’t want to explain the whole drama that was unfolding here at Braithnoch and didn’t know whether I should, either. So, I just scribbled down his message.