Daisy Darker(77)

Poppins, having heard her name, appears from behind the sofa, where she sometimes likes to sleep. She stares in my direction and wags her tail. The dog never stopped loving me, despite what happened. Animals don’t know how to hate or hold a grudge.

‘At least we have the gun to defend ourselves,’ Conor says.

‘That’s true,’ I say, but Rose turns a paler shade of white.

‘What?’ Conor asks.

Rose shakes her head. ‘I . . . I left the gun in the library when I changed into some dry clothes. It was in my jacket pocket. I don’t have it.’

‘Well, that’s just great,’ Conor mutters.

‘I put it on the chair. Then I took off my wet things. I must have put them on top of it and then I just . . . forgot. You knocked on the door when I was still getting changed and distracted me.’

‘Of course it’s my fault,’ says Conor.

‘We should get out of here anyway. We’re sitting ducks if we stay in this room. Nana’s library is smaller, safer. We can lock ourselves in there and I can get the gun. We need to move. All of us. Now,’ says Rose.

She takes the master key from her pocket and opens the little door that joins the lounge and the library. All the downstairs rooms have these doors connecting them – it reminds me of the times when Lily used to open them up and roller-skate through the house, lap after dizzying lap. But I don’t remember seeing any of the internal doors open since we were children. It amazes me how Rose can still think so quickly and clearly, and stay so calm.

‘Maybe whoever is out there doesn’t know about these doors?’ she whispers.

‘Or maybe they do,’ says Conor. ‘It must be someone who knows the place pretty well. How else would they be able to sneak around Seaglass all night without being seen?’

We stop for a moment, as if thoughts can only surface when we are still.

‘The sound of the storm would have drowned out the noise of someone creeping around the house. But who would be familiar enough with this place to know it so well? Nana was super private, she rarely had visitors,’ I whisper.

Rose nods. ‘The only people I can remember Nana ever inviting here, for years now, were the people she thought of as family.’

‘What about her agent?’ Conor says.

‘Yes. She trusted him, and there’s the Scrabble connection . . .’ Rose replies, almost to herself. ‘What makes you think a man is behind all of this?’

‘Your dad. Frank was a big guy . . . moving his body from the music room to the cupboard wouldn’t have been easy. I think even I would have struggled to lift him. Remember how hard it was for us to move Nancy? And she weighed nothing at all.’

‘You have a very morbid sense of logic,’ says Rose. ‘I understand your theory about Nana’s agent, but we all know she hasn’t written a new book for years. I don’t know if they are even still in touch.’

‘He was here yesterday. I saw his card in the cubbyhole by the punch clock. Either he forgot to punch out, or he didn’t leave,’ I whisper, wishing I’d thought to mention it earlier. I only met him that one time, but he seemed like such a lovely man.

The footsteps above our heads resume, and we all look up in terror.

‘Hurry, come on, into the library,’ Rose says. ‘You too, Poppins,’ she adds, and the old dog gets up and trots behind her. As soon as we are inside, Rose starts locking all of the doors, trapping us in the small room. Conor starts pacing, and Trixie stands on her own by the window in the corner. She looks so small in her pink pyjamas. Trixie might be fifteen, but she’s still a child who has just lost her mother. I rush to her side but she barely notices, and I doubt she’ll ever get over this. I suspect none of us will.

Rose starts throwing her things into her bag, almost hitting Poppins with a wet jumper in the process. Then she freezes.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

She turns back to stare at us all. ‘My gun was right here on the chair earlier.’

‘And?’ Conor asks.

‘And now it’s gone.’





Forty-two



31 October 4:20 a.m.

less than two hours until low tide

‘So what you’re saying is that the killer has a gun?’ Conor whispers.

‘It’s possible,’ says Rose.

‘Great. What now?’ he asks.

She shrugs. ‘We barricade ourselves in here and wait?’

‘Wait for what? There is no way to call for help. Nobody is coming to save us!’ I say, feeling just as hysterical as I’m starting to sound.

Rose ignores me and checks that all three doors in the library are locked again – the one that leads to the lounge, the one to the music room, and the main one leading out to the hall – until she is sure that we are safe – or trapped – inside. Trixie looks exhausted and a little out of it. Her eyes are half closed. I remember that she’s been drugged with sleeping pills, injected with insulin, and witnessed the horror of her mother, grandparents and great-grandmother being murdered tonight. Her knees buckle as if she can’t stand any longer, and she slides down against the wall before I can catch her. I’m amazed she’s lasted this long. I sit next to her on the floor and try to hold her hand, but Trixie pulls it away. Her fingers form two little fists, and she wraps her arms across her chest as though hugging herself. I suppose if I were her, I wouldn’t trust anyone left here either.