Craven Manor(54)

“Hey, sorry it took me so long to get back.” He moved towards the cat, trying to keep his stride natural and his trembling fingers hidden in his pockets. “I stopped to visit my neighbour, but she was sick, so I stayed the night with her to make sure she was okay.”

The best kind of lie is a distortion of the truth. That was one of Kyle’s favourite mottos… or a paraphrasing of it, at least. It was easier to keep a story straight when most of it was factual.

The cat blinked. It maintained its usual pose, pin-straight and with the tail coiled around its legs in a neat loop. Daniel knelt next to it. Someone had refilled the kindling and logs beside the fireplace—probably Joel. Daniel began stacking the wood in the empty grate. “Let’s get this house a bit warmer for you.”

Bran turned to face the fireplace expectantly. That was a good sign; he was more interested in heat than an interrogation. Daniel waited until baby flames licked over the kindling before speaking again. “I saw Kyle, but he’s not looking good. He was still in a coma, and the doctors are worried about brain damage. I might go back and visit again in a few days.”

He hated lying. It left him feeling clammy and dirty, but Bran needed to think he and his secrets were safe. He needed to think Daniel was on his side.

The cat looked up at Daniel, but he couldn’t read the golden eyes. Its ears maintained a neutral position, but the tip of its tail flicked, suggesting Bran’s mind wasn’t as calm as the feline’s face appeared.

“I know I missed a day of work, but I’ll make up for it. If it’s all right with you, I’ll keep working on the paths through the garden. It will be easier for all of us if we can get around a little faster.”

Bran turned towards the flames and gently lowered himself onto his side. His eyes drifted closed as he enjoyed the warmth. Daniel waited until the flames were established and had plenty of fuel to keep them burning, then he rose and dusted his hands on his jeans.

“I’d better get to it, I guess. I’m pretty tired, so I’ll go to bed early tonight, but I’ll catch up with you again tomorrow, okay?”

There was no response—not that he’d expected one—so Daniel made his way towards the door. It took a lot of self-control to keep his pace natural when nerves made him want to sprint out of the building. He threw a glance over his shoulder before slipping outside, but the cat remained lounging by the flames.

As he stepped into the woods, he sucked in quick breaths, simultaneously trying to get oxygen to his limbs and resist the urge to hyperventilate. He felt as though he’d just walked beneath a sleeping dragon’s nose and come away unscathed.

Lying to a cat had been easier, but it had also made it difficult to gauge what Bran was thinking. Does he believe me? Or does he know the truth and is biding his time until retribution?

The second option was enough to paralyse him, so Daniel pushed it to the back of his mind and focussed on what he needed to do. The day was still early, and to maintain the appearance of normalcy, he would have to go about his job as if nothing were wrong.

He went back to his cottage. A collection of blocky shapes had been left outside the building. Joel must have made his delivery while Daniel was away.

The largest shape had to be the generator. Daniel ran his hand over the large, box-shaped plastic-and-metal machine. In addition to it, Joel had brought the fridge, a bench-top dishwasher, and a halogen oven. Crates of supplies sat beside it. The vegetables had wilted from being left outside too long, but they were in abundant supply.

It would have looked strange if he ignored the delivery, so Daniel spent an hour moving the new equipment into his cottage. He didn’t bother setting up the generator since he would never get a chance to use it. But he packed the fruit and vegetables away and arranged the new equipment on his bench top, as though he intended to finish its installation later. Then he collected his shovel and gloves from the shed and returned to the garden.

He’d started progress on a path between the crypt and the house before discovering Eliza’s bones. It made sense to continue that work, though he would need to scope out a new laneway that had a respectful distance from her body. He found where he’d left off and spent a moment in silence beside the woman’s grave. The ground, which had been heaped, was starting to sink back towards level as rain and time compressed it. The makeshift cross he’d placed at the grave’s head drooped to one side, and he righted it then looked behind himself.

Eliza’s tower was visible from his position, but not much of the rest of the house. The sun’s angle made it impossible to see inside the shadowed window, but he wondered if she was watching him.

You haven’t been forgotten, Eliza. Just wait a little longer.

He backtracked along the path and marked a new branch that would circumvent the grave by at least twenty feet. Then he started working—pulling weeds out of the ground, digging up small trees where possible, and slashing through the vines and spiderwebs that criss-crossed the area. By keeping the trail fluid, he could weave it around larger trees and take the path of least resistance, which made his work infinitely faster. He’d reached Craven Manor’s front door by the time the sun was close to setting.

Bran can’t complain about today’s work, at least. He wiped the back of his arm across his forehead to clear the sweat that had built there. The exertion had left him drained but satisfied. It felt good to tie off at least one loose end.