Read Online The Nightmare Place by Steve Mosby - Free Book Online Page A

Connelly. But we’ll check it out.’
    It was a double driveway, shared with the other, unattached neighbour. Sally Vickers’ side of that deal was noticeably better maintained than next door’s, smothered in a layer of fresh black tarmac rather than the pitted concrete beside it. I walked around her car, then moved to the rear of the house. Behind me, I heard Chris banging on the front door.
    The garden back here was as well kept as the drive: buzz-cut grass, with elegant flower beds edging the fence, the velvety reds, purples and yellows bright in the swathe of morning sun that caught them. She’s normally so reliable. Such a good neighbour . I told myself there was probably nothing to worry about – that even the most predictable and responsible of people forget to put their bin out sometimes, or oversleep, or neglect to tell their slightly annoying neighbour that they’re going away.
    The drive had sloped down as it went, so I found the kitchen door at the top of a set of stone steps, level with a raised wooden deck that stretched along the back of the property, all the way to the dividing fence with Connelly’s garden. I banged on the glass door first, not expecting a reply. Vickers would have responded to Chris by now if she was inside and able to. Then I slipped on a pair of gloves as a precaution, and tried the handle. As expected, it didn’t turn.
    I stepped on to the decking. The wood felt soft and giving beneath my feet, as though the planks there had absorbed long-ago rain and never fully dried out. The house had two large windows at ground level. Glancing up, I saw four smaller ones on the floor above.
    I moved to the nearest one, cupping my hands over my eyes and pressing my face close to the glass. There was no blind, and it was obvious that this was the kitchen. Metal taps looped up over the sink, close to the window, and I could see a counter and cabinets a short distance across the room. The kitchen was small – skinny, like a galley in a narrowboat – and even in the relative gloom, I could see how clean everything was. I didn’t know her, but I was already imagining Sally Vickers washing up and wiping down meticulously after every meal; scrupulous about it.
    The window opened along the top, and was far too thin for anyone to fit through. Even so, I reached up on tiptoes and tried it. Shut tight.
    The second window was close to the far corner of the house. A tree was overflowing the fence from Connelly’s side, and it brushed against my shoulder as I peered through the glass. Sally Vickers’ living room ran the entire depth of the house, so that I could see the closed cream curtains on the front window at the far end. Again, the room looked polished and spare. No obvious clutter …
    But the fact that I could see it at all meant that the curtains back here had been left open.
    Despite the heaviness of the mid-morning heat, a chill ran through me as I realised that. It had taken a second to register; it’s always easier to notice what is there as opposed to what isn’t. Why open only one set of curtains in the morning? Or why close only one set at night? Especially if you’re going away.
    This window was side-hinged, and currently flush with the frame. But it was large enough, just about, to fit through. I stared at it for a moment, my ears ringing slightly, then gathered myself together and reached out to test it. I got my fingers into the join and pulled.
    It won’t open .
    But it did.
    A flare of panic went up in my chest. Easy, Zoe . While it was still possible that there was an innocent explanation, I knew in my heart that we had another scene here. That we’d stumbled on it fresh.
    Keep calm and think .
    I turned to one side and shouted – ‘Chris! Round here, now!’ – then back to the window. I eased it as wide on the hinges as it would go, and leaned inside carefully, looking around. There was a round glass table close by, clear apart from some paperwork piled neatly at one