The Witch Of Stonecliff. Dawn Brown

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      Chapter One

       Murderer.

       Die Witch.

      Eleri stood transfixed, unable to tear her gaze from the slashing red strokes of paint almost glowing against the pale stone wall. Sweat slicked her skin despite the chilly spring wind slapping at her face.

      She did her best to squash the dread mushrooming inside her. Most of her life she’d been called those names. She really should have been used to them by now. But since the bodies of a dozen men had been pulled from the bog on her property four weeks ago, the name-calling seemed far more sinister—especially with the looming possibility of prison.

      “I’m sorry to be the one to show you this.”

      The housekeeper’s voice jerked Eleri from her reverie. She’d nearly forgotten Mrs. Voyle was standing next to her. The woman’s beady eyes gleamed in her narrow face, belying her words.

      Of course Iola Voyle wasn’t sorry. She was probably elated. The only thing that would please the woman more would be if the police turned up with handcuffs and dragged Eleri away right now. Or better still, if an angry mob of pitchfork toting villagers hung her from the nearest tree.

      “There’s more farther down. To be expected, I suppose, given the situation,” Mrs. Voyle added, with a sidelong glance. Her thin mouth pressed in a tight line, she turned away following the old stone wall, lumbering through the overly long grass. The combination of her ankle-length skirt and rubber boots made her gait slow and awkward. Periodically, she glanced back as if she feared an attack from behind. With any luck, she’d fall flat on her face.

      Eleri blew out a sigh. She had more to worry about than her housekeeper’s suspicious stares and innuendos. Following Mrs. Voyle, she trudged over the wide strip of wet grass between the estate wall and the road. The tangled blades wrapped around her mud-caked boots, threatening to trip her up. Her luck, she’d be the one to land on her face.

      Wind gusted with mossy smells of rotting leaves, wet earth and the salty tang of the sea hidden by the woods. Bare branches only starting to green with spring rattled in the breeze, and frigid water droplets sprayed the back of her neck. She hunched her shoulders so her coat collar protected her bare skin.

      This morning’s rain had stopped, but if the steel-colored clouds hanging low in the sky were any indication, the reprieve was temporary.

      As Eleri drew closer to the wall, the words painted two feet tall in the same red slashing strokes as the others stopped her.

       Killer.

       Burn Witch.

      Well, her vandal was consistent if not terribly original. “I’m beginning to detect a theme.”

      “Whoever’s responsible had quite a busy night. Did you not hear anything unusual?” Another sidelong glance.

      “Obviously not, or I’d have put a stop to it.” She bent forward and rubbed the edge of a letter with her thumb hoping the paint might smudge. Nothing. The stone had already absorbed the paint. Would turpentine take it out? Or would she have to replace the stone? And how much did it cost to replace three hundred-year-old stone? She didn’t have a clue, masonry not exactly being her forte.

      She folded her arms, then lifted one hand to her mouth and nipped at her thumbnail.

      Mrs. Voyle sniffed. “That’s a filthy habit.”

      A little of the woman’s usual condemnation crept into her voice, and it was almost a relief—a cantankerous Mrs. Voyle was preferable to a wary one. Still, she shot the woman a hard glare and flicked her nail loudly off her front tooth before turning back to the wall.

      “Repairing this mess will be dear,” Mrs. Voyle continued, her words like a probing finger in a gaping wound. “I don’t know where your father will find the money.”

      Neither did she, actually. There was precious little left for the day-to-day running of the estate—and her attorney. Maybe she could convince her father to sell off another few acres of land. He’d been making a living from the proceeds of parcelling off property for years now. Convincing him to sell a little more shouldn’t be too difficult. Especially since he had so little time left.

      Persuading him to sell the estate entirely was out of the question. He refused to let the house go. Though, why anyone would willingly stay on these tainted grounds escaped her. СКАЧАТЬ