fine,’ Elena added. ‘A few cuts and bruises, and she’s had a bit of a shock. She’s going to stay here tonight.’
A bit of a shock? Trust her mother to come out with the understatement of the year.
Fortunately, Elena didn’t elaborate and for that Olivia was grateful. She needed a break from talking about what had happened. She would leave her mother to tell Jamie.
‘Mum conned you into getting the tree, did she?’ she joked, changing the subject.
‘Jamie offered,’ Elena slipped her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze. ‘He’s a good boy to his old mum.’
Not exactly old, Olivia thought. Her mum was only sixty-one and looked good for her age. Although her stylish dark hair now came from a bottle, she was fresh-faced and trim. Jamie took after their mother’s Italian side more than Olivia, whose light brown hair and grey-blue eyes were inherited from her father.
‘Let’s get this tree into place.’ Elena instructed, raising her hand at Olivia when she started to get up. ‘No, not you, Olivia. Your brother and I have got this. Finish your lunch and you can come help us decorate if you feel up to it.’
The afternoon passed more pleasantly than the morning and it was good to spend time with family. Despite having no appetite, Olivia managed to eat the plate of dinner her mother put in front of her then excused herself, going up to her old bedroom. Everything ached from the accident and the stress of the day had taken its toll. She longed for sleep to pull her under, but the moment she closed her eyes the nightmare images resurfaced: the man on the chair, the flames rising higher, his tortured screams.
She tossed and turned for an hour or so, trying to shake the images and think of more pleasant things, and it was gone midnight when she finally gave up on sleep. Crawling from the crumpled bedsheets, she went to the window and spent a few minutes looking down at the peaceful dark river with boats dotted along the bank. The River Green Christmas lights were up, twinkling white lights between the lamp posts, and everything looked calm.
Eventually deciding that the fresh cool air might do her some good, she pulled her coat on over her pyjamas and padded downstairs. The restaurant was closed, the lights all out and the shutters down. In the kitchen she slipped her feet into her mother’s wellies and found the key to the back door. She was about to unlock it when she spotted an envelope on the floor, poking through from under the door. She picked it up, her heartbeat quickening when she recognised her name on the front.
She glanced around the quiet kitchen, fearful of being caught opening the envelope, which was stupid, because the place was empty and her mother and Jamie were in bed. Still she went over and closed the door to the restaurant, wanting privacy, and flicked on the overhead light, before carefully easing open the envelope with shaking fingers.
There was no note inside, instead a photograph. Olivia pulled it out of the envelope, her mouth dry and terror clawing at her throat as she recognised the picture of the man tied to the chair, the contorted look of anguish on his face as the flames ate his skin. Scribbled across the picture in marker pen were the words, This is your fault.
She dropped the photo, realised she was going to be sick, and rushed to the sink, where she heaved up her mother’s lasagne.
The note was connected, which meant she was right about being lured to the house. But why? And who was responsible? Whoever was targeting her wasn’t playing a joke. This was serious. A man had been cruelly murdered.
She puked again, the choking sounding too loud in the quiet kitchen. She had to tell the police, but if she did, would they think she was involved in this?
Backhanding spittle from her mouth, she grasped the counter and took a few moments to steady her nerves. Drawing deep breaths, she talked herself through a plan. She would get the photo, go back to bed, sleep (though realistically that wasn’t going to happen), then calmly and rationally talk to her mother and Jamie in the morning, explain about the note, and contact DC Upton. She had his card and he had told her to call him if she remembered anything. He was definitely going to want to know about this.
A crash came