The Return of Rachel Stone Read online

  Copyright 2017 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: March 2017

  This edition: April 2017

  Fifteen years ago, Rachel Stone was snatched from her crib in the middle of the night.

  Now she's back. Or is she?

  Called in by concerned family members, private detective Jo Mason has to determine whether Rachel has really returned, or whether she's actually an impostor trying to rob her wealthy family of millions. As she starts to investigate, however, Jo soon discovers that the Stone family harbors more than its fair share of dark secrets.

  Who stole Rachel from her crib all those years ago? Where has she been ever since? What happened to her uncle Jack, and why does the sound of a crying baby sometimes ring out at night, haunting her parents' home? Is the ghost of a dead child trying to warn her relatives of a terrifying deception? Or, as Jo soon comes to suspect, was the disappearance of Rachel Stone just one part of a massive lie that has lain hidden ever since?

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  The Return of Rachel Stone

  Prologue

  “What's that awful noise?”

  Making her way through to the dining room, Margaret Stone stopped for a moment and listened to the loud banging sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby. She looked around, before heading to the farthest door and marching through to the hallway, where she saw to her surprise that the large wooden front door had been left wide open and was now creaking shut again.

  She sighed, just as another gust of wind forced the door wide and sent it slamming against the wall.

  “Animals,” she muttered under her breath. “Careless, drunken animals.”

  Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she hurried to the door and grabbed it by the handle, forcing it shut and then sliding the bolt across. She could hear the storm getting stronger and stronger outside, battering the manor house, and when she looked down at the stone floor she saw that rain had been blown inside. After double-checking that the front door really had been shut properly this time, she turned and looked back across the hallway, listening to the sound of cautious, slightly off-key notes being played on a distant piano.

  “Somebody didn't shut the door properly!” she called out, although she already knew she wouldn't receive an answer. Sometimes, she wondered why she even bothered.

  Sighing again, she began to set off toward the library, before stopping as soon as she spotted something on the floor near the table. Heading over, she peered down at what appeared to be a couple of muddy footprints, although the shape wasn't distinct and she supposed that they might not be prints at all. She knew nobody would have gone outside in such atrocious weather, so she told herself that the mud had just come from somewhere else, but then she glanced at the fruit bowl on the table and saw that a single, defiant bite had been taken from one of the apples.

  “What is this world coming to?” she muttered under her breath, taking the apple by the stalk and holding it at arm's length as if she was terrified of contamination. “We weren't raised in a barn.”

  She looked down at the rest of the fruit, making sure that there were no other specimens with bites missing, and then she headed across the hallway and over to the door that led into the library. She had no idea what she was going to say, but she felt certain that she had to intervene in some manner. Once she reached the doorway she stopped for a moment, watching as her brother Herbert poured the last of a bottle of wine into his glass, filling it almost to the brim. Far off in the house, the out-of-tune piano playing continued.

  “Don't you think you've had enough?” Margaret asked, still holding the apple in her right hand.

  She waited for a reply, but so far she was being ignored.

  “I'm speaking to you,” she continued, raising her voice just a little, hoping to find be acknowledged. “Don't you think you've had enough to drink for one night?”

  He finally turned to her and let out a desultory sniff, before turning and carrying his glass back over to the leather armchair next to the window. Outside, rain was being blown through the night air and was battering the glass. Even in the time it had taken for Margaret to get through from the hallway, the storm sounded much stronger.

  “Somebody left the front door open,” Margaret continued. “Flapping about in the wind, just waiting for any Tom, Dick or Harry to come barging in. Didn't you hear it banging about? I heard it from all the way upstairs.”

  “Is that what that wretched noise was?” Herbert muttered, taking a sniff of his wine and then following up with a large swig. “I thought I heard some goddamn disagreeable din. Apart from my wife's attempts at the piano, I mean.”

  “You didn't think to go and take a look? Maybe see what was causing the noise?”

  “Oh, I knew you'd deal with it sooner or later.”

  “I was upstairs.”

  “No, you were down here, weren't you?”

  “I was in my room.”

  “I thought I heard you shuffling about in the drawing room.”

  “I was in my room, trying to read.”

  “Oh.” He took another, longer swig of wine before wandering to the window and peering out at the darkness. “Well, I knew you'd come and figure something out, Marg. And I was right, wasn't I? You always come to the rescue, dearest sister. Thank God for you, eh? If you weren't here, we'd all be doomed.”

  “Did you do this?” she asked, holding up the bitten apple.

  “What the bloody hell are you on about now?”

  “Someone took a bite from this apple and then put it back in the fruit bowl.”

  “So?”

  “So it's disgusting!”

  “So?”

  “So, it's unhygienic! I shall have to throw the lot away now!”

  “So?”

  “So then I'll have to buy some more!”

  “So?”

  She sighed, and for a moment she felt as if she wanted to march over and slap him. Somehow, she contained herself.

 
“Well, it wasn't me,” he continued. “You know how I feel about apples.” He sniffed again. “Perhaps my darling wife is responsible. Go and ask Diana. She'll probably deny it, but that doesn't mean much. You know how good she is at lying.”

  “It's not very nice to leave half-eaten food around,” Margaret continued. “It's also rather disrespectful. Do you expect me to clean up after you all the time?”

  “Well, it's one way of paying rent,” he muttered under his breath, but just loud enough for her to hear.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing, my dear.”

  “I've told you I can pay rent. I've said over and over that I can pay for my room and board here.”

  “With what? The money I give you each month? That seems unnecessarily circular.”

  “I can get a job.”

  “As what? A maid?”

  “I've been getting a lot of practice lately when it comes to cleaning up after people,” she said bitterly. “And if there are no maid jobs going, perhaps I could become a pig farmer!”

  “No, don't even dream of such things,” he replied, waving a hand at her. “Come on, Marg, it's late and nobody wants to get into an argument. I don't know who took a bloody bite from that bloody apple, but it certainly wasn't me. And if it wasn't you either, then that really only leaves one person, doesn't it?” He paused for a moment, with his glass raised to his wine-stained lips. “Perhaps my wife is de-evolving,” he added finally. “Perhaps her lack of civilization is catching up with her, and she's losing her remaining airs and graces. Perhaps by morning she'll be a complete savage.”

  “Herbert -”

  “She'll be waving a stick, and she'll have a bone in her nose.”

  “Oh God, you're loathsome when you're drunk.”

  “Now can't you leave me alone?” he snapped. “It's late, and my head hurts, and tomorrow morning some wretched man is coming to talk to me about the haulage company. God knows why, but you know what lawyers are like. Always got bees under their bonnets about something. And I have to sit there and listen while they drone on and on.” He took another sip of wine. “In fact, come to think of it, could you telephone Charles in the morning and ask him to come a little later? Tell him I won't be receiving visitors until at least after lunch. I don't think my head will be good.”

  “I'm not your secretary,” she replied through gritted teeth, still holding the apple by its stalk.

  “I know you're not. But telephone the man for me anyway, won't you? It's not as if you have anything else to do. Or is pathetic Bradley coming over again?”

  With that, he slumped down into the armchair and turned away from Margaret so that he was facing toward the window. He took another sip of wine and watched the rain, and Margaret knew that she'd get very little from him for the rest of the evening. Still, she watched the back of his head for a moment, filled with a growing sense that perhaps she might finally stand up for herself and tell her brother to go to hell, but the sensation passed quickly enough and she sighed, letting her shoulders drop as she turned and headed back out into the hallway.

  “I don't know why I bother,” she muttered, crossing the cold, stone-floored space and making her way into the dining room, then marching along the length of the table until she reached the doorway that opened out into the conservatory.

  There, she stopped for a moment as soon as she spotted her sister-in-law Diana sitting at the grand piano, picking out stumbling notes in an attempt to play some half-forgotten piece. At first glance, it was already very much apparent that she – like Herbert – was drunk.

  “It's late,” Margaret said finally. “Don't you think you should go to bed?”

  She waited for a reply, but Diana seemed to be focusing all her efforts on the keys, and so far she'd given no indication that she even knew she was being watched.

  Margaret opened her mouth to say something else, but suddenly she heard a creaking sound over her shoulder. She turned, expecting to see that her brother Herbert had followed her through, and that he was perhaps in the drawing room where there were floorboards that had become rather loose over the years. Spotting no sign of him, she hurried across the hallway and looking into the drawing room, but there was no sign of anyone at all. Still, a book had been removed from one of the shelves and set on a table, and when she wandered over she saw that it was an old volume on the history of the Stone family.

  Figuring that her brother must have come and gone quickly, she took the book and slipped it back into its proper place, before heading back across the corridor and through once more to the conservatory. Before she reached the doorway, however, she stopped in her tracks as she saw a doll sitting propped against a flower vase on the table.

  “That wasn't...”

  She felt certain that the doll hadn't been there a moment ago. She also knew that this particular doll had been upstairs on the shelf in the nursery for years, its cracked face hidden from sight. Stepping closer, she picked it up and took a closer look, and she felt a shudder pass through her chest as she realized that it was indeed the doll from Rachel's room.

  She looked around, wondering why Herbert or Diana would ever have brought the wretched thing downstairs, and then she set it back in place. She supposed she could put it back in the nursery when she went to bed, but for now she needed to persuade her brother and sister-in-law that they too should retire for the evening. Heading back to the doorway, however, she couldn't help glancing back toward the doll and wondering once again why it had been brought downstairs.

  In the conservatory, Diana was still at the piano, hunched and leaning down toward the keys as if she was having trouble picking out the keys.

  “It's almost midnight,” Margaret pointed out, taking a cautious step into the room as she spotted the empty bottle of gin resting on top of the piano. “Diana, wouldn't you rather -”

  Stopping suddenly, she saw that next to the bottle there was a framed photo, showing a smiling baby. The photo usually stood on a half-table in the far corner, although Diana had a tendency to carry it around whenever she was particularly drunk. Sometimes she even took it upstairs to her bedroom, and many times now Margaret had surreptitiously carried it back down and restored it to its usual position. No mention was ever made of the photo and its travels, and she assumed that this was simply one of her many little duties in the house.

  “Why are you holding that apple?” Diana asked suddenly, still not looking over at her. “You look rather funny.”

  “I found it in the fruit bowl. Someone had taken a bite and put it back.”

  “What a heinous crime. I hope you find the bugger and have him hung, drawn and quartered.”

  “Herbert says it wasn't him.”

  “And he never lies.”

  “The front door was open as well.”

  “Isn't that what doors are for? I mean, they can only be closed, shut or ajar.”

  “There's a storm outside. The door shouldn't be left open during a storm. Well, it shouldn't be left open during -”

  “Can't we talk about this in the morning?” Diana asked, still pecking at the keys with her fingers. “I'd prefer to have no distractions right now. I already had to put up with the sound of you banging about in the drawing room for the past hour.”

  “I wasn't in the drawing room. I was upstairs.”

  “Then Herbert was in there.”

  “I think he's been in the library all evening. Or the study. He's been drinking, as usual.”

  “Well, one of you was in the bloody drawing room,” Diana muttered, before hitting a particularly wrong key and adding a few curses under her breath. “It doesn't matter who it was. The sound of all those books being slid on and off the shelves was bloody irritating.”

  “I really don't think anyone was in the drawing room,” Margaret replied, before remembering the lone book she'd found on the table. “Herbert must have gone through for a moment, I suppose. But listen, maybe you should go to bed. I know today has been difficult, so wouldn't you li
ke to get it over and done with, and wake up bright and fresh in the morning?”

  “I haven't felt bright and fresh in a long time. Can you bring me another bottle of gin?”

  “I can't do that, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you've drunk enough for one night.”

  “Oh, now you sound just like him,” she groaned, sounding utterly dispirited. “If you're not going to bring me gin, then there's not much use for you. Sorry, darling, but I think I need to be alone for the rest of the evening.” She glanced at the photo of the baby, and her playing slowed for a moment. “I want to be alone with my thoughts. Just give me that, won't you? Let me think about... things that were lost. Things that were done. Mistakes we made.”

  There were tears in her eyes now, and she stared at the photo for several more seconds before sniffing and looking back at her fingers on the keys.

  “And don't stand there like that,” she added. “Christ, Margaret, don't you have anything better to be doing? Go to your room and read a book or something. And toss that wretched apple away. It makes you look even weirder than usual.”

  Margaret opened her mouth to reply, before realizing that once again she was unlikely to have any luck. She hesitated for a moment longer, before turning and heading back to the hallway. Her sister-in-law's drunken piano-playing still rang out through the house as Margaret reached the kitchen and dropped the apple into a bin, and then she tapped her phone to check the weather forecast for the next day. She was starting to think that she needed to get out of the house in the morning, maybe for a long walk through the forest, but to her dismay she saw that rain was forecast for almost the entire day, which meant -

  Suddenly she heard footsteps coming closer, as if somebody was approaching from behind.

  She turned, but the footsteps immediately stopped and she was left staring at a dark, empty doorway. It was almost as if a ghost had marched right up behind her and then simply vanished into thin air.

  “Herbert?” she called out, as the piano-playing continued. “Is that you? What do you want?”

  When no reply came, she went over to the doorway and peered out, but all she saw was the gloomy corridor. A moment later, she heard her brother clearing his throat in the distance.