The Summer House

Keri Beevis

Description

From bestselling psychological thriller writer Keri Beevis

Mead House was once our childhood home.
Despite my fears, I always knew we would have to return to face the demons of our past.
Back to the place where it happened, to where, as carefree teenagers, we lost our elder sister in the most brutal of circumstances.
As executors of our grandmother’s will, my twin brother, Ollie, and I needed to empty the house for resale.
What I didn’t expect to discover was my sister’s secret journal that contained her most private thoughts and shocking dark secrets.
Now I am questioning everything that I saw that night. Did I get it wrong, who I saw?
Did my evidence send an innocent man, my then boyfriend's brother, to jail for the last 17 years?
I know I have no choice. If I want to find answers, I will have to go back to that fateful night my sister died. When she made her last visit to the summer house.

Praise for The Summer House

'A gripping, mind-twisting thriller that kept me guessing until the end. A masterclass in suspense. Storytelling at its best' - Patricia Dixon

'An absolute jewel of a thriller. Full of betrayal, dark secrets & tense sub plots, this book was impossible to put down⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐' - D.E. White

'I trusted no one, I suspected everyone. A gripping, addictive thriller that had me hooked from the start and guessing until the very end.' - Natasha Boydell

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Private Investigators
• Amateur Sleuth
• Traditional
• Siblings
• Thrillers
• Coming of Age
• Adventure (Guyana)
• Suspenso
• 21st century
• Psychological thriller
• Domestic
• Sibling
• Psychology
• Summer
• Adventure
• Crime
• Family Life
• Suspense
• Noir
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 06 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804151334
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE SUMMER HOUSE


KERI BEEVIS
For Ellie and Lola,
Fluffy divas, purr monsters, and the best companions a writer can have.
(Yes, I just dedicated this one to my cats)
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57


Acknowledgments

More from Keri Beevis

About the Author

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
1
2005

We are playing one of our games.
Wait for me in the summer house , your note had instructed. Midnight. Wear your red dress. And don’t put on any underwear . G xxx .
I know you like how the red dress looks on me, the way it dips between my breasts and skims my hips, but you have never made any specific request for me to wear it. Until tonight.
Well, it isn’t exactly a request. I had smiled earlier as I pulled it from the hanger, knowing I will do whatever I am told. It is all part of the thrill, of the excitement, not knowing what will happen next or how far you will push me.
The summer house is our special place. This private part of the garden, far away from the main house, is a place of secrets. They are ours alone and no one will ever learn what truly goes on inside this pretty white wooden building with its vaulted roof and panelled door. Here, when the cacophony of daylight sounds have finally quietened under a cloak of darkness, and while everyone sleeps, we creatures of the night come alive. This is when I can truly be myself.
My blood had heated in anticipation as I made my way across the lawn, the grass dry between my toes and the fragrant scents of honeysuckle, lavender, and jasmine clinging to the air. My excited heart beating faster as I wondered what tonight’s game would be.
The chair that had been positioned in the centre of the floor had drawn my attention as soon as I entered the summer house. The cushion had been removed and from the glow of the paraffin lamp, I could see a red silk scarf draped across the wooden seat. Behind it was a second note, which I opened with trembling fingers, reading your words.

Sit on the chair
Put the blindfold on
Wait
Do not move and do not disappoint me
I recognised your scrawling handwriting. Could picture your long, nimble fingers holding the pen, and heat pooled inside me, knowing your hands would soon be touching me.
The blindfold is a first for our games but I covered my eyes willingly, knotting the scarf behind my head. Eagerness overriding the flicker of apprehension in my gut.
It is not uncomfortable, but the silk is thick, and as I sit here waiting for you, I can’t see a thing. It heightens my other senses and I am aware of everything: the ticking of the wall clock, the hoot of a barn owl and the creak of the chair as I shuffle slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. Without the cushion, the seat is hard beneath me, and after a while, I can feel the spindles digging into my back.
Although the temperature has dipped slightly, the humidity allows little respite. It is going to be a warm night, too hot for sleeping. I only showered an hour ago, but already the nape of my neck is damp, my legs are sticking to the chair through the thin fabric of my dress, and a trickle of sweat is running down my back.
When I finally hear the door open, I flinch. In truth, I have no idea how long I have been waiting, but it has felt like forever, and although I have known you were coming, the sudden noise of your arrival still catches me off guard.
The key twists in the lock, then I hear the curtains being drawn, shutting us away from the world. Your footsteps grow closer, then further away again, and it takes me a moment to realise you are moving around me. I resist the urge to fidget, knowing I am being studied.
I only realise you are behind me again when your hands touch my shoulders. They are warm, though the texture of them is different. And your touch is light as your fingers trail down my arms. Your familiar fragrance lingers in the air and I breathe it in, steadying myself as I resist the urge to speak. I am desperate to know what tonight’s game will entail, but I also understand that the rules are I must never ask.
You are guiding my arms behind me now and for a moment I wonder what you are doing, then I am aware of something wrapping around my wrists. Rope, I think as it grazes over my skin, before you pull it securely, forcing my hands together.
The first flutter of fear drops in my stomach. This game is darker than we have played before. I want to speak, to say it hurts, that it’s cutting into my flesh, but I don’t because I’m afraid you will be angry with me.
You are anchoring the rope to something now and it forces my shoulders back so they are pressed uncomfortably into the chair. I give my hands an experimental tug, panic lodging in my dry throat as I realise I can’t pull free, and a whimper escapes.
Although you don’t respond to the sound, I am sure I can see you smiling through my darkness.
I am scared, but the idea of being touched while I am helpless like this heats something deep inside of me. My cheeks flush both in shame and anticipation, but then comes another lick of fear when your hands grab my ankles, binding them to the front legs of the chair.
I wince as the rope digs deep into my skin. It’s too tight. ‘Please stop, you’re hurting me.’
‘Shh.’
I hadn’t meant to speak, but this game feels different to the others. You always command and sometimes you punish, but I have never felt unsafe with you until now.
Tonight I fear we are going to cross a line.
I tremble, my heart thumping, scared of what comes next, but then I hear the lock turning, the door opening and closing, and realise you have left.
Alone, tied to the chair in this unbearably hot room, I wait; my imagination running wild.
Where have you gone?
Are you coming back?
Is your plan to fuck me or just leave me here?
Are you going to hurt me?
Real panic kicks in with that last thought and I struggle to free myself. I am bound too tightly. My body is drenched in sweat, the red dress sticking to me and the blindfold damp against my eyes. My hands and feet are starting to tingle and there is pain in my shoulder blades from the way my arms are positioned.
I want you to come back and untie me.
Moments later, your hands touch my shoulders again and I yelp, jerking against the chair.
It was a trick. Knowing that this whole time you have been right here watching, unsettles me further.
‘Please let me go.’
I know I am not supposed to speak, but things have gone too far.
Again you silence me with a ‘shh’. This time, your finger presses to my lips and it’s then I smell rubber and understand why your touch feels different. You are wearing gloves. Why do you have them on?
I am scared now. ‘I want to stop. I don’t like this game.’
Ignoring me, you lean in close, your warm breath against my ear as finally you speak.
‘This isn’t a game.’
Realisation is followed by horror. Finally I understand just how much trouble I am in.
2
PRESENT DAY

The place was just the same.
Lana Hamilton jangled the keys in her hand, taking a moment to study the house: the arched windows, the three chimneys, the yellow roses trailing around the front door.
She didn’t come back often these days, but on previous visits, Nana Kitty had always been waiting by the front door, a smile on her face to greet her.
Though not this time.
Kitty now resided in the family plot at St Andrew’s Church in the charming North Norfolk market town of Holt. Lana had stopped by the graveyard on her way to the house to lay flowers and again try to justify the reasons for selling her grandmother’s beloved home.
The place had been left to Lana and her twin brother, Ollie, but she knew they couldn’t keep it. Her life was in Cambridge and Ollie lived in London. Even if they could make it work, neither of them wanted to live in the house. Not since what had happened to Camille.
It was seventeen years since their sister’s murder, but it never became easier. Camille had been just nineteen when she’d died, the twins two years younger, and her death had changed everything, including their relationship with Mead House.
Ollie had only come home a couple of times since graduating university, while Lana kept her visits short and sweet, the memories painful, but unable to abandon their grandmother. She was only here now because the house needed clearing before it went on the market.
It irked her that Ollie had shunned his responsibilities, forcing her to do this alone, claiming he couldn’t get time off from the bank where he worked, and yes, her ex-boyfriend, Matt, had offered to come with her, but given that their relationship had not long ended, she was wary of giving him the wrong signals.
In truth, Lana could really do with the time away. Her boss at the magazine had agreed to let her take an extended six-week break. As a graphic designer, she could have worked remotely, but getting the house market-ready was going to be a big job. It was easier just to take the time off. Money wasn’t an issue. She had some savings, and once the house had sold, her bank balance would be very healthy. It was bittersweet though, as it came at the expense of her grandmother.
K