The Weekend

L. H. Stacey

Description

The gripping new thriller from bestselling author L.H. Stacey! It will keep you up all night!

‘Dark and dramatic, with an explosive ending’ Diane Saxon
'An atmospheric thriller with a knockout ending!⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️' **Bestselling author Diana Wilkinson
'The plot twists kept me guessing right until the end' ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

That Lake. This house. His friends. They all know what happened to my boy. I know they do. And you... you have to help me find the truth...

A weekend to remember…

Ten years ago, deeply in love, I would have done anything for Thomas Kirkwood.

But on the night of our graduation, fuelled by drink and drugs, Thomas’s lifeless body was found floating in the Kirkwood family lake. That weekend changed everything, and I swore I would never return to Kirkwood manor.

A weekend to forget…

Now, ten years later, I have been invited back to the place that holds such terrible memories for me, to a memorial weekend for Thomas, organised by his still-grieving mother Ada.

But this is no ordinary weekend. This is a reunion to catch a killer…and I fear that I could be top of Ada’s list….

Perfect for fans of Teresa Driscoll, Sue Watson, Jackie Kabler and Kendra Elliot.

What everyone's saying about L.H.Stacey:

'Captivating and chilling, with an ending I didn’t see coming!' Bestselling author Alex Stone

'A fabulous book that hooks you in and won't let you go till the very last page!' Bestselling author J.A. Baker

‘Dark and dramatic, with an explosive ending’ Bestselling author Diane Saxon

'A gripping tale that will have readers hooked from the first page to the last. Prepare to be captivated, shocked, and utterly engrossed by “The Weekend”.' Kelly Lacey and Love Books Tours

'This is a book that delivers on every level. The Weekend is a must for all fans of the genre and one that should NOT be missed!' Little Miss Book Lover.

*L. H. Stacey is up there with Nora Roberts and Karen Rose when it comes to writing jaw-dropping, nerve-twisting and addictive tales spiced with intrigue, passion and suspense and she is on top form with her latest novel, Keeper of Secrets. Julie 9th November 2019

L. H. Stacey knows how to write a psychological thriller and is very adept at building suspense throughout. Sincerely Book Angels

L. H. Stacey is a fantastic storyteller - setting the scene in a very descriptive way and bringing characters to life that you just have to emphasize with - so much emotion!!! Minimaxi

L. H. Stacey takes the reader on a journey of suspense with lots of twists and turns, most of which you won't see coming. It was an incredibly great read from start to finish giving me goosebumps along the way. Tasha Williams about House of Secrets*

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Royaume-Uni
• Fiction
• Noir
• Suspense
• England
• Family Life
• Crime
• Adventure
• General
• Great Britain
• Psychology
• United Kingdom
• General officer
• Sibling
• Psychological thriller
• 21st century
• Reino Unido
• Inglaterra
• Suspenso
• Adventure (Guyana)
• Thrillers
• World Literature
• Siblings
• Traditional
• Amateur Sleuth
• Hard-Boiled
• Private Investigators
• Women Sleuths
• Psychological
• Mashups

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 13 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781801626002
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WEEKEND


L. H. STACEY
CONTENTS



Prologue

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 L.H. Stacey

About the Author

The Murder list

About Boldwood Books
For Aunty Kay, my godmother.
You've always been there, looking out for me and steering me in the right direction.
Thank you x
PROLOGUE
LIZZIE



Ten Years Before

As I look up, I notice just one or two tiny stars. They’re shining at me like diamonds, poking through a grey and overcast sky. One where clouds float erratically across the moon, giving the sky an eeriness all of its own.
Staring intently, I realise that the sporadic sound of music can still be heard from within the grand hall of Kirkwood Manor and that the double doors have been flung wide open to allow the air to circulate around large, stuffy rooms.
Spotting the vocalist, I watch the way he walks to the doors and pokes his head through them in a meagre attempt to gauge how many are actually listening. Turning to the other two musicians, a keyboard player, and a guitarist, he seems to begin a debate. One about whether they should continue or whether they should pack up their instruments and call it a night. … after a few whispered words, the odd nod, and a smile, they continue to play, even though the house has now emptied of over a hundred or so inebriated people. Most of whom had recently graduated and in a last flourish, had spilled out and into the grounds or dissipated into the night with only the left-over litter, the empty bottles of both wine and champagne that had been left scattered all over the grounds, the last reminder that they’d been there at all. Whereas, my few remaining friends had begun a number of sordid, hedonistic parties. None of which looked as though they’d be ending any time soon.
Smiling, and imperiously, I swim though putrid smelling water, until I’m central to the lake. The chill of it has seeped deep into my naked body and through dazed, intoxicated eyes I try to focus on the fire baskets that are scattered around the gardens. I watch the sparks that shoot wildly upwards in colours of bright orange and red and I stare at the musicians through the inferno of fire, all the time imagining their music bouncing across the water towards me like huge, animated characters, and in my mind’s eye they’ve taken on the form of quavers and crochets. Inflated like the biggest of helium balloons. All different in size. And while laughing at how ridiculous it all seems, I take wide eyed pleasure in the eerie reflections of an overhanging willow tree which reaches out and over the lake. It has long, spindly branches that droop downward, until they dip themselves into the water, in a place where the leaves keep falling, to create a dangerous and boggy edge to the lake.
‘Thomas… where are you?’ I shout as loud as I can. I can’t understand where he’s gone, why he doesn’t answer, or why I’m alone. But quickly, I disregard the thought, throw my head backwards euphorically and immediately I feel the coldness of the water against my scalp, only to feel something flutter past me. It makes me jump nervously and with my mind in overdrive, I desperately try to imagine what it might have been. I try to remember what fish I’ve seen in the past, as opposed to the more dangerous ones I’ve heard the boys constantly joke about.
‘Watch out for the bottom-biting pike.’ Henry had once joked, ‘You don’t want him grabbing your arse, now do you?’
The thoughts flash repeatedly through my mind, as the bright, well-strung tree lights that were scattered around the garden’s perimeter suddenly begin to dim. It’s as though they’re being switched off in a strict rotational order and as I watch it happen, a deep sadness overtakes my thoughts. The lights had been pretty, and although it was still the middle of summer, it was now past midnight and since darkness fell, they’d been blinking repeatedly, giving the whole garden a look of Christmas and now I can’t do anything but watch despairingly while all the time using my arms and legs against the water to spin myself around, as one string after the other goes dim and then dark.
Sighing, I battle with the pond weed that’s begun to tangle itself around my ankle. Deciding that it’s time I got out of the water, I kick it away and move tentatively towards the embankment, all the time using the house as a bearing I slide my feet against the thick silt that covers the bottom of the lake. It’s a feeling I don’t like, and I worry about what I’ll stand on. What lies deep beneath the surface? I think back, remember all the things that had been carelessly tossed into the water over the summer. All the things we purposely wanted to lose.
Holding out cautious fingers, I reach for the old wooden diving platform, but quickly turn away as I spot partially naked bodies lying between the reeds. They’re illuminated by the fire baskets, prone, all curled up together in a tangled mass of arms and legs and I try to decipher who is who. Certain parts of the lake are gloomier than others, and most of the couples have moved into the well-known shadows. Their bodies are masked by overgrown plants and weeds and the only other real movement I can make out is that of another couple, scrambling around on hands and knees, and I surmise they’re looking for their clothes, the ones they’d recklessly abandoned earlier.
‘Thomas, where the hell are you?’ I shout his name and once again, I listen for a response that doesn’t come. ‘Thomas, this isn’t funny any more. You’re scaring me.’ My voice doesn’t sound like my own and the overwhelming internal glow that had been radiating within me has begun to diminish. And like Thomas, the feeling of being free and unrestrained has disappeared.
Grabbing at the rushes and sedges that grow around the lake, I use them to pull myself towards the deep furrows we’d carved into the embankment. It had been a teenage attempt to create a set of steps. A transitory foothold. One we knew wouldn’t last, but for as long as they did, they’d become a simple way of climbing in and out of the water during one or more of our many follies.
Standing close to the edge, I turn in circles, and squint in a frugal attempt to focus on the darkness. Slowly, as I hear familiar voices, I begin to search one side of the lake at a time. I’m fully expecting Thomas to leap out from behind one of the overgrown bushes or to be wandering down from the house, his arms full of champagne and a wicker basket full to the brim of warm, floury bread or left-over buffet.
While listening and searching, I spot the familiar shape of Lucy. She’s a young, naked woman who’s creeping around on her tiptoes along the embankment, her arm held protectively across her breasts. Until she notices me watching and with a look of mischief, she sweeps a hand through her hair, which she tosses seductively over her shoulder before standing upright, with a hand on each hip.
‘Lucy,’ I shout, ‘have you seen Thomas? I… well, I seem to have lost him.’ I try to ignore her nudity and allow my lip to protrude like that of a petulant child and in my temper, I fall forward and into the water. I kick my feet out behind me, float towards her, and watch the puzzlement on her face as Lucy scans the lake behind me.
‘Darling, isn’t he with you?’ Her upper-class voice carries across the water, and nonchalantly, she shrugs her shoulders, ‘He’s always with you. Isn’t he?’ She pauses, laughs. ‘What’s more darling, with the noise you two were making earlier, I’d have thought he’d be permanently attached to you for the next two weeks.’ Lucy’s voice quivers as she shouts. She’s obviously cold. Shivering. Which isn’t surprising after a whole group of us had spontaneously jumped into the water right after midnight in another rapacious, and uninhibited sex session. That along with the added influence of drink and drugs had caused us all to have a feeling of licentiousness and a wild abandonment that had lasted for hours.
‘My clothes have gone… vamoose… disappeared.’ Lucy begins to crawl on her hands and knees until she reaches the edge of the water, where what looks like a giant rhubarb plant blocks her way. Reaching underneath, she pulls out an old, damp shirt, gives it a suspicious sniff and annoyed she points a finger, wand-like at the floor. ‘My dress, the red one. I left it here and it should still be here.’ Pulling the damp shirt over her shoulders, she turns back to the lake.
‘Where’s Jessica?’ I shout. I look for her partner and wonder if like Thomas, she’s disappeared too and what the chances are of them being together.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Her pointed finger aims at the house. ‘I think she went to get food, oh… and champagne. We’d run out of champagne. All this sex, it makes you hungry darling, doesn’t it?’ Spinning on the spot, she lifts her face to the moonlight and for a moment, I appreciate the shape of her perfect body, and the way the shirt now drapes over her pert, naked breasts. ‘And when you find Thomas, ask him what he did with our clothes. It'd be just like him to be buggering about, hiding them from us.’ She laughs and seductively runs her tongue over her li