Pack of Lies Read online

  “Could there be more werewolves in the area?”

  The unpleasant sensation in Matthew’s stomach increased and he clenched his fists. “I hadn’t even considered that. There could be. I haven’t heard of any, but then Isaac and I keep ourselves to ourselves in that regard. As soon as we’re back in the village I’ll start looking into it.” He turned away from his friend and began scouting around the area, even daring to sniff a couple of times to see if he could scent anything else.

  When he returned to Richard’s side, he shook his head. “There’s nothing here that helps. I still can’t smell anything else except for you, Alex and Kevin, but that doesn’t mean anything, really. This happened during the night and any other trails would have faded. My nostrils are being pounded by sheep carcass. Speaking of which, what are we going to do with it now?”

  “I’ll give Jack a call.” Despite having his nose and mouth covered, the clergyman looked decidedly green. Matthew figured it was a good idea to get the other man out of there and let him call the farmer whose sheep it was and tell him the bad news once they got back to the car and into some fresher air. The farmer wouldn’t be happy to receive the news, obviously, but he’d want to get the carcass out of the field quickly so it didn’t encourage any more predators or freak out any other walkers.

  “Okay. Come on, let’s go. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

  The relief was evident on Richard’s half-covered face as they turned back the way they’d come. Matthew fell into step behind his friend and wondered how on earth he was going to break this to his brother.

  Chapter Two

  Once they got back into the truck, Matthew fished his mobile from his pocket and reluctantly sent a text to Isaac.

  Sheep totally mutilated, definitely some kind of animal attack. No evidence of anything, though. Richard letting farmer know now. Tell you more later. M.

  After hitting send and putting the phone away, he started the car and drove back to the village. Richard was already on the telephone to the farmer explaining what they’d found. With his heightened hearing, Matthew could hear everything Jack said as well as Richard, and he was relieved to note that both men seemed to agree there was no point in involving the police. If someone had shot the sheep, or trapped it, then yes, as it was clearly someone engaging in illegal activity. But the authorities could hardly arrest a wild animal, could they?

  Matthew found himself desperately hoping it would be an isolated incident. If it was, then there was no need to pursue it further, to worry, anything. But if it happened again, clearly things were going to get much more complicated, in terms of both the villagers who were in the know about his and Isaac’s true natures, and having to involve the police. He hated having to lie about this stuff, which was why he was so glad that he was out to a fair number of people in Eyam, namely the descendants of those who had been around when their secret had been discovered back in the 1500s. It made life a great deal easier, especially when it came to disappearing down to the caves every full moon with his brother.

  Matthew dropped the vicar off at the rectory, thanked him for his support and went home. There he switched on the computer and started rooting around the web for any evidence of similar attacks nearby as well as anything that might lead him to believe there were other werewolves around. He still found it hard to comprehend how such a small device could be so powerful. He remembered when computers had filled rooms, buildings, and a time when research had been done by visiting archives, pulling old newspapers and actually talking to people.

  He shook his head and thanked his lucky stars that Isaac enjoyed this stuff. His computer-whizz younger brother—though younger was almost an irrelevant word when you were centuries old—was the one who kept them under the radar of the government. Obviously the discovery of two men of their age living in Eyam would ring a million alarm bells, so when records became computerized, plugged into central databases and whatever other mumbo-jumbo they used nowadays, Isaac had devised a way for them to stay in Eyam, their true natures undetected. It was simple, really. A combination of fake identities, name changes and the occasional greased palm. He didn’t know all the details, as he didn’t understand how it worked, and if he was honest with himself it was better if he didn’t know. It was not aboveboard, which he disliked. But it was better than being locked up in a lab somewhere being tested. Or worse, killed.

  Fear was a powerful motivator, and for this reason he was extremely grateful for the support of the villagers. They were amazing, really. To know and accept what he and Isaac were and not treat them any differently. Granted, the secret had been passed from generation to generation along with the reason it was kept, which meant that it was never sprung on anyone—it was just something that was part of every old family in the village.

  Matthew and Isaac had good, long-standing relationships in Eyam, and had for hundreds of years. He just hoped that nothing would jeopardize that.

  After some fruitless searching, Matthew turned up nothing that helped him, so he—with a small degree of relief—turned off the computer. Wretched thing. At least it had put his mind at rest. If there had been no other attacks, then it was unlikely that there were any other werewolves or less supernatural predators in the area. On the other hand, it meant that there was no one and nothing else that could possibly be responsible for the sheep’s slaughter. People’s thoughts would instinctively turn to him and his brother, and in a way he didn’t blame them. In the absence of a better explanation, what else were they supposed to think?

  He just hoped he and his brother could convince them otherwise.

  A glance at his watch told him that he still had several hours to kill before he had to be in work. Pretty much the whole day, really. Sitting around with nothing but his thoughts wasn’t an option, and he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on reading or the television. Something physical would help. That decided, he grabbed his keys and headed out.

  A few seconds later he was knocking on his neighbor’s door. “Mrs. Smithers? It’s Matthew. Come to see if you’ve got any chores that need doing.” He knocked a little harder, knowing the old dear’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be. And he should know—he’d been acquainted with her since she’d been born, almost eighty-five years previously.

  After a minute or so she answered the door, looking as confused as she always did. It was hard for him to see her that way, as he remembered her in more lucid days. Smiling, Matthew spoke more gently. “Good morning, Mrs. Smithers. I hope I didn’t wake you. I’ve found myself at a loose end until my shift tonight and wondered if you had anything you needed me to do? Gardening, mow your lawn, fetch your shopping?” He sounded a little desperate, he realized. But it didn’t really matter—his neighbor was well aware that he was rubbish at doing nothing. As a result, he’d been doing chores for her since well before she’d become incapable of doing them herself. She seemed to recognize it was as much her doing him a favor as the other way around.

  After a beat she clearly realized who she was talking to, and her face lit up in a beautiful smile and she reached for him. “Matthew! Good morning, young man. Lord, I’ll never get used to calling you that. How on earth did I get to look older than you?”

  Matthew surreptitiously looked around to make sure there was no one around to overhear their conversation. It would certainly pique the curiosity of anyone who didn’t know what the old lady was talking about. But at least if they did hear, he’d be able to use the excuse that it was the ramblings of someone who only had the barest grasp on her mind. It wasn’t nice but he’d have to do it if it became necessary.

  Patting her hand, he spoke again. “Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Smithers. How are you today?”

  “I’m well, thank you, Matthew. And you? Did you have a…busy night?”

  It was obvious what she was referring to, but a little odd that she’d remembered that of all things. “I’m well too, thank you. Yes, Isaac and I had a busy night, and I’ve had a busy morning
too. There’s been a torn-up sheep found up on the moor. Alex Kennedy and Kevin Jones found it first thing walking their dogs, and let the vicar know. I went up there with him to investigate.”

  The old lady gasped. “How terrible. Why don’t you come on in and tell me all about it?”

  Matthew’s heart sank. If Mrs. Smithers had immediately grasped the potential severity of the situation, what hope did he and his brother have for coming out of the other side of this unscathed? “Yes, of course. Let me just take my boots off.”

  Mrs. Smithers stepped back into the house and ushered him in. “Nonsense. There’s a perfectly good doormat there. Just wipe off the worst of the mud and you’ll be just fine. My old eyes won’t be able to see the dirt anyway.” The eyes in question twinkled with mischief at her words, and Matthew couldn’t help the smile that took over his face. Dorothy Smithers had been adorable from the moment she’d come into the world, and he dreaded the day that she would leave it. If things had been different, she could have been his wife, could have borne his children. But he and his brother had decided very early on that romantic relationships were not something they could indulge in, for the safety and sanity for everyone involved. And every time he saw Mrs. Smithers, every time she took a turn for the worse, slipped a little closer to dementia, he remembered exactly why they’d made that decision.

  It didn’t make it any less painful, though. It was just a stark reminder that they were doing the right thing. Their lives were complex and painful enough without the added complication of romantic love and, in his case, children. Isaac’s sexuality added a whole other layer of difficulty. He hadn’t come out yet and insisted that there was no point, as partners were not on the agenda. Matthew could understand his perspective, especially since up until recent years being gay had been frowned upon by society. Why rock their already precarious boat?

  He was pulled from his thoughts by Mrs. Smithers, who gave an exaggerated cough, then waved at him when his flicked his gaze to her.

  “Earth to Matthew. Are you coming in, then?”

  “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.”

  “Yes, I realize that. Do it quite often myself. Let’s go into the sitting room. Would you like a cup of tea? Something else?”

  “A cup of tea would be wonderful. Would you like me to make it?”

  “Go and sit down, Matthew. I’m not quite so infirm that I can’t make a drink.” Her tone was firm, decisive, so he did as she said, trying in vain to hide his grin. She was a tough old broad, bless her, and he was sure she had many years left in her. Thank God.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She shot him a glance that would have turned a lesser man to stone, which just made his grin widen. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up with a clip ’round the ear or something. Dorothy Smithers did not fear Matthew, not in the slightest, and for that he was grateful. It was nice to feel normal once in a while.

  After a few minutes she came through to the sitting area with a tray containing a teapot, two cups and saucers, two spoons, a small jug of milk and a sugar bowl, and placed it on the table. She did tea in the old-fashioned manner, which Matthew loved. In the modern world with its modern ways, pouring tea from a proper pot was a great pleasure, one he hurriedly indulged in before Mrs. Smithers could.

  He smiled at her almost apologetically as he checked the color of the tea in the pot to make sure it was strong enough, then filled the two cups.

  “Thank you,” the old lady said, adding three sugars and a spot of milk to hers before picking up the cup and saucer and settling them on her lap. “Now, tell me about this sheep.”

  Trying hard to ignore the feeling of discomfort that went along with dragging it all up again, he recounted what had happened, taking a breath every now and again and having a sip of his tea. The scalding liquid that splashed across his tongue and down his throat did little to distract him.

  When he had finished, Mrs. Smithers remained silent, regarded her cup for several long seconds, then returned her gaze to him. She looked decisive, determined, and even before she’d spoken he knew he was going to like what she said next.

  “Matthew.” She spoke calmly, though the tiniest quaver gave away her strong feelings on the subject. “I’m sorry that this has happened, and I want you and your brother to know that I am behind you one hundred percent. I know you didn’t do this, wouldn’t do it, and I’ll tell anyone who will listen. If I can help you both in any way, I will. And now that’s my final word on the subject. I suspect you want to discuss it even less than I do.” She took a gulp of her tea and placed the cup and saucer back down on the tray, then got out of her chair with a movement that belied her age.

  “What are you waiting for, young man? Come and see what I’d like you to do for me. I hope you’re feeling energetic. You may regret offering to do my chores today.”

  As he fell into step behind her as she led him out into the back garden, the smile took over his face once again. Her support, her words and now her willingness to help distract him made him realize just how lucky he was to have such good friends in the village. Perhaps things wouldn’t be that bad. Perhaps years of friendship with the villagers and their mothers and fathers, and grandmothers and grandfathers before them, would mean something. Trust, support, belief. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too much to ask.

  When he and Mrs. Smithers emerged into the garden, she immediately launched into a list of tasks.

  “Could you mow the lawn, sweep up, pull the weeds, dig up any of my summer plants that have gone over, tidy up the laurels and the conifers—they’ve gone crazy with all the sun we’ve had—and then, if you’ve got time, have a look at one of my fence panels. I think those conifers may have been pressing against it and it’s buckled. If you can sort it out, fantastic. If not I’ll give you some money and I’d be grateful if you could get me a new panel next time you’re passing somewhere that sells them.”

  He listened and mentally logged everything she’d mentioned, though most of it was par for the course. Basically tidy up the garden, then check out the fence panel. It would take him a good couple of hours, maybe more depending on exactly how wild the trees and bushes had gone.

  “No problem, Mrs. Smithers. I’ll get it all done for you before I have to go to work, and if you need a new fence panel I’ll get that sorted.”

  “You’re good to me, Matthew. Thank you. I’ll give you a shout when lunch is ready. Do you fancy anything in particular?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got any of your delicious homemade bread?”

  “You’re in luck.”

  “Then any kind of sandwich is good for me.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be pottering around if you need me.”

  “Thank you. And Mrs. Smithers?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her wrinkled cheek, chuckling as she blushed and waved him away before scuttling back into the house faster than he would have thought it was possible for her to go.

  Matthew whistled a tune as he headed into the gloom of the old lady’s shed to get the lawnmower. The next few hours were going to be a breeze. It was just Isaac coming home and the conversation that would follow that he wasn’t looking forward to.

  Chapter Three

  When the end of his shift came, Isaac extricated himself from the doctor’s surgery as quickly as he could without appearing rude. The last thing he needed right now was to start alienating people. Fortunately, he had a way with folk—he was often accused of being able to charm the birds from the trees—so he managed to leave with the minimum of fuss and cheerful words of farewell from the receptionist and the patients still waiting for their early evening appointments.

  He had to resist the temptation to run or even jog home, as that would attract attention too. Chilled-out nonchalance was the order of the day, and he walked through the sun-baked village more quickly than normal but without looking hurried. As luck would have it, he didn’t bump into anyone, di
dn’t have to put on any more of a façade, and he arrived home without incident.

  Stepping through the front door, he called out for his brother. “Matthew?” It was pretty much always Matthew, as opposed to Matt. His sibling didn’t like his name being shortened and never had. The older man was so large and formidable-looking that when he asked people not to call him Matt, they very rarely attempted it again.

  After a pause he heard the response. “In the kitchen.”

  As his brother couldn’t see him, Isaac didn’t bother to hide his smile, he just made sure to wipe it away before he headed into the room. Matthew being in the kitchen basically meant that something good was happening—the man was a damn good cook, even though he claimed to dislike the act. Given their animal natures, the recipes pretty much always involved meat and lots of it. Isaac’s stomach grumbled, then his face quickly fell as he realized what had driven his brother to cook. It was generally trouble or stress of some kind, and considering the morning’s happenings it could only be one thing.

  Dropping his keys on the side and putting his bag down by the phone table, he joined his brother in the kitchen. “Hi, Matthew. I won’t ask if you’re all right—it’s a silly question. Coffee?”

  Matthew shook his head without looking up from his task of ladling stuff out of a crock pot and into two bowls. Beef stew, by the smell of it. “Hello, Isaac. No, I’m all right, thanks. I’ve had enough caffeine today, I think. I’ve been next door for most of the day, and Mrs. Smithers has been plying me with tea and coffee pretty much the whole time. I did get some of her homemade bread, though, so it wasn’t all bad. And her garden looks fantastic.”

  By now Isaac’s heart was in his shoes. Matthew cooking, refusing caffeine and having been working his backside off next door meant that things clearly had not gone well. He really didn’t want to ask, but he knew his brother had to leave for work soon, and he definitely didn’t want to have this conversation in the pub or put it off any longer.