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Deadly Lies

Ann Girdharry

Copyright © 2021 Ann Girdharry

The right of Ann Girdharry to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Print ISBN 978-1-913942-45-8


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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

Chapter 58

Chapter 59



A note from Ann Girdharry

A note from the publisher

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Deadly Motives - Book 1 (previously published as Killer Motive)

Deadly Secrets - Book 2

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The Beauty Killers


‘Wake up, Ronnie. There’s someone in the house.’

The terror in his wife’s voice woke Ronnie like a drench of water. He jerked upright so fast he pulled a muscle in his lower back. Ronnie’s automatic instinct was to reassure Joan it was probably nothing and he was about to do just that and to tell her he’d check it out when they both heard a noise coming from downstairs. It was a dragging sound. Something about it made Ronnie go cold.

His mind flew to the grandchildren. They were asleep in the room down the hallway.

‘It could be Lisa or Emily,’ he whispered.

Joan violently shook her head. ‘They don’t get up on their own. They would have called if they needed the bathroom.’

Ronnie glanced at the clock. It was 2am. She was right and the sound downstairs wasn’t child-sized.

‘Lock yourself in the en suite and call the police,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll check it out.’

Joan grabbed Ronnie’s arm. He pushed her away gently but firmly.

‘I know the girls are the priority, I promise I’ll get them first.’

As he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Ronnie felt a stab of pain in his back. Sure, he was out of shape and since retirement several years earlier he’d been steadily putting on weight. Back in the day he’d been an amateur boxer, and he’d be damned if he was going to be frightened in his own house by some bloody intruder. Perhaps one of the grandchildren really had wandered downstairs. Maybe it was nothing. But that wasn’t what his instincts were telling him.

Ronnie padded to the door. He stopped and listened, straining every nerve.

It had been his wife’s idea to have the grandchildren sleep over every other weekend. At first Ronnie had been reluctant. He’d never devoted much time to being a father, and being a grandfather felt awkward. Then as time wore on, Ronnie realised Joan was right – the grandchildren were fun. For sure he’d never get to like children’s films but there was something special about cuddling up on the sofa with a bowl of treats and two excited little girls. At some point, Ronnie had started looking forward to the grandchildren’s visits. He used to be a hard-nosed businessman. Now he browsed children’s videos and bought kids’ games – things he’d never done for his own daughter. He even got Emily and Lisa’s bedroom decorated exactly the way they wanted it – with matching pink bedspreads and a pink plush carpet and a lilac monstrosity of a dresser.

Standing in the gloom, Ronnie couldn’t hear a thing. He tiptoed along the landing to the grandchildren’s room. A couple of night lights glowed at floor level. He’d put them in because Lisa, the youngest one, was scared of the dark. Scanning the beds where their shapes should be, his heart pounded. Ronnie ran to Emily’s bed, flinging back the duvet, desperately hoping she was snuggled inside. Nothing. He scattered pillows and the cover of Lisa’s bed, smelling the children’s sweet scent from their nightly bubble bath. Empty.

Ronnie shouted and ran along the hallway. He almost fell down the stairs and had to grab at the banister. At the bottom, he flipped on the lights. The downstairs hallway was flooded in yellow, just in time to see a person in black heading out the door, with one child bundled under his arm and the other being dragged behind.

Ronnie bellowed with rage and charged towards the front door. ‘You fucking bastard!’

‘Emily!’ Joan shouted.

She hurled a vase and it smashed against the wall. Joan, thought Ronnie, she didn’t hide in the bathroom, she’s right behind me.

Blood pumped in Ronnie’s ears drowning out his jagged breaths. Now he was in the night air and the security lighting outside didn’t flash on. Ronnie jumped two steps to the ground, the gravel of the driveway digging into his feet. Outside the house, a vehicle stood with doors open. He saw the intruder toss Lisa onto the back seat and Emily was fighting against being pushed in.


The sound which came out of Ronnie’s mouth was raw with fury. He yanked at the passenger door and as the man turned to face him Ronnie

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