Read Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook Online

Authors: St John Lauren

Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook (15 page)

‘Looks like everything is going to work out fine after all,’ said Calvin Redfern.
‘Could be,’ murmured Laura, and she knew that neither of them was talking about the dogs.
17
THE ANIMALS MIGHT
have made peace with one another, but there was a new tension between the humans in the house. Calvin Redfern had done a good job of explaining away his long absences, but he’d all but admitted the house was full of secrets. It was Laura’s intention to get to the bottom of them.
After dinner, she excused herself and went upstairs with Skye. The husky lay on the foot of the bed and listened to her talking softy to him as she put on jeans, boots and a black sweatshirt. She explained to him why she was putting a black woolly hat into her pocket for good measure. Then she hugged him goodnight, climbed into bed and pulled the duvet over her.
It was 1am when she heard the front door groan. By that time, she was almost dizzy with tiredness and very nearly changed her mind about the whole enterprise. Her bed was warm, Skye was pulling sledges in his sleep, and the wind battering her window sounded like a hurricane. But, she told herself, real detectives didn’t allow details like freezing gales or dreaming dogs to get in the way of their investigations.
Forcing herself out of bed, she clipped on the husky’s lead. In another minute, they were out in the darkness. The salty sea wind whipped Skye’s thick fur and brought a scarlet flush to Laura’s cheeks. She pulled her woolly hat down low over her eyes. In the hallway mirror, she’d resembled a cat burglar.
Laura had been so sure that Calvin Redfern would turn left out of the house and walk down the slope past the cemetery to the coastal path that she thought her eyes were deceiving her when she found the road empty. She glanced to the right just in time to see him pass a No Entry sign at the end of Ocean View Terrace and disappear down Barnoon Hill.
‘Quick, Skye, he’s getting away,’ said Laura, breaking into a run. She’d been worried that the husky might not be able to keep up, but he loped easily beside her, ears pricked and pink tongue lolling. She’d taken a risk by bringing him, but she hadn’t wanted to leave him alone on his first night in a new home. Besides, she felt safer having him with her.
At the top of Barnoon Hill she paused, unsure which way to go. She put her hand down to pet Skye and remind him to stay quiet. His bared his fangs and gave a low, vicious growl. Laura snatched her hand away, alarmed. But he wasn’t growling at her. A dark figure had darted from a sidestreet. Laura shrank into the shadows. ‘Shhh, boy,’ she whispered, crouching down and pulling him close. He licked her face, but his body stayed tense.
The figure checked furtively over its shoulder before slipping into an alley. As it did so, a streetlight illuminated its face. Laura gasped. It was Mrs Webb. She was dressed like a widow, all in black, a shawl covering her head.
A ripple of fear went through Laura and she almost turned back. Mrs Webb was hardly the type to take midnight strolls for the sake of the fresh air. She was hunting - that was the word that popped into Laura’s head - Calvin Redfern. An overpowering urge to protect her uncle came over Laura. Why the housekeeper was following him she couldn’t imagine, but if it came to her uncle’s word against Mrs Webb’s, she’d choose to believe him every time.
All the same, suspicion and confusion battled in her mind.
Skye pulled her forward, straining at his lead. Wrapping the leather twice around her hand for added security, she hurried after him. They followed Mrs Webb into the alley. At the far end, striding down the hill, oblivious to his pursuers, was Calvin Redfern.
Laura had spent many enjoyable hours committing to memory Matt Walker’s tips on tailing suspects, but the cobbled streets zigzagged between the cottages and palms and it was hard to keep the proper distance. At the second corner, she lost sight of both Mrs Webb and her uncle. Imploring Skye to keep quiet, Laura rushed to catch up. The next section of the alley was also deserted. Twisting leaves cast dancing witch shadows on the cobblestones. Laura strained her ears for footsteps, but could hear nothing but the moaning of the wind and the rhythmic pounding of the sea, getting louder as they neared it.
She was inching her way down a narrow flight of stone steps when Skye suddenly bounded forward, catching her off balance. Laura pitched into space, catching a mid-air glimpse of her uncle crossing a courtyard lined with fishermen’s cottages and Mrs Webb melting into a darkened doorway. At the bottom of the steps were three wheelie bins. In a desperate attempt to avoid them, Laura landed hard on one ankle, grabbing at the husky to try to save herself. Despite her best efforts, the bins clattered together noisily.
Laura bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. The stench of garbage filled her nostrils. Cubes of raw vegetables were scattered on the ground and she lay sprawled on top of them. She put a hand over Skye’s muzzle and watched through a gap between the bins as her uncle began to march in her direction. How he’d react when he discovered she’d been spying on him, she was scared to think. She felt sick with shame.
He was halfway across the courtyard when a seagull rose screeching from the ledge above Laura’s head. Simultaneously the birdwatcher popped out from behind a pillar.
Shock turned her uncle’s face a bloodless white in the lamplight.
‘Remember me, Calvin?’ asked the birdwatcher, flashing him a crooked grin. ‘It’s Bill Atlas, your old friend from the
Daily Reporter
in Scotland. Have you a moment to answer some questions?’
Recovering, Calvin Redfern said coldly: ‘As I recall, you were no friend of mine. Quite the opposite.’
The smile never left the birdwatcher’s face. ‘Ach now, you’ll not still be holding a grudge. A man’s got to earn a living. I’ll no be keeping you long. Three, maybe four, questions at the most.’
Calvin Redfern shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Have you completely lost your mind, Atlas? You want to interview me here? Now? In an alley at one in the morning?’
‘Aye, well I thought you might prefer to talk about the past away from the prying eyes of your neighbours and friends. Under cover of darkness.’
‘I have nothing to hide from anyone and my past is none of your business.’
‘Nothing to hide?’ The man gave a laugh. ‘You forget, Calvin, I knew you back then. I warned you that your obsession with the Straight A’s would get you into trouble. I knew that you’d stop at nothing to get your hands on them, no matter who got in the way. And that’s what happened, isn’t it, Calvin? That’s why you’re eaten up with guilt. I bet you lie awake at night blaming yourself - haunted by the thought that she might still be around if only you’d done things differently.’
He pointed his pen at the other man’s chest. ‘That is what you’re doing here, isn’t it, Calvin? That’s why you fled to the other end of the country? Why you prowl the streets of St Ives in the wee hours. That’s why your neighbours call you a recluse.’
He got no further because Calvin Redfern grabbed him by the throat with one hand and curled the other into a fist. Laura saw the muscles bunch under his sweater as he prepared to punch the reporter.
Laura wanted to run screaming from her hiding place, but her throat seemed to have closed up and she couldn’t move. Her fingers were locked around Skye’s collar. The dog was trembling and straining at the leash, but Laura had her hand over his muzzle. Mercifully he didn’t bark. Mrs Webb stood motionless in the doorway.
‘Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me!’ shrieked the reporter.
Calvin Redfern stopped mid-punch. He thrust the reporter from him and stood with his arms held tensely by his side.
‘Okay, I admit it, I went too far,’ admitted the reporter in a whining tone. ‘It’s just that you have a wee girl living with you now, Calvin. Does she know who her uncle is? Do Social Services? Have you spared a thought for her?’
Calvin Redfern turned blazing eyes on him. If looks were wishes, the reporter would have been a pile of smouldering ashes. ‘Leave Laura out of this,’ he said. ‘You’re not worth one hair on her head.’
Then he strode away into the night, his boots ringing on the cobblestones.
The reporter touched his neck gingerly. ‘You always were on the sensitive side, you old devil,’ he grumbled after Calvin Redfern’s departing back. Straightening his collar, he slunk off the way he’d come.
Mrs Webb stepped from her hiding place. Skye snarled before Laura could stop him. The housekeeper stared hard at the wheelie bins. She advanced on them menacingly. Laura had a split second to act and she used it. She aimed a cube of pumpkin at the seagull. Outraged, it again flew screeching into the air.
The housekeeper let out a curse, but she didn’t come any nearer. She blew her nose loudly on a tissue, muttered something to herself in a foreign language and scurried away. In another moment, Laura was alone with a growling dog, a pounding heart and at least a dozen unanswered questions.
18
SKYE LAY ON
the bed with his nose between his paws and watched Laura as she packed. Twice she flung all her belongings into her suitcase and twice she removed everything and returned it to the wardrobe. On the third occasion, she locked the suitcase and pushed it under the bed. Her hands were cold from the ice cubes she’d used to try to bring down the swelling on her ankle, but her body felt clammy as though she had a mild fever. Fragments of the reporter’s rant kept running through her head.
‘
. . . You have a wee girl living with you now, Calvin. Does she know who her uncle is? Do Social Services?
’
And:
‘I warned you that your obsession with the Straight A’s would get you into trouble . . . that’s what happened, isn’t it, Calvin? I bet you lie awake at night blaming yourself, haunted by the thought that she might still be around if only you’d done things differently . . .’
Laura was sure that ‘she’ was the ‘J’ who’d written the note in the Matt Walker book, though whether she was a wife, sister, or merely a friend, the reporter hadn’t revealed. How or why had she got in the way? And who were the Straight A’s? Laura wondered if she’d heard the name correctly. They sounded like a rock band or a religious cult.
The big question was, where was J now? Alive or . . .
Laura hardly dared think the word, let alone say it out loud. A vision of the muscles bunching in her uncle’s arm as he went to smash the reporter’s face in came back to her. What dark event had brought them together in years gone by? And why was Mrs Webb following him? Was she on the side of the angels, as the saying went, or was she up to something herself ? Did she, like Bill Atlas, know something about her uncle’s past?
Laura buried her face in Skye’s thick fur and tried to come to a decision. If she had a grain of sense, she would take the husky and get as far away from St Ives as she possibly could. She could stow away aboard a train heading north and return to the dull but safe haven of Sylvan Meadows Children’s Home. She could use her mobile phone to call Matron and beg to be returned to her old room overlooking the car park.
That’s what the scared part of her wanted to do, at any rate. The inquisitive part of her, the part that didn’t spook easily and dreamed of being a great detective like Matt Walker, the part of her that would rather eat a raw snail than admit defeat and go crawling back to her old orphanage, wanted to stay and get to the bottom of the whole mystery.

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