That got around the village fast. "Who told her?"
"Mrs. Bishop. Mum went to see her yesterday."
"I thought Mrs. Bishop was too upset to see anyone?"
"She talked to Mum. They're sort of friends."
Todd remembered how his mum gossiped on the phone with her friends for hours. She told them personal stuff that made him cringe. Mrs. Bishop might have confided something to Ruby Turpin. If he couldn't speak to Mrs. Bishop, maybe he could get some information from Marigold's mother.
"Where do you make the corn dolls?"
"At home."
Todd didn't like the idea of going inside the witch's cottage, but he'd brave it to find out about Andrew. "Will you show me how you make them?"
Marigold's face lit up with enthusiasm. She jumped up and slapped her hat against her leg. "Come on. Race you back."
Todd followed on her heels, watching her pale blue dress flutter around her legs. He could easily win, but it made sense to let her win and keep her happy. When they reached the front gate of Lookout Cottage, she pulled up gasping and laughing. "Beat you, foxy boy."
Her pleasure made him feel guilty for being less than honest.
Much to Todd's relief, Marigold didn't take him into the house. He followed her along a narrow cement path, sandwiched between the house and an overflowing flowerbed, which led to the back garden. She stopped outside a large shed with a lean-to against the side, full of straw bales covered in plastic sheeting.
"This is our workshop." She took a key from behind a flowerpot full of scarlet geraniums and opened the door. Along one side, three windows flooded the shed with hot beams of sunlight. Spots of dust sparkled in the air. The fresh, clean scent of straw mingled with the warm, spicy fragrance of cedar wood. The aura of the place brushed over Todd's senses like a warm breeze. There was nothing evil in here. He was certain of it.
Corn dolls in various stages of preparation stood in a line along the bench beneath the windows. Marigold pulled out a stool for him and then sat on another. "You can have a go at making one."
She withdrew the blades of two knives from a wood block and put one on the bench in front of him. "Careful, it's very sharp. The straw blunts the blades quickly, so we keep the edges keen. It makes the job easier."
Todd hefted the blade in his hand, feeling the balance. His father had always carried a couple of knives. One in a leather sheath attached to his belt, the other inside his boot. Todd often saw him use the one on his belt while he hunted or worked in the garden, but never the one hidden in his boot. He used to wonder why his dad carried the second blade.
"Watch me first, then you have a go," Marigold instructed.
She cut a bunch of stalks to length, then twisted and knotted them, making it look easy. She finished by using some of the stalks to tie off and hold the doll in shape.
When Todd tried, stalks cracked, bent in the wrong place, and stuck out at strange angles, until his doll resembled a mutant hedgehog. He dropped it in disgust.
Marigold picked up his pitiful attempt. "I suppose this could be Shaun on a bad day."
Todd laughed. His frustration evaporated. "Or Grandpa. You should see his hair in the morning."
Marigold pulled on a piece of straw. Todd's whole doll unraveled and fell to pieces. They both laughed. "Don't think we'll be offering you a job," she said grinning at him.
He liked to see her laughing and smiling. He hoped no more of his questions made her sad.
Marigold pulled a huge box full of material scraps from under the bench and sorted through them. She pulled out a piece of denim and a stretchy black square of fabric. She held them up in front of him and narrowed her eyes. "This'll do."
Icy ants ran down Todd's spine. "What're you doing?"
She paused, her hand reaching for the glue pot. "Making it look like you."
Todd shook his head, trying to think how to tell her he didn't want one without offending her. He opened his mouth and closed it again when nothing came to mind.
"Are you all right, Todd?"
"I don't want one like me."
"Why not?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, but they remind me of voodoo dolls." He expected her to be mad; instead, she burst out laughing.
"Do you know anything about voodoo?"
"Course not."
"They say the effect on the victim is only due to superstition. How about I make a Todd doll, and you can put it in a model Porsche. Maybe it'll bring you good luck."
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Okay." She grinned. "I'll make a doll that looks like me." She dropped the two scraps of fabric back in the box before pulling out two more pieces. She glued a pale blue skirt and pink shirt on the doll, then finished it off with yellow wool hair and a small straw hat decorated with a tiny marigold.
Todd rested his elbow on the bench and propped his head on his hand, watching her nibble her lip in concentration. The tiny golden hairs on her skin gleamed in the sun. Heat prickled Todd's skin. Marigold might be strange, but he liked her. She was different from most people. They had that in common.
"Grandpa told me you don't go to school," he said.
"Nope. Mum homeschools me. I don't have to do any boring stuff like everyone else. I get to learn really cool things about crystals and astrology and herbal medicine and natural healing." She glanced up at him, her amber eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I bet you don't do that at school."
No. Todd could honestly say that astrology and herbal medicine were not part of the national curriculum.
Before his dad disappeared, he'd started to teach Todd about the medicinal properties of plants. He suspected his father would approve of the life Marigold and her mother led. "My dad used to live in Porthallow when he was a boy. Wonder if he knew your mum. They'd have been about the same age."
"I don't know. You should ask her."
This was Todd's excuse to talk to Ruby Turpin and find out about Mrs. Bishop. Yet he didn't want to move and destroy the relaxed feeling that had fallen over him while he watched Marigold. He hoped she'd make another doll.
"Done." She held the figure out to him. "You keep it as a souvenir. Careful, though, the glue's still wet. You can give it to your mum."
"Thank you. I'll give it to my sister, Emma. She's twelve." But even as he said the words, he knew he'd keep the doll himself.
After placing the figure on the bench in front of him, he stared out the window at rows of runner beans and a tepee of sweet peas. Behind the vegetable garden ran the wall he'd sneaked along the morning he found Andrew. He sighed. He mustn't waste this opportunity to ask questions.
"You must know everyone around here," Todd said.
She nodded.
"The day I arrived, a couple of guys were hanging around under the big oak tree by the bench at the top of the village. Any idea who they are?"
She hesitated for a fraction of a second. If he hadn't been watching her closely, he'd have missed it. She wiped the knife blades and slid them into the slots in the wood block. "What did they look like?"
Todd thought for a moment. "A bit older than us. Both had brown hair. One was wearing a denim jacket."
"There aren't many teenagers here. Tourists come and go, but they usually have younger kids." She busied herself tidying up the waste straw, which in itself wasn't odd, but she didn't glance up at all, and her movements were jerky.
"So you don't know them?" he pressed.
"Don't think so."
She brushed the last shreds of straw into a dustpan and tipped them into a waste bag hung on the wall. "Want to ask Mum if she remembers your dad?" she asked.
"Okay."
Todd was disappointed she didn't know the boys. Or hadn't admitted to knowing them. He hadn't told her he thought he'd seen them up here, so what reason could she have for pretending not to know them?
Nerves tightened his stomach as she led him down the path to the back door. As she reached for the handle, the door jerked inward taking them both by surprise. An older, more heavily built version of Marigold blocked the doorway.
"Mum." Marigold sounded startled at her mother's sudden appearance.
"What have you been doing?" Mrs. Turpin demanded. With narrowed eyes, she scanned Todd from head to toe. Goose bumps ran along his arms as her hostility prickled his senses. He had to stop himself from taking a step back.
"Showing Todd how to make corn dolls." Marigold sounded confused. She glanced at Todd and then back to her mother. "This is Mr. Hunter's grandson. You remember he—"
"I know who he is, Mari." She stepped aside and ushered Marigold past. "Inside and lay the table for lunch." When Marigold didn't move immediately, she barked, "Now!"
Marigold cast an apologetic glance Todd's way, then slipped past her mother into the cottage.
For long, awkward moments, Mrs. Turpin continued to stare at Todd as though he had some terrible disease. "Umm, I wanted to ask if you remember my dad," he managed to get out. Thinking he should say something to break the silence.
"I knew your dad, all right." She took a wary step closer to Todd and stared at his face. "Ye gods, you're the image of him." She stepped back into the shadow of the doorway, kissed her fingers, and touched the stone lintel above her head. "I'll not be the one to tell you about your father, though. You ask your grandpa. Now I've food to put on the table."
She went inside, started to shut the door and then hesitated. "Watch your back, young man. There are some around here who won't like the look of you, and there are others who'll not want you to leave. It might have been better if you'd never come." Then the door closed.
Todd's heart thumped. What had just happened? His gaze rose to the place above the door where Mrs. Turpin had put her fingers.
The hollow-eyed stare of a Green Man's face stared back at him.
Chapter Seven
The smell of fish and chips wafted from the kitchen as Todd walked inside Grandpa's shop. He went through to the living quarters at the back, his mouth watering.
"There you are." Grandpa peered over the spectacles he had balanced on the end of his nose to read the instructions on a packet. "You and I have things to discuss after dinner, young man."
After washing his hands in the sink, Todd laid the table in silence. He'd learned long ago to wait to hear what he was accused of before he tried to defend himself.
Apart from a few small burnt bits of potato, Grandpa's fish and chips were good. They tasted much better than Philippe's.
They ate in near silence, only exchanging a few comments about the meal. When he finished, Grandpa sat back and crossed his arms. "I had an unpleasant visit from Kelvin Marks yesterday. He said you were poking around in the gift shop. Implied you were stealing."
Todd stared at the mess of oil and tomato ketchup on his plate, feeling nauseated. If Kelvin's allegation got back to Mum, she'd go ballistic.
"Nothing to say for yourself?"
Todd schooled his expression before looking up to meet his grandpa's eyes. "Do you think I'm a thief?"
"Course not!" Grandpa bunched his paper napkin and threw it on the table. "I think you were over there nosing around, hoping to find out something about Andrew Bishop's death—after I told you not to."
Unsure whether to apologize or keep quiet, Todd sat motionless, hardly breathing.
"Say something, Todd." Grandpa sighed in exasperation, stood, and dumped his plate in the sink with a crash and rattle of silverware. "You really are your father's son. You have his expression down to a tee. Cold. Detached. As if the emotion of us mere mortals is beneath you."
"I don't want to cause you trouble," Todd said softly.
"No. I'm sure you don't, lad. But you will if you dig into the details of Andrew's death. Just leave it alone. Let the police draw their own conclusions and lay the case to rest. Then the village can get back to normal. None of the locals want this prolonged."
Todd nodded noncommittally. He had no intention of stopping his search while he had so many suspicions. So far, he had uncovered no answers, just a lot more questions. But there was no sense in antagonizing his grandpa by saying so.