Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook (10 page)
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Authors: St John Lauren
BOOK: Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook
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His thick tail, which reminded Laura of a fir tree branch heavy with snow, thumped against the step.
Laura was still hurting and miserable when she climbed the hill to Ocean View Terrace, but she’d drawn strength from the husky. He too was being rejected, but if he knew it he certainly didn’t show it.
Mrs Crabtree started from her front door as Laura passed. Her mouth opened and her arms waved, but she got no further.
‘Don’t say a word,’ Laura warned her icily. ‘Not one word.’
10
LAURA HAD NEVER
in her life suffered from depression. At Sylvan Meadows, some of the girls had spent a great deal of time crying about parents who’d died or given them up for adoption. Laura had sympathised with them but she hadn’t joined them. The way she looked at it, a whole lakeful of tears wouldn’t bring back her mum who’d been lost in childbirth, or find the handsome American soldier who may, or may not, have been her father, and who in any case had no idea she existed and probably had a family of his own by now.
in her life suffered from depression. At Sylvan Meadows, some of the girls had spent a great deal of time crying about parents who’d died or given them up for adoption. Laura had sympathised with them but she hadn’t joined them. The way she looked at it, a whole lakeful of tears wouldn’t bring back her mum who’d been lost in childbirth, or find the handsome American soldier who may, or may not, have been her father, and who in any case had no idea she existed and probably had a family of his own by now.
The unhappy girls often asked Laura how she kept her spirits up. She’d always told them it was the power of reading. Rightly or wrongly, books had taught Laura to believe that almost every situation, no matter how bleak, could result in a happy ending if one only worked hard enough, pictured it long enough, and had enough faith. At Sylvan Meadows, she’d preferred to believe that there was a better life waiting for her rather than sit around full of self-pity because she was stuck in a children’s home. If she were a character in a novel, Laura would tell herself, some day some caring person would, out of the blue, contact Sylvan Meadows and claim her.
And one day Calvin Redfern had.
But what had happened with Tariq hit Laura hard. Her innate confidence, her pride in her judgement of character, had been shaken to the core. On Saturday morning she was so blue she could barely drag herself out of bed. What good was living by the ocean and having loads of freedom when you had no one to share it with? Her uncle was nice, but he was secretive and rarely around; Mrs Webb had a personality disorder; and Mrs Crabtree was, well, Mrs Crabtree. Kevin and his loser mates aside, the kids in her class were decent enough, but most already had all the friends they needed. Besides, if she was as dull as Tariq claimed, she could hardly expect to be included in anyone’s circle.
Every time Mr Mukhtar’s words came into her mind, a knife twisted in her heart.
‘Tariq finds you very boring. He tells me that day after day he’s had to listen to you going on and on and on about your background and your school and he can’t stand it any more. He has tried to be polite - he is such a courteous boy, my son - but enough is enough.’
‘Tariq finds you very boring. He tells me that day after day he’s had to listen to you going on and on and on about your background and your school and he can’t stand it any more. He has tried to be polite - he is such a courteous boy, my son - but enough is enough.’
It was humiliating to think that she’d imagined a friendship where none existed. And yet she’d been so sure it had meant as much to Tariq as it did to her. His shadowed face had almost glowed some days when she’d visited him at the store. If Tariq himself hadn’t confirmed what Mr Mukhtar had told her, she’d never have believed it. But he had. He’d stood there in his fancy new clothes looking at her as if she were a shoplifter who’d been caught stealing from the North Star.
She thought of the kingly husky with the extraordinary blue eyes. If she had a dog like Skye, none of this would matter. If she had a dog like Skye, he would be her friend. Animals were loyal. They never considered people boring, or if they did they kept it to themselves.
Laura washed her red eyes with cold water, and pulled on her sweatshirt and trainers. With any luck, her uncle would have gone out to work, as he usually did on a Saturday and Sunday. In the five weeks Laura had lived in St Ives, she’d never known him to take a break. He was gone part or most of every day, plus many evenings. Sometimes she was lonely and wished he was around more, but that wasn’t the case today. Today she wanted to hide under her duvet in a dark room and eat coconut fudge.
She was halfway down the stairs when Calvin Redfern emerged from the kitchen. Lottie’s lead was in his hand and the wolfhound was whining excitedly. He glanced up and saw Laura. There was a split second’s hesitation as he took in her tear-swollen face. Then, as if he’d been planning to do so all along, he said: ‘Laura, great that you’re up. You’ll be astounded to hear I have a day off. I thought we might spend some time together.’
They took the forbidden coast path.
‘It’s only forbidden if I’m not with you,’ explained Calvin Redfern, ‘and I’m about to show you why.’
It was mid-March and daffodils waved on the slope of green that marked the end of Porthmeor Beach and the beginning of the cliffs and moors. Laura hadn’t wanted to come for a walk at all, had tried to make an excuse about having too much homework, but her uncle refused to take no for an answer.
‘It’s nice to know you’re so dedicated to your school work,’ he’d remarked drily, ‘but that’s all the more reason you should come for a stroll with me. Sea air is excellent for blowing away the cobwebs and improving concentration. When we come back I’ll help you with your homework myself.’
Unable to think up another reason why she couldn’t leave the house, Laura trailed unhappily behind her uncle as he strode along the coast path, which cut like a ribbon through the heather and gorse. The sun flickered in and out of the racing clouds and the salty wind teased her senses. At first, she did nothing but scowl and bury her face in her scarf. Everything annoyed her. Her uncle’s inexplicable good cheer; Lottie yelping as she tore back and forth in pursuit of sticks; the seagulls screeching for food.
She wondered what Calvin Redfern would say if she asked if she could have a dog of her own. She doubted he would allow it. He’d tell her that Lottie was big enough for both of them. He wouldn’t understand that she needed a dog who would be a friend and loyal protector, and Lottie was those things only to Calvin. No, she just had to face it. Life was going to be lonely from now on. Tariq’s words came back to Laura and a fresh wave of gloom engulfed her.
But it was impossible to remain in a bad mood for long. Within minutes of leaving St Ives, it was if they’d crossed the border over some wild, forbidding frontier. The town and houses faded into the distance and they were alone on the cliffs, with the pounding ocean slamming against the black rocks far below and great plumes of foam shooting upwards. It was a primal, almost frightening scene. At one point Laura stumbled on the path. She felt the pull of the boiling ocean before Calvin Redfern’s warm hand pulled her back from the brink.
‘Now do you see why I don’t want you coming out here alone?’
Laura nodded dumbly. She watched where she was going after that and found herself mesmerised by the beauty of the scene. The heaviness in her chest, the twist of pain she felt every time she thought about Tariq and the North Star, began to lessen. She thought instead about her uncle’s midnight wanderings. What could he have been doing on these lonely cliffs at that hour? As far as she could see in any direction, there was nothing but wilderness and ocean.
She said casually: ‘You seem to know this path pretty well. Do you come here often?’
Calvin Redfern bent down, picked up a stick for Lottie and threw it hard. ‘Sometimes I do, yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to do the same. I’m considerably bigger and stronger than you are and well acquainted with the dangers. And believe me, there are many of them.’
‘If it’s so dangerous, why do you come here?’
An unreadable expression flickered across his face and he looked away. ‘Because it fascinates me. The history of it.’ He took her hand and she felt the steely strength in his. ‘Come, let me show you something.’
They left the path and walked to the edge of the cliff, but not so near they were standing on the overhang, which could, her uncle warned, give way at any time. Laura stared at the sea sucking and swirling far below. She felt it trying to hypnotise her again, to drag her over the precipice.
Calvin Redfern tightened his grip on her hand. ‘This is Dead Man’s Cove.’ He pointed to the base of the black cliff facing them. ‘See those three rocks that resemble shark’s teeth? To the right of them, below the water line, is a tunnel. In days gone by, when this area was rife with smugglers, they’d land a small boat on the rocky beach that appeared whenever the tide went out, offload their gold or whatever they were smuggling, and carry it down the tunnel. It’s said to be close to half a mile long. It surfaces near some old mine workings. They’d have men and horses waiting on the other side to pick up their stolen booty. The police didn’t have a chance.’
Laura knelt on the wind-polished grass. She felt safer close to the ground. Even so, her uncle hovered protectively.
‘Why is it called Dead Man’s Cove?’
‘Because if the tide came in when the smugglers were in the tunnel, they’d drown. You see, in those days boats didn’t have the high tech instruments they have now. Only a master mariner could predict the tide so accurately that he could determine the exact hour when the tunnel would be passable for the length of time the smugglers needed to walk half a mile to safety.’
Laura stared down at the foam-drenched rocks and shuddered inwardly. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate than drowning in freezing water in a pitch-black cavern underground. ‘Is the tunnel used for anything now?’
‘No, it’s no longer passable. It was never a man-made tunnel. It’s a natural fissure between the rocks, which I suppose the smugglers discovered and later extended for their own ends. But in the years since, there have been big changes in the world’s sea level. Back then the tunnel was exposed several times a month at low tide. Nowadays it’s almost always under water. As far as I know, the police sealed up the other end at least fifty years ago.’
He reached for her hand. ‘Come, you’ve got goosebumps. Let’s walk over to the Porthminister Beach Café and warm ourselves up with coffee and clotted cream scones.’
11
HALF AN HOUR
later Laura was sitting on the sheltered, sun-drenched deck of the Porthminster Beach Café feeling a whole lot better about life. The spring wind had blasted away the last remaining clouds and the sky was an arresting blue. The waves were sprawling lazily up to the creamy beach, where a group in black lycra were doing yoga. It was, she imagined, like being in the Mediterranean.
later Laura was sitting on the sheltered, sun-drenched deck of the Porthminster Beach Café feeling a whole lot better about life. The spring wind had blasted away the last remaining clouds and the sky was an arresting blue. The waves were sprawling lazily up to the creamy beach, where a group in black lycra were doing yoga. It was, she imagined, like being in the Mediterranean.
She was biting into a scone liberally spread with clotted cream and strawberry jam when her uncle said: ‘Now, Laura, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to guess?’
Laura almost choked. She gulped down some hot chocolate and mumbled: ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.’
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