Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook

by Lauren St. John

  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.

  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.’

  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 righ
t 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.

  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.’

  Calvin Redfern dropped a sugar cube into his coffee. ‘It does matter if your friend has hurt you. It is important if he’s said or done something to upset you.’

  Laura felt tears prick the back of her eyes. ‘How did you know about Tariq?’ she demanded. ‘Has Mrs Crabtree said something to you?’

  Her uncle gave a short laugh. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, Laura, but I’m more observant than you might think. And just for the record, Mrs Crabtree and I are not in the habit of exchanging gossip. But these are the facts: You’ve only been in St Ives a short time and, although you’ve settled in quicker than I’d ever have believed possible, you don’t know many people. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that one of those people has made you very sad. You’re too smart to take to heart anything said to you by Mrs Crabtree or Mrs Webb. The same goes for school, I suspect, and although you’d probably prefer an uncle who wasn’t a workaholic, you wouldn’t have spent the day with me if it were I who’d made you cry. That leaves your friend at the North Star.’

  ‘Ex friend,’ Laura said despondently.

  It all came out then - the whole story. Her uncle was that kind of person. As secretive as he was about his own life, she had the feeling he understood things. People. She’d never forgotten how wonderful he’d been to her on her first night at 28 Ocean View Terrace. How he hadn’t interrogated her, or insisted she behave a certain way, or imposed rules, but had simply handed her the most precious gifts you could give anyone who has spent eleven years in an institution: freedom, kindness, trust and good cake.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I can guarantee it’s not personal,’ Calvin Redfern said, passing her another scone. ‘Boys of that age, they often think it’s uncool to hang out with girls. I was like that for years. I didn’t really grow out of it until I was at university. Until I met — ’

  It was hot on the deck but he shivered suddenly.

  Laura held her breath. Was he about to mention J? ‘Who did you meet?’ she prompted when he didn’t appear to be continuing.

  He ignored the question. ‘All I’m saying is that this is not about you. Whatever Tariq’s reasons for ending your friendship, they have nothing to do with you being boring. Take it from me, you’re quite the opposite. Sounds like it’s an excuse.’

  ‘But Tariq isn’t like other boys,’ protested Laura. ‘He doesn’t care about being cool. He’s quite shy, probably because he doesn’t speak English.’

  ‘He doesn’t speak English? Then how do you carry on a conversation?’

  ‘We manage.’ Laura went red and corrected herself: ‘We did manage when we were friends. We understood one another. At least I thought we did. But everything went wrong after I saw the bruises on Tariq’s arm.’

  Her uncle leaned forward in his chair. ‘Bruises?’

  ‘He sort of demonstrated how he got them falling down the stairs, but I didn’t believe him. I saw Mr Mukhtar hit him the day of the dog fight at the harbour.’

  Calvin Redfern paused, his scone halfway to his mouth. ‘You saw Mr Mukhtar strike Tariq? Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m not a hundred per cent positive, because I was watching them from the Sunny Side Up, but I think that’s what I saw. Oh, Uncle Calvin, is there any chance you could go to the North Star and check that Tariq is all right? I’m angry with him and I feel like a moron for thinking he was my friend, but I’d still like to know he’s okay.’

  ‘If he’s walking round in a designer suit and being mean to my niece, it sounds to me as if he’s doing perfectly well,’ Calvin Redfern retorted.

  He pushed his plate away and finished his black coffee in one swallow. ‘Laura, I don’t think you realise the seriousness of what you’re saying. You’re accusing one of the most popular residents of St Ives, a respected town merchant, of beating a child. For goodness sake, don’t breathe a word about this to anyone else. Have you considered you might be mistaken? Is it possible that Tariq did fall down the stairs? You told me he took a tumble off a ladder. Maybe he’s clumsy. And when you thought you saw his father hit him at the harbour, is it possible that Mr Mukhtar was merely being playful? I mean, you were a long way away from them. Perhaps he was giving his son an affectionate punch as a way of saying, “Well done for saving the dogs. I’m proud of you.”’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Laura admitted. She was beginning to think her uncle was right. After all it’s not as if Tariq had been struck so hard he’d fallen to the ground. He hadn’t reacted at all. He’d continued walking more or less normally.

  Her uncle signalled to the waitress to bring the bill. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘If it’ll set your mind at rest I’ll stop in at the North Star the next time I’m passing. I’ll check on Tariq and report back.’

  12

  THERE WERE TWO routes to Laura’s school. One took ten minutes and meant she could have an extra half hour in bed. The other took four times as long. It was this route she always chose. To her, it was worth every second of lost sleep.

  She’d start by walking down the hill to Porthmeor Beach. There, she’d linger on the pale gold sand, letting the soothing swish of the waves and cries of the wheeling gulls fill her ears. She’d search for shells or interesting bits of driftwood, or wake herself up with a splash of icy seawater. After that, she’d take the path that followed the rocky shoreline of the Island and climb up to the lighthouse station. From there the town was a patchwork of pastel cottages and yellow and russet-stained roofs, flanked by the glistening sea.

  Next, she’d skip down the step
s to Porthgwidden Beach and round the point past the museum and lighthouse, before making her way along the harbour and up pretty St Andrews Street. The best bit came last - glorious Porthminster Beach.

  Senses filled with nature and freedom, she’d tear herself away to scale the high, steep steps that led to St Ives Primary School, with its bells, rules, routines and corridors reeking of disinfectant.

  This particular Monday she’d left especially early. Thanks to her uncle, she was in a much better frame of mind than she had been on Friday after the scene at the North Star.

  The day before she’d woken to find Calvin Redfern absent once again, so she’d carried a bowl of cornflakes back to her room and lain in bed till noon reading The Secret of Black Horse Ridge. At lunchtime she’d heated up the quiche left by Mrs Webb (much as she disliked the woman, Laura had to admit she could cook). Late afternoon she’d taken a long bubble bath with strawberry scented bath gel given to her as a leaving present by Matron. She’d been on her way downstairs in search of supper when her uncle came in carrying two big bags from the Catch of the Day. They’d eaten fish and chips, copiously sprinkled with salt and vinegar, straight out of the paper it came in.