Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery)

by Taylor, Helen Scott

  As Todd poured himself some breakfast cereal, Grandpa came into the kitchen from the shop, his expression grim. He leaned against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. "The police released Kelvin Marks this morning."

  "What?" Puffs of rice missed the bowl, scattering across the table. "But I told them—"

  "Sounds like you were wrong, lad. Pat Bishop told me Kelvin only followed Andrew for five minutes, then abandoned the search. Kelvin and Pat decided the best thing was to let Andrew sleep it off under a hedge."

  "Sleep what off?"

  "Half a bottle of vodka. Apparently, Kelvin caught Andrew downstairs on the computer doing something he shouldn't and finishing the contents of the liquor cabinet. That boy's been trouble from the day he arrived."

  Frustration spiraled up through Todd making him hot and angry. "But Kelvin could still have caused Andrew to fall off the cliff. Why've they let him go?"

  "Kelvin didn't have enough time." While he talked, Grandpa moved away from the sink, checked the water level in the electric kettle, and switched it on. "He'd have needed a lot longer than five minutes to get up past the Turpins' house, even if he ran all the way."

  Todd remembered he'd taken ten minutes to run back to the village after he found the body. And he'd been sprinting downhill. Despite that, he still wasn't convinced of Kelvin's innocence.

  "But they've only got Mrs. Bishop's word for it."

  "Hmm." Grandpa poured two cups of tea, added milk, and handed one to Todd. "That's what they call an alibi, lad. And Kelvin's is ironclad. You hardly think Andrew's mother would give her son's killer an alibi if she knew he was guilty, do you?"

  Todd's insides knotted so tightly they hurt. He put down his tea untouched. "I know Kelvin did it."

  Grandpa sipped his tea and studied Todd over the rim of his cup. "You don't know anything except what you saw with your own eyes. That's sent you careening off down the wrong path. Best let it go. Let the police do their job."

  After his dad disappeared, Todd had heard that comment often. He'd wanted to search for him, but every time he made a suggestion where they could look, all Mum said was "let the police do their job."

  "Who do the police think killed Andrew then?"

  Grandpa looked down at his cup and sighed. "Apparently they've decided it was an accident."

  "No!"

  "He was drunk, Todd. That coast path is dangerous during daylight when you're sober. They reckon he was probably running and fell over the edge."

  Todd was so angry everything inside him stilled and sharpened. The silence buzzed in his head, his muscles tensed. The police were wrong. Up on the cliff, he'd sensed violence and fear in the air. Someone had helped Andrew Bishop over that cliff, and Kelvin was still the prime suspect in Todd's opinion.

  With a new sense of purpose, Todd turned and headed for the door.

  "What about your breakfast? Grandpa asked, glancing at the spilt cereal.

  "I'm not hungry."

  Grandpa followed Todd as he strode through the shop and out into the street. When they reached the sidewalk, he caught hold of Todd's arm and pulled him around. "Don't interfere with the police investigation. You'll get into trouble."

  Todd met his grandpa's critical gaze with unflinching calm. When Dad disappeared, he'd learned that adults thought they knew best and didn't take any notice of his opinions. He'd only been ten then, but now he was old enough to take matters into his own hands.

  Surprise flashed across the older man's face and his hand dropped from Todd's arm. "You have the look of your father about you today."

  "Dad would find the killer."

  Something that could have been fear flashed in Grandpa's eyes, then his expression hardened. "If the police say Andrew fell, then he fell. Don't go poking around stirring up trouble in the village or there'll be consequences."

  Todd stared at the rigid set of his grandpa's shoulders as the older man turned and strode back inside the shop. Grandpa was hiding something, and whatever it was frightened him. Could his own grandfather somehow be involved in covering up Andrew's murder? He seemed awfully friendly with Kelvin and Mrs. Bishop. Did he know what had happened?

  Someone had killed Andrew. Todd had sensed it when he found the body. He had the rest of his vacation to discover who and why.

  Chapter Five

  Todd decided to start his investigation at the murder scene. Although the police had searched the spot, he hoped there might be something on the cliff top that would give him a clue, something he could sense but the police couldn't.

  On the walk up from the village, Todd scanned the path for anything Andrew or Kelvin might have dropped. When he hadn't found any clues by the time he reached the place where Andrew had fallen, he ignored his little burst of disappointment. The chance of finding something on the path had been a long shot, anyway.

  He put his hands on his hips and squinted at the scuffed earth and worn rocks above the sheer drop where Andrew had gone over. There was nothing to show that little more than twenty-four hours earlier, a dead boy had been lying at the bottom of the cliff.

  Todd stretched out on his belly and stared down at the jagged rocks below. He imagined standing on the edge of the cliff, toes hanging over, arms flailing for balance, slipping, falling, weightless in the air, shattering pain, pointed rocks piercing his body, darkness.

  Eyes closed, he listened to the race of his heart, sensed the faint trace of malevolence and fear that still tainted this place. He had no doubt. Andrew's death was definitely murder.

  Todd folded his arms under his chin and stared at the sea rolling in and out, listened to the wet rattle of pebbles scraping across the rounded humps of rock lying in the shallows like beached whales.

  Sunshine beat hotly on the back of his neck, making his head ache. He rubbed his fingers on the scuff marks in the wiry grass. Maybe they were the marks from Andrew's shoes as he slipped over the edge, or possibly just an innocent scuff from a passing walker's hiking boots.

  Standing, Todd brushed the dirt off his clothes. He walked a few minutes farther along the path, scanning the ground for something—anything—that might help him. Then he pushed through the hazel scrub bordering the path. He picked up a fallen branch to beat back the brambles and searched the undergrowth at the edge of the woodland. But the bramble thicket and prickly gorse bushes made it impossible to get far.

  During Andrew's dash up the coast path, he had probably passed the Turpins' cottage. Was there any chance Mrs. Turpin or Marigold had seen him or Kelvin? A thought struck him suddenly: if he were going to prove Kelvin had killed Andrew, he would have to ask people questions. He shrugged off his uneasiness at the idea of doing that. To start with, he'd just search for clues.

  Crouching, Todd sneaked along the wall bordering the Turpins' garden towards their back gate. He followed the path into the woods where Marigold had been the previous morning before he found the body. After a few minutes, he reached an area of flattened bracken between the trees. He kicked over the leaves, finding a blackened patch of ground where a campfire had been lit.

  Todd turned and stared through the undergrowth towards the coast path. The line of sight wasn't clear, but if someone walked along the path, he guessed he'd be able to see them clearly enough to identify them. If someone had camped here, they might have seen Andrew and Kelvin, although it had been dark.

  While he tried to remember if there had been cloud cover that might have blocked out the moonlight, the tang of smoke reached him. He glanced at the blue sky, expecting to see a trail of smoke rising from the Turpins' chimney, but the sky was clear. The smoke smelled unusual, like burning vegetation with a resinous tang that caught in the back of his throat.

  Todd pushed farther into the forest, his instincts alert. The bitter smoke drifted around him, making him light-headed. Unlike yesterday, when he'd sensed the presence of animals, today he felt nothing, almost as though all the tiny woodland creatures had disappeared. Yet he knew that couldn't be true because he could see a gre
en woodpecker. He turned in a circle, staring between the trees for the source of the smoke, unsettled by his lack of awareness. A dog barked in the distance, the wind ruffled his hair, but behind the normality hung a sinister stillness, as though something was watching him.

  When he couldn't stand the unnatural dead feel of the woodland any longer, he ran back to the cliff path, frustration a tight burn in his chest. What a stupid waste of time. He'd been certain Andrew or Kelvin would have accidentally left some evidence of what happened, but all he'd found was the place in the woods where someone might have spent the night. He hadn't discovered any answers, just more questions. He plunged his hands in his pockets and drew a resigned breath before heading back towards the village.

  He couldn't find any evidence but he knew he was on the right track. He'd have to start asking people questions to find out more about Andrew and Kelvin's relationship. If he was lucky, someone else might have heard or seen something the night Andrew died. He should talk to the two mean-looking guys, but he'd leave them until last. The easiest place to start was with Shaun.

  Picasso lay in the shadow in front of the art studio door, thumping his tail against the sidewalk as Todd approached.

  Todd rubbed the dog's belly gently with his toe and raised his voice so Shaun would hear. "You're not going to get many customers if they have to step over this lazy mutt."

  Shaun wandered through from the back with a paintbrush clamped between his teeth, wearing the same cut-off jeans and paint-spattered t-shirt as last time Todd had seen him.

  Shaun dug a dog treat out of his pocket and held it out. "Come on, lazybones, back in your bed," he said out of the corner of his mouth. Picasso wriggled like a fat black beetle caught on its back and Todd had to give him a push so he could roll over. He lumbered up and followed his nose after the dog treat into a shady corner of the studio where a dog hair-coated blanket covered the polished wooden floor.

  Shaun took the brush out of his mouth and used the end to scratch his head. "What's up? Feeling okay after yesterday?"

  "Yeah." Todd shrugged. "I didn't get close to the body, or anything. It was down the bottom of the cliff."

  "Still, would have grossed me out." Shaun shivered before ambling back into his studio. He pulled open the door of a small fridge and took out a kid's carton of chocolate milk with a smiling cow on the front. He held it up. "Want one?"

  "No, thanks." Todd stood in the doorway, hands in pockets, and surveyed Shaun's workspace. Most of the rubbish on the floor had been cleared, but the place still smelled sour. His mum always said the smell of bad milk was impossible to get rid of.

  "Take a pew." Shaun sat and tossed his paintbrush on the palette beside his chair.

  "Mind if I open a window?" Todd asked.

  "Go for it."

  After levering open two windows, Todd dropped into a ratty old armchair covered in dog hair.

  Leaning back, Shaun propped his bare feet on the windowsill. Todd followed suit, and they both stared up at the cloudless blue sky.

  "I feel bad about Andrew, you know. Despite what I said about him being trouble." Shaun sighed and then sucked on the little straw in his chocolate milk.

  "Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about Andrew. I don't think his death was an accident like the police say. I reckon Kelvin Marks pushed him."

  Shaun took another swig of his drink and turned his head to look at Todd. "Ignoring the fact that Kelvin looks like the kind of guy who'd cut off your ears and feed them to you if you annoyed him, why d'you think that?"

  "I saw him chase Andrew up the cliff the night before he died."

  Shaun's eyes widened. "You're joking." He stared at Todd for a long moment. "You're not joking. Holy manoly, tell me what happened."

  Todd related what he'd seen and heard the night Andrew died.

  When he'd finished, Shaun whistled through his teeth, then leaned back and returned his feet to the windowsill. "Radical."

  "Trouble is, the police let Kelvin go."

  "I heard. Why'd they do that if you told them what you saw?"

  "Mrs. Bishop said Kelvin came back quickly and didn't have time to follow Andrew all the way up the cliff."

  Shaun sucked on his straw thoughtfully. "So you think she lied?"

  "I don't know." Todd slapped the arm of his chair in frustration, raising a little cloud of doggy-flavored dust. He'd turned over the problem of Kelvin's alibi in his mind continuously while he walked down the coast path earlier. He still couldn't make sense of it. "Unless Kelvin has something on Mrs. Bishop and made her lie to the police."

  "You've been watching too much television, man. It's more likely to be something simple like she went back to sleep and lost track of time. It was the middle of the night. Maybe Kelvin crept in and turned back the clock before he woke her up."

  "Good one." Todd mulled over that possibility for a moment. Shaun's suggestion sounded plausible, but impossible for him to prove.

  "Or she could be telling the truth and someone else pushed Andrew. Nobody liked him. I doubt many people have lost sleep over his death."

  "But I saw Kelvin go after him." Todd jumped to his feet in frustration, and stared out the window at the white-topped breakers hitting the beach. They were relentless. He'd be relentless, not give up until he proved Kelvin had killed Andrew.

  "Why d'you want Kelvin to be the killer?"

  "I don't want him to be. I know he is," Todd snapped back. He didn't want Shaun to question him; he wanted some help.

  Shaun picked up his brush, loaded it with blue paint, and dabbed at the sky in his picture.

  "Okay. I do want it to be Kelvin," Todd admitted his shoulders sagging. "It's pretty obvious he hated Andrew just like my mum's boyfriend hates me." He dropped down in the chair and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

  "At least it's not your own dad giving you a hard time. My old man's on my back night and day about wasting my life painting."

  Todd rested his head back, closing his eyes. The little voice of reason deep in his head told him he shouldn't shut out other possibilities. Perhaps Kelvin wasn't the killer. But he couldn't rest until he discovered the truth. "Whoever killed Andrew, I want to find out."

  "What if he did just slip?"

  "I still want to find out."

  Shaun put down his brush and turned to face him. "You'll need a plan."

  "Like I didn't know that." Todd rolled his eyes.

  "The first person you need to question is Mrs. Bishop."

  "Oh yeah, like that's going to happen."

  "Just drift on over to the gift shop and while you're doing the tourist thing buying souvenirs for your family, chat with her. Tell her you're sorry about Andrew. Maybe she'll talk to you because you found him. If she's got anything to hide, she's more likely to let something slip when she talks to you 'cause she'll think you're just a kid."

  What Shaun said made sense. But the thought of questioning Mrs. Bishop, however he approached the conversation, sent chills through him. He'd found her son dead. He tried to imagine how Mum would react if another kid found him dead and went to talk to her. She'd be upset, but he thought she might want to talk about him.

  Todd stood, his jaw clenched. He might as well go over to the gift shop now and get it over with.

  "Hey." Shaun raised his eyebrows. "You know this is going to make you unpopular? Poking around in other people's business tends to make them mad."

  Todd scuffed the toe of his trainer on the tiles. He didn't need to try to make himself unpopular, he had a natural talent for it. Did he really want to do this? He hated it already and he had hardly started.

  Grandpa's words echoed in his head: Don't go poking around stirring up trouble in the village or there'll be consequences.

  Todd was willing to bet his grandfather knew something about Andrew's death, but he was going to keep quiet. Kelvin Marks might not have killed Andrew. But someone had.

  ***

  Todd half expected the gift shop to be closed. Being honest with hims
elf, he hoped it would be closed so he could put off talking with Mrs. Bishop. But the open sign hung in the gift shop window and, as usual, the shop door stood wide, inviting tourists to wander in and browse.

  Todd ambled across the road and hung around outside the gift shop window, pretending to examine the china ornaments, all painted with the name Porthallow. Through the window display, he watched Kelvin serve a woman with two little girls wearing identical pink dresses. There was no sign of Mrs. Bishop.

  After the evil stare Kelvin had given him when the police took him away, Todd didn't want to get anywhere near him. But now he'd come this far, he was determined to at least go inside the gift shop and look around. When a local woman went into the shop and started talking to Kelvin, Todd slipped inside and hid behind a revolving tower stacked with picture frames decorated with shells.

  The woman asked about Mrs. Bishop. Kelvin replied that she was still too upset to see anyone, so he was running the shop alone for a few days. A mixture of disappointment and relief surged through Todd. Even if he couldn't talk to Mrs. Bishop, his foray into enemy territory needn't be wasted. If he stayed hidden, he could listen to Kelvin talk to the customers. He might let something interesting slip.

  After fifteen minutes of listening to the woman repeat her condolences again and again, Todd wanted to bang his head against the wall from boredom. Keeping out of Kelvin's sight, he wandered around the shop, searching for presents to give Mum and Emma. A ceiling-high display of little dolls made from woven stalks of corn attracted his attention.

  He picked up and examined a corn man complete with hat, tie, jacket, and trousers. The clothes were only glued-on pieces of fabric, but the simple design was clever and effective. Figures of men, women, children, and babies filled a special wooden stand, all dressed in colorful scraps of material. Two figures stood glued on a polished block of wood with the words "Made in Porthallow" painted along the bottom.

  The two figures on the wood block looked like Kelvin and Mrs. Bishop. Despite the generic nature of the woven corn faces, the accuracy of the clothes and hair made the resemblance eerie. They reminded Todd of voodoo dolls he'd read about. He grinned to himself. Maybe he should buy the Kelvin doll and stick it with pins, or better still, dress one up like Philippe and mail it across to France so he would go home for good.