"Where will you go?" Porthallow would be a lot more boring without Shaun and Picasso.
Shaun put down his brush and leaned back, staring into the distance. "I've got a list of places I want to paint: Paris, Venice, Rome, and lots of other European cities that fascinate me. But I can't go and leave this old mutt behind." He stroked the top of Picasso's head. "The old man is still pushing me to go to med school. With his connections, he could probably get me a place to start in September."
"You gonna cave and do what he wants?"
"Nope." Shaun grabbed his brush and started painting with renewed vigor. "I'll find somewhere cheaper to rent. Maybe I'll go to Plymouth or Bristol." Todd admired his friend's determination to go his own way. Perhaps he should do the same thing—leave school once his exams were over next summer, and move out of his mum's house, get away from Philippe. The idea had potential.
"Did the storm wake you the other night?" Todd asked.
Shaun grinned, a touch of his usual humor returning. "Man, when I sleep, I'm unconscious. House would have to fall down on me before I woke up."
"So you didn't look out during the storm?"
"Did I miss something interesting?"
Todd stood and stared out the window at the cliff path, a trail of dusty gravel meandering up the hill between the cliff and the hedge. "I thought I saw people going up the hill in the storm."
"In the middle of the night?"
"Grandpa was missing. I think he might have been with them."
Shaun stopped painting and joined Todd at the window. "You sure you saw people?"
Rubbing the back of his neck, Todd grimaced. He had thought he was sure. Now the memory seemed hazy.
"Your grandpa might have been out visiting his girlfriend." Shaun chuckled. "You did say he liked Ruby Turpin."
"Oh, gross." Todd shoved Shaun in the shoulder. "Ruby was my dad's girlfriend."
"So?" Shaun shoved Todd back and they wrestled for a bit, trampling the chocolate milk cartons and crisp packets on the floor.
After a few minutes, they both fell into their chairs laughing and rested their feet on the windowsill.
Shaun grinned. "Was poor little Toddy scared all on his own in the storm?"
"Shut up." Todd flicked a stale crisp he found down the side of the chair. Shaun ducked. Picasso skidded around the chair and wolfed down the crisp, making them both laugh. "If you want to go abroad to paint, you could always leave Casso with me."
"Won't your mum mind?"
Todd shrugged. If he wanted to look after Picasso, he would. Philippe would have to put up with the dog or get lost. He sighed, knowing that wouldn't be how things worked out. The idea of having his own place was starting to sound better and better. But first, he'd have to get a job, and jobs as wildlife wardens were hard to come by, which left gardening. With a sigh, he turned his thoughts back to the present. "Can I use your computer?"
"Go for it."
Todd sat on the stool by the small desk wedged in the corner behind Shaun's chair and twitched the mouse to wake the machine up. He took the opportunity to check in on Facebook and look at his emails.
He deleted unread all the emails except the one from Em. She described Philippe's family home where they were staying in the Loire Valley. She had a way with words, and the huge house and grounds sounded fascinating with mature gardens, a river, and caves. Todd almost wished he'd gone with them. In her final paragraph, she begged him to be careful because she'd had another dream about him being in danger. He shifted uneasily on the stool. Since Marigold had told him about her visions, Todd had decided he should take Emma's warnings more seriously.
When he pulled his note of the Celtic words from his pocket, something fell out and rolled along the floor. He bent and retrieved the tiny gold hoop earring he'd found in the woods. He leaned around Shaun's chair and opened his hand. "Ever seen this before?"
Shaun took the earring and turned it over. "Might be mine. I lost one a few days ago." He ran upstairs, and returned with a matching ring. He placed them side by side on his palm. "Yep, it's mine. Where'd you find it?"
A chill of caution washed over Todd. "Where do you think you lost it?"
"I don't know. What is this, twenty questions?"
"It was up in the woodland."
"Wow, what a coincidence you picked it up. Thanks, man." He stuffed both rings in his pocket and went back to his painting.
Todd turned back to the computer and stared at the screen, but stayed lost in his thoughts. Despite some incriminating evidence, Todd had been certain Shaun couldn't be Andrew's killer. But little things kept pointing to Shaun: his fight with Andrew, his having Andrew's binoculars, and now Shaun's earring in the place where he admitted picking up the binoculars. What if Shaun had found Andrew in the woods, argued with him again, and got into a fight. Shaun certainly had a temper; he'd witnessed that when he argued with his dad.
Todd rubbed a hand over his face. This wasn't where he wanted the clues to lead.
He put it out of his mind and searched for information on the Green Man. There were many websites showing images of Cernunnos, the Celtic god mentioned in his father's books. He appeared in paintings, on tarot cards, molded into fancy candles, fashioned out of wood, metal, and plastic. Why did so many people in the modern world want images of an ancient pagan god? In every depiction, Cernunnos had stag's horns. Todd's mind went back to the red deer stag on the hill by the woods, illuminated by moonlight, majestic, almost supernatural. Perhaps Grandpa had been spooked by the stag showing up unexpectedly because it was associated with the Wild Lord.
Some websites run by groups that worshiped the Wild Lord listed the dates of special ceremonies along with chants and prayers.
When Todd finished reading a prayer to the god, a weird sensation crept along his fingers. He flexed them, curled them, and pressed them flat on the cool desktop. The feeling spread up his arms, not painful, more an awareness of blood and bone and muscle as though he'd never really noticed the stuff beneath his skin before. The sensation reached his shoulder, swelled in his joints, stepped down his spine, slipped along his ribs, expanded into his chest and belly. He squeezed his eyes closed while it circled his neck with invisible fingers, prickling the hair on his scalp. Every cell in his body hummed and sparked as though he might explode. His hunter's radar thrummed, spinning like a weather vane in a storm.
He gripped the edge of the desk while colors pulsed behind his eyelids. Was he going to have a heart attack? He'd heard of teenagers who seemed healthy suddenly dropping dead. After the way Dad had disappeared, nothing would surprise Todd.
Gradually the weight lifted as if a presence had passed through him and moved on. He didn't know how long he sat still, eyes closed, concentrating on his breathing. Finally he felt normal again and released a breath loaded with relief.
He didn't remember clicking the mouse, but when he opened his eyes the display on the screen had changed. The website now showed ancient Celtic words and the phrase his father had written in his books was in the center of the page, translated to modern English.
"The Master of Eternity is watching."
He whispered the words aloud. With an ancient understanding rooted in the memory of every cell in his body, he knew the words were true.
Chapter Twelve
Grandpa was too busy in the store to stop for lunch so Todd ate alone in the small conservatory among the plants. He picked the ham out of his sandwich and fed tiny pieces to a Venus flytrap while a rabble of herring gulls squabbled over the crusts he'd thrown outside. He didn't have much of an appetite because he was still spooked over the weird feeling he'd had after reading the prayer to the Wild Lord. And the thought Shaun would soon be gone depressed him.
After lunch, he wandered out into the street dragging his feet. He couldn't put it off any longer; he needed to talk to the two guys he'd seen the day he arrived. There was a chance they'd been in the woodland the morning he found Andrew's body, and they might have seen something. He squi
nted up the hill towards the oak tree. Relief and apprehension warred inside him when he saw two figures on the bench.
Outside the art gallery, he paused to fondle Picasso's ears, putting off the confrontation. After ten minutes, he sucked in a breath and continued up the hill.
As he approached, the air felt thick and cold in his lungs and seemed to cling to his skin. He tried to pick up the mood of the boys on his radar, but strangely he couldn't sense them at all. It was almost as if they weren't there, but he could see them. They both wore leather boots with dirty jeans and although the sun was blazing down with only a whisper of breeze, they had on old waterproof jackets. Shaun and Grandpa had suggested the guys might be staying at a campsite, but they didn't look like tourists. They looked as though they'd spent a hard day working on the land.
The one that looked to be older moved behind the bench, staring warily at Todd. The other one jammed his hands in his coat pockets and backed about twenty feet up the hill. Todd had thought they were threatening when he'd first seen them from the taxi. Today they almost seemed to be scared of him. "Hey," Todd said as he drew closer.
They both continued to stare at him silently, a haunted look in their eyes.
"You staying at the campsite?"
Still neither of them spoke. Disquiet shivered through Todd. He smelled smoke and glanced around for the source but saw nothing. The boy standing in the road turned and walked away.
"Hey, wait up. I want to ask you some questions." Todd moved to follow. The boy who'd been standing behind the bench was suddenly in Todd's face, blocking his way. Todd stepped back, coughing, eyes watering, the tang of smoke stinging his lungs.
He pressed a hand over his nose and mouth, but he couldn't see any smoke or a fire. He blinked back tears, wiping his eyes. When he could see again, the boy who'd walked away had disappeared. He must have sprinted up the hill to get away so quickly.
He backed up a few paces to distance himself from the other boy. He'd thought they were teenagers, but the guy in front of him looked to be Shaun's age. "Do you know Marigold Turpin?" Todd asked. "I thought I saw you behind her cottage in the woods the other day." The air hummed with tension. Todd's radar suddenly shot off the scale as though the beating hearts of a million animals filled his head.
"Murderer." The word speared through Todd's brain like red-hot wires. He stumbled back, clutching his head, and sank to his knees, his eyes closed. Despite the pain, his hunter's radar kept screaming. Stark terror smeared the air around him like the fear of a trapped animal. A blaring car horn dragged his head up. Todd hadn't even noticed he was in the middle of the road—right on the corner. He was lucky the driver hadn't been going fast.
He scrambled up and made it to the edge of the road where he dropped down on the bench. Shaken and confused, he rubbed his temples. The pain in his head had faded to a dull throb. His senses had settled and he couldn't smell smoke any more.
How had the boys messed with his head? And why had the guy called him a murderer? Or had he meant Marigold was a murderer?
Once he recovered, he trudged up the hill determined to discover where they'd gone. A couple of hundred feet farther up, a huge old house stood on the left. Colonnades framed the front door while rambling clematis, passion flower, and Virginia creeper covered the walls.
The house faced the road, but to its left, the seaward side, a large semicircular terrace overlooked about two acres of mature gardens. An old lady was sitting on the terrace in a wheelchair.
She had turned to watch Todd as he walked up the hill. If she'd noticed him, maybe she'd seen the two boys. When he reached the ornate metal gate in the garden wall, he waved. "Excuse me, did you see anyone come up the road just now?"
Rotating her wheelchair to face him, she cupped a hand behind her ear. "You'll have to speak up, young man. I can't hear you." He repeated his question. She gestured impatiently, beckoning him closer. "Come here. I can't tolerate shouting back and forth like a couple of fishwives."
Todd looked down to unfasten the gate catch. With a shock of recognition, he noticed the Green Man's face carved in the granite gatepost. He pushed back the ivy covering the hinge post and found another carved face. The village seemed to be full of these images. Did the villagers really still worship an ancient Celtic god, or were these carvings just relics from the past?
Admiring the well-kept flower borders, Todd made his way along the gravel path towards the house. His dad would have enjoyed this garden. The variety of foliage and color showed an expert had designed it.
The old woman had gray hair in a bun on the back of her head, pink-framed glasses hanging on a gold chain around her neck, and buttons on her flowery blouse that looked like pearls. Her knees were covered with a red-checked rug like the one Mum kept in the back of the car in case it broke down in the snow.
She held her glasses to her eyes, scanned Todd up and down, and frowned. "You look familiar."
"I'm down for the summer break."
"Hmm." She straightened her blanket. "Repeat your question."
Todd asked about the two boys again, and she shook her head. "I've been here since lunchtime. You're the only person who's walked past."
As she was old, Todd wasn't convinced she was reliable. She might have nodded off in the sun and forgotten. But he didn't think she'd like it if he questioned her.
He started to leave, but when he caught sight of the view, it held him motionless in admiration. Sloping lawns dotted with bright flower beds ran down to banks of multicolored shrubs. Farther on, the white cottages and gray slate roofs of Porthallow formed a pretty scatter in the dip around the harbor. The cornflower-blue sky above was decorated with tiny puffs of white that looked as though they'd been painted in for effect.
"Magnificent, isn't it," the old woman said, following the direction of his gaze. "I've lived in this house for fifty years, and I never tire of the view."
"Your garden is impressive."
"Are you interested in gardening?" She raised her eyebrows.
Todd pushed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugged. He didn't often mention his fascination with plants and gardening. Adults made a big thing about what an unusual hobby it was for a boy, but kids at school just thought he was a sad loser. "Dad was a gardener," he mumbled, turning to go.
"Hold on a moment." The old woman swiveled her wheelchair to face him and put her glasses on properly. "I've only known one other young man of your age who liked gardening. I thought you reminded me of someone. You're not Richard Hunter's son, by any chance?"
The sound of his father's name sliced through Todd's thoughts. He turned back eagerly. "You knew Dad."
"I certainly did." She smiled and held out her hand. "Edna Brown." As Todd shook her bony fingers she asked, "What's your name?"
"Todd Hunter."
"Todd the fox. It suits you. I'm not surprised your father named you after something to do with wildlife. A true child of nature, that boy, if ever there was one." She swiveled her chair around towards the view again and pointed to the flower borders. "Nearly twenty-five years ago, your father helped me design the layout of the annual beds. He certainly had a way with plants, that one. I was sad to see him leave the village." She looked up at Todd and smiled. "What's he doing now? Still gardening, I hope."
Todd stared down at the paving slabs, where ants busily raced in and out of a tiny hole. "He disappeared five years ago."
"Disappeared? How exactly?"
Todd had been asked this question many times. Answering it never got any easier. He stubbed the toe of his trainer into the ground. "One minute he was working in the garden at his job, the next he was gone."
"That's strange." Edna watched him for a moment, and Todd hoped she wouldn't ask any more questions. She pointed at some weeds that had taken root beside the steps to the lawn. "Would you be a dear and pull those annoying invaders for me? I employ a gardening service but, quite frankly, they're useless."
Pleased to do something familiar that he enjoyed,
Todd went to the steps and tidied up the weeds. Then, without being asked, he worked along the edge of the terrace, pulling out greenery that had taken root between the slabs of slate. Touching plants, putting his fingers in the soil, any sort of gardening relaxed him.
"Do you have your father's green thumb?"
Todd knew what the term "green thumb" meant, but the question brought back the fearful image from his dream of his hand turning green and sprouting. She must have seen the startled look on his face because she added, "It's an old-fashioned term for someone who has a way with plants."
Todd nodded. "I've always been able to make things grow well, just like Dad."
Rubbing her hands together, Edna said, "I don't suppose you'd like a few hours gardening work to fill the time while you're on vacation? I'll pay you five pounds an hour."
"Five pounds an hour? Wow." Todd sat back on his heels. The money could go towards his savings for when he moved to his own place. "All right."
"Come up here whenever you have the time. I'm always around. Are you staying with your grandfather?"
"Yep. Mum's got a French boyfriend, and he's taken her and my sister to France for the summer holidays. I didn't want to go."
"Hmm." Edna observed him silently for a few seconds, her brows furrowed. "You don't like the Frenchy, do you?"
Todd shrugged, then decided he could be honest with Edna. She wasn't likely to talk to his mum. "Not much. He doesn't like me either. I think it's because I look like dad."
"What does he do?"
"He's supposed to be this fancy chef. He arranges his food in little shapes on the plate."
"Nouvelle cuisine." Edna shook her head. "A ridiculous idea. What's wrong with a good healthy plate of roast beef, vegetables, and Yorkshire pudding?"
Todd decided he liked Edna.
"If you like gardening, you should start your own part-time business now. Then, when you leave school, you can run it full time. Come back to Porthallow and I'll keep you busy." Todd kept pulling weeds while he considered the idea. Edna was right. If he started his own business soon, by the time he left school, he would have saved enough money to move away from home, and he'd already have a job.
Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery) Page 10