Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery) (3 page)

He blinked in surprise. She was so golden. Even her eyes were an unusual light brown.

She stepped up beside him, and he caught the fragrance of roses. "What's your best score?"

"What score?" he asked, strangely disoriented.

Frowning at him, she brushed stray wisps of hair from her face. "How many times have you made the stone bounce, silly?"

The girl had a definite retro vibe going on with the clothes. He squinted at her, trying to figure out if she was his age or older.

Laughing at him, she picked up one of the flat stones from the heap at his feet. "Do you understand English or am I talking to myself?"

"Yes. No. Sorry." Todd cleared his throat and glanced out to sea.
Hold it together, lad
. He could almost hear his father's gentle reprimand. He considered lying about his stone skimming score to impress her, but he couldn't bring himself to lie about something so trivial. "Five."

"Five bounces!" She raised her eyebrows. Todd didn't miss the hint of amusement in her voice. "You need more practice."

With a small dip of her shoulder, she cocked her wrist and flicked a stone over the water. Todd counted the bounces, his jaw gradually tightening as the stone skipped out across the bay.
Ten!

"Beat that, boy-of-few-words." She winked at him and walked away.

After a second, Todd seemed to wake from his amazement. He turned and watched her pick her way barefoot across the pebbles. "Hey," he shouted.

She turned back, a hand on her hat.

"What's your name?"

"Marigold. If you feel like talking sometime, foxy boy, you'll find me on the cliffs."

Foxy boy?
Was that just some silly name she'd thought up on the spur of the moment or did she know his name was Todd, meaning fox?

Two hours later, after Todd had cleared the beach of flat stones and skimmed them across the sea until his wrist ached, he finally managed ten bounces. He sighed, quietly satisfied. Now he was looking forward to seeing Marigold again. Not that he would tell her he'd matched her total unless she asked. But he'd know.

Panting loudly, a fat black Labrador skidded and tripped across the pebbles towards him like a drunken old man. Tail wagging eagerly, the dog reached Todd and snuffled his jeans. "Hey there, boy." Todd hunkered down and rubbed the animal's head.

"That's what I call perseverance." A young guy wearing a paint-spattered t-shirt and frayed cut-off jeans stopped on the coast path beside the beach. He had blond dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail and a collection of studs and rings through his ears. "I've been watching you from my studio." He pointed to the back of a cottage a few down from Grandpa's. "I've got the art gallery on the high street."

He picked his way across the stones in his flip-flops and shook Todd's hand. "Shaun Donovan. You beat Marigold's total, I hope, man. Can't let a chick win something like stone skimming. That's guy's territory."

Now he was closer, Todd could see a yellowing bruise around Shaun's right eye. Shaun must have seen him looking. "Like the shiner? I got it when I tripped over Picasso, here." Shaun grinned and patted his dog. "You're staying with old man Hunter, aren't you? Your name's Tom or Terry or something starting with
T
?"

"Todd."

"Yeah, right. Stop by the gallery sometime for a chat. I'm always looking for a good excuse to goof off work. See you around."

He walked towards the cliff path and whistled. "Come on, Casso. Come on, boy." The Labrador gave Todd a last sniff then lumbered after Shaun.

Todd pushed his hands in his back pockets and watched them climb the hill until they were out of sight. Andrew hadn't known who he was, but it sounded as though the local people did. Or at least the two he'd spoken to had. Yet neither of them had treated him like a freak whose father had disappeared without a trace, like the kids at school did.

As he walked back to Grandpa's shop for lunch, his hunter's radar picked something up and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. In the distance, he noticed the two guys he'd seen from the taxi, lounging against a wall. He increased his pace to reach home before they had time to walk down the hill to intercept him. They were definitely trouble best avoided.

Chapter Three

Grandpa put down a plate of sausages, mashed potatoes, and baked beans in front of Todd. "Eat up, lad. Let's get some meat on you. Don't want to send you home to your mum looking like a pipe cleaner or she won't let you come again."

After a few mouthfuls, Grandpa held up his fork. "Saw you down on the beach talking to Marigold Turpin. What did you make of her?"

"Okay." Todd hunched down and dug into his food. He liked Marigold and he didn't want to discuss it.

"Just okay? I'd say she's a looker. So's her mum. A real beauty, that Ruby Turpin." Grandpa stared into the distance, a faraway look in his eyes.

Todd kept eating, hoping he wouldn't have to answer.

"Ruby's made life difficult for Marigold, though. Homeschooled her, and not in the traditional way. Poor kid hasn't had a chance to make many friends. She's the same age as you, give or take a few months. It would be nice if you made a bit of an effort in that direction. Showed some interest. Know what I mean?"

Todd hated when grownups told him to do something he already wanted to do. It spoiled it somehow, as though it was their idea and not his. "I'll try Grandpa, but you know what girls are like."

"Try! That's a loser's word. That's what I used to tell your dad. Richard didn't try, he achieved."

The sound of his father's name echoed through Todd's mind like a gong.
Richard
. Never shortened to Rick or Ricky. That would have sounded too casual for Dad. He was always serious, always watching, always listening, always using his hunter's senses to see and hear things nobody else could. It used to drive Mum crazy. "So what was Dad like when he was a kid?"

"Always up in the ancient woodland on the hill. Loved nature from the first, that boy did." Grandpa looked at Todd's plate. "You finished? I've got something to show you."

Grandpa led Todd upstairs into the back bedroom that overlooked the harbor and pointed to a painting of a forest scene hanging over the dressing table. "Richard painted that when he was about your age. I reckon he was just as talented an artist as that chap with the studio up the road, Shaun what's-his-name."

Words kept coming out of Grandpa's mouth but Todd barely heard them. He stared at the forest scene—a duplicate of the picture hanging in his bedroom at home, except for one thing: in Grandpa's picture a red deer stag stood in the woodland clearing, head held high, sunlight glinting in intelligent eyes.

A strange feeling fluttered across Todd's awareness as though he could sense the presence of the deer, as if it was real.

"Like it?"

Todd nodded.

"Told you your dad was a talented artist. That clearing is in Lords Wood. It was Richard's favorite place. They say the forest is thousands of years old. It survived the Middle Ages because the trees were too stunted by the weather to be useful for shipbuilding. Now it's protected by law."

"I'll go and check it out." If his father had hung out there as a kid, maybe he'd feel a connection with him.

"Not this afternoon, you won't. I need a hand in the shop organizing the storeroom. Got to earn your keep, you know." Grandpa led Todd out of the room and shut the door firmly behind him. "You can explore the forest tomorrow. Don't forget to stop by and see Marigold when you do. Lookout Cottage, the Turpins' place, is up on the cliffs on the fringe of the trees. Lovely spot they've got there. You should see the views. If you're lucky, they'll invite you to lunch."

***

A massive red deer stag stood in the clearing, ears pricked, head tilted back slightly to balance the weight of his antlers. Todd watched from the cover of the bushes. He'd never been this close to a stag before. He turned to smile at his dad.

Dad? Where had he gone? Suddenly Todd was no longer in the wood. He stood beside the bonfire heap at the back of Feltsham Manor with Dad's stag
'
s-head ring gripped in his fist. He tried to shout, but panic closed his throat. He couldn't breathe. Then the dead vines thrown on the pile to be burnt slithered up his legs, twining around his arms and hands, binding so tightly they hurt.

Gasping with pain, Todd sat up in bed, his face damp with sweat. His heart raced as he switched on the bedside light. The stag's-head ring on his hand glimmered with a dull silver sheen and was pinching his finger.

He twisted the ring, trying to get it off, but a shout outside his window distracted him. He slid out of bed and pushed the curtains aside.

Light flooded into the dark street from the open gift shop door. Andrew backed out into the street, swearing and cursing. "I don't care what you say," he shouted to someone inside the shop. "I'm leaving."

 
Todd leaned on the windowsill and watched Andrew run down the street towards the harbor.

A few seconds later, Kelvin Marks appeared at the door, pulling on his shirt. "You've done it this time, you little..." His tattooed biceps bulged as he slammed his hand against the wall and did some cursing of his own. Then he took off down the street after Andrew.

Mrs. Bishop emerged from the doorway wearing a bathrobe and stood with her arms crossed.

Todd's gaze followed Andrew and Kelvin until they both disappeared around the bend at the bottom of the street. Then he glanced back at Mrs. Bishop. He expected her to be worried like his mum would be if something similar happened at home. Instead she looked furious. It was probably Kelvin Mark's fault that Andrew had run away. If Kelvin was anything like Philippe, Andrew probably got into trouble for breathing.

Remembering his sore finger, Todd went back to the table lamp and pulled at the ring. It came off easily now, as if it had never been tight. There was no way the ring could change size, so he must have laid awkwardly on his finger and made it swell. That was the only explanation.

Todd climbed in bed and closed his eyes, hoping he could get back to sleep. He wasn't sure what had woken him—his tight ring, his dream, or the shouting outside. He hoped he wasn't disturbed by the noise when Kelvin brought Andrew back.

***

Todd stepped outside Grandpa's shop and looked up at the clouds scudding across the blue sky. The temperature had dropped and it was cooler than the last two days. Ideal weather for running.

Before he set off along the coast path, he wanted to find out what had happened to Andrew last night. He checked up and down the street, peering into the shadowed alleys between the cottages. There was no sign of him, but he probably wasn't up yet.

Shaun's black Labrador waddled down the sidewalk towards Todd, wagging his tail. "Hey, boy." Todd crouched and made a fuss of the old dog.

Shaun appeared in the open doorway of the art gallery a few doors up the street, his dreadlocks sticking out in all directions as though he'd poked his finger in an electric socket. "Mornin'. You look disgustingly healthy. Don't tell me you're a jogger?"

"Yeah, I run." Todd stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and wandered up to look in the gallery. Four large paintings of the sunset over the harbor—probably the view from Shaun's studio—hung in the window. They were good. "You specialize in sunsets, then?"

Shaun grunted. "They sell." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Come in and have a look."

Before Todd followed Shaun inside, he glanced back at the old-fashioned leaded windows of the gift shop. The door was shut and the "Closed" sign was still up, even though it was past opening time. Maybe Mrs. Bishop and Kelvin had overslept because they'd been up half the night searching for Andrew.

Shaun gave Todd what he called "the tour," showing off the range of his work. Most of the pictures on display were local landscapes in pastels or acrylics painted for the tourists. Near the back of the gallery hung a triptych made up of three predominantly red and black abstract oil paintings that stirred nasty images of violence in the back of Todd's mind. "Nature red in tooth and claw," the label beneath them read.

"What do you think of my masterpieces?" Shaun folded his arms, tilting his head to the side, examining the abstract oils. "I like to paint the vibes I get from a landscape. Don't know why, but that woodland on the hill gives me really creepy vibes."

"Hmm, not been there yet, so I don't know." Todd gave Shaun a sideways glance, wondering if he was winding him up, or if he really could "feel" the woodland. He'd never met anyone else apart from his father who had hunter's radar.