Free Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook by Lauren St. John

have done my best but Laura is refusing to take no for an answer,’ said Mr Mukhtar. ‘I was just telling her that you’ve been bored to tears by her stories and have no wish to ever see her again. Is this true?’

    Tariq stared at Laura as though she was a stranger he would cross the street to avoid. He said something to Mr Mukhtar in Hindi. They both laughed. Mr Mukhtar put an arm around his adopted son’s shoulders. ‘You’re certain?’

    Tariq rolled his eyes.

    ‘Boys will be boys,’ Mr Mukhtar said indulgently. ‘Goodbye, my dear Miss Marlin. I am most apologetic you’ve had a wasted journey. Please to give my very best to Mrs Webb.’

    Laura walked from the store with her head held high, but as soon as she rounded the corner tears started to stream down her face. She couldn’t stop shaking. She took the long way home, via Fore Street, the cobbled lane that cut through the heart of St Ives, because she didn’t want Mrs Webb to see her crying. If she stayed out long enough, the housekeeper would have gone home. Half way along the street, she stopped to buy some pink coconut fudge. She needed the sugar rush. Without it, she was afraid she’d never make it up the steep hill home. She’d simply dissolve on the cobbles and all that would be left of her was a puddle.

    The woman in the fudge shop insisted on giving her six squares of coconut ice for free. ‘You look as if you need it, love,’ she said, handing Laura a tissue. ‘Whatever’s making you feel like the world has ended, it’ll pass. You won’t believe me now but some time soon you’ll feel happy again.’

    She was right. Laura didn’t believe her.

    Out on the street, people stared at Laura in a concerned, tut-tutting way, and one or two tried to ask if she was all right. She stumbled past them without a word, forcing down fudge. She was blind to the bakeries piled high with saffron buns and Cornish pasties, the garish surfwear, and the galleries hung with paintings of the sea and town. Deaf to the rush and the noise.

    Already a numb resignation was stealing through her limbs. The boy she’d come to care for enormously in the month she’d known him thought her a bore. All those afternoons when she’d read to him and chatted to him, overjoyed to have made a friend, he’d been wishing she would go away and leave him in peace. But that wasn’t what hurt the most. The most wounding thing was that he hadn’t had the decency to tell her himself. He’d sent Mr Mukhtar.

    If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought her silent friend, the magical boy in raggedy clothes whose touch had soothed the savage dogs, had been replaced by an evil twin. A twin in designer clothes.

    She felt lost, empty and like the world’s biggest fool.

    Where the street divided, she took the right hand fork up the hill towards the Barbara Hepworth museum. She was passing a clothes shop when she suddenly had the uneasy feeling she was being watched, and not because she was upset. She turned around quickly. It was starting to rain and there was no one on the side road, so Laura dismissed it as her imagination. Then a flicker of movement caught her eye.

    In the shadows of the clothing store doorway was a wolf. That was Laura’s first thought, that a wolf was watching her. He had intense, hypnotic eyes of the palest, Arctic ocean hue. Their navy blue pupils were ringed with black. Taped to the glass door beside him was a poster that read: HOME DESPERATELY WANTED FOR TWO-YEAR-OLD SIBERIAN HUSKY.

    Far from being dejected at his plight, the husky was surveying the street with eyes that blazed with a proud fire. Laura couldn’t decide whether he looked regal or wild or both. In spite of her misery, she felt compelled to go over to him. He watched her approach with a focus that was disturbing. Nervously, she put a hand out to stroke him, first allowing him to sniff her.

    ‘Go ahead. He won’t bite,’ called the shopkeeper, who was dealing with a customer.