Dead Man's Cove by Lauren St John

Author:Lauren St John
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Orion Children's
Published: 2011-11-05T16:49:27+00:00

Over the course of the day Laura came up with dozens of different theories on why the message writer was in mortal danger. She wondered why he or she didn’t go to the police, a lawyer, or even a doctor. Weren’t those sorts of people supposed to be trustworthy? The fact that the note writer hadn’t contacted the authorities suggested that they were scared or had done something illegal. They had to be pretty desperate to put their faith in a random, passing stranger - a stranger who might just turn out to be an eleven-year-old girl.

Walking home from school, Laura kicked a rock savagely. If she had a friend, life would be so much easier. If Tariq hadn’t turned into a freak, she could have taken the notes to him, and in his sensitive, thoughtful way, he’d have known what to do, just like he’d known what to do when the dogs were at each other’s throats. He was smart. More than that, he was intuitive. He had always known when she’d had a terrible day at school long before she told him. He’d present her with a bar of chocolate or a fresh peach or some other treat she had a feeling the Mukhtars didn’t know about.

That, however, was the old Tariq. The new Tariq would simply laugh at her. He’d joke with Mr Mukhtar that she’d been reading too many Matt Walker books. Actually Laura wished she’d read even more. Matt Walker would have seen through the puzzle in an instant. He’d have identified the calligraphy as being unique to a particular region of the world, and would have known off the top of his head that the paper used was, say, made by a special printing press found only in the Outer Hebrides. Laura could only see that a cheap biro had been used on one note and a quill and ink on the other.

She had no plans to tell her uncle about the messages either. Oh, he’d listen to her carefully and be very nice to her about them. He might even tell her that he’d have a chat with the police the next time he passed the station. Then he’d go into his office and forget she’d ever mentioned it.

No, apart from her penfriend, she was on her own.

Again.

Laura was hurrying along Ocean View Terrace with her head down, hoping not to run into Mrs Crabtree or the birdwatcher, when something shiny caught her eye. A fragment of silk tapestry was lying in the gutter. It was about three inches square and damp from the morning’s rain. On it was the face of a tiger, exquisitely crafted. A tear was rolling down the tiger’s cheek.

Laura’s heart began to thud. She knew precisely where she’d last seen such a tiger: on the tapestry behind the counter at the North Star. She picked it up and looked up and down the street. There was no one in sight.

She found herself hoping with every fibre of her being that Tariq had left it for her as a sign.

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