Read Online Laura Marlin Mysteries 1: Dead Man's Cove eBook by Lauren St. John - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lauren St. John
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descend once more. He’d be standing right in front of her, but she could tell that he’d mentally retreated, like a sea creature withdrawing into its shell.
If it weren’t for Mr and Mrs Mukhtar, who were constantly checking up on Tariq like two circling guard dogs scenting danger, thereby restricting Laura’s visits to once or twice a week, life would have been close to perfect.
One afternoon, Laura was helping Tariq unpack some boxes of vegetables and thinking how exhausted he looked, as if he hadn’t slept for days, when his sleeve slipped back and she saw purple bruises on his arm.
‘Tariq, what happened?’ she cried. ‘Who did that? Did somebody hit you?’ Instantly she thought of Mr Mukhtar. If he could strike Tariq for helping to stop a dog fight, what else might he be capable of?
Tariq leapt to his feet and shook his head vigorously. He pointed at the stairs at the back of the shop, which led up to the Mukhtars’ living quarters - an area into which Laura had never been invited - and performed a funny mime of falling down the steps.
Laura didn’t believe him, but she could hardly call him a liar. She was trying to decide what to say or do next when Mrs Mukhtar wafted in on a cloud of perfume. Judging by the shopping bags, she’d been on a spree. Her gold bangles jingled as she pointed at the vegetables on the store floor and said: ‘Tariq, my boy, you are not on holiday now. Your father is on his way. I suggest you say goodbye to your friend and get this mess cleaned up before he arrives.’
She gave Laura one of her special white smiles that never quite reached her eyes. ‘So nice to see you again, Laura,’ she cooed. ‘I hope it’s not too long before you can visit us again. Our best to Mrs Webb. Safe trip home.’
9
LAURA STEWED ABOUT the incident all evening and the whole of the next day. She was convinced it was Mr Mukhtar who’d inflicted the terrible bruises on Tariq. Probably beaten him for not making enough progress in his English lessons. ‘Lazy and obstinate,’ he’d called his son.
The son who wasn’t really his son.
She was tempted to tell her uncle what had happened, but without proof what was the point? Added to which, if she was wrong, if Tariq had fallen down the stairs the way he’d tumbled from the ladder, the consequences of accusing his father of beating him could be catastrophic. Besides, Calvin Redfern barely knew the Mukhtars. When Laura had mentioned she’d become friends with the boy whose parents ran the North Star, he’d looked blank until she explained it was the corner store on Back Road West. At that point, he’d ruffled her hair and said: ‘I’m proud of how quickly you’ve settled in here,’ and Laura had felt a warm glow spread through her because she’d never had anyone tell her they were proud of her before.
That warm glow had now gone. It had been replaced by a slightly sick feeling that came over Laura whenever she thought about the bruises on Tariq’s arm. Had Mrs Mukhtar spotted them? ‘Safe trip home,’ she’d said in a way that made it sound like a threat. ‘Give our best to Mrs Webb.’ Laura had no intention of doing anything of the kind.
What a glamorous woman like Mrs Mukhtar could possibly have in common with the sullen, pug-like Mrs Webb mystified her. She supposed the shopkeeper and his wife made it a practice to speak glowingly of every customer who spent large sums of money in their store.
On Friday morning, midway through a maths lesson, Laura made a decision. If Tariq’s adoptive parents were hurting him, she would report it to the police or social services, or call a child helpline or something. But first, she would go to the North Star and attempt to get the truth out of Tariq. The previous evening, she’d searched her Matt Walker books for tips on the art of interviewing people who refused to talk - usually because they were afraid of the consequences. The trick, it seemed, was to be kind, casual and
If it weren’t for Mr and Mrs Mukhtar, who were constantly checking up on Tariq like two circling guard dogs scenting danger, thereby restricting Laura’s visits to once or twice a week, life would have been close to perfect.
One afternoon, Laura was helping Tariq unpack some boxes of vegetables and thinking how exhausted he looked, as if he hadn’t slept for days, when his sleeve slipped back and she saw purple bruises on his arm.
‘Tariq, what happened?’ she cried. ‘Who did that? Did somebody hit you?’ Instantly she thought of Mr Mukhtar. If he could strike Tariq for helping to stop a dog fight, what else might he be capable of?
Tariq leapt to his feet and shook his head vigorously. He pointed at the stairs at the back of the shop, which led up to the Mukhtars’ living quarters - an area into which Laura had never been invited - and performed a funny mime of falling down the steps.
Laura didn’t believe him, but she could hardly call him a liar. She was trying to decide what to say or do next when Mrs Mukhtar wafted in on a cloud of perfume. Judging by the shopping bags, she’d been on a spree. Her gold bangles jingled as she pointed at the vegetables on the store floor and said: ‘Tariq, my boy, you are not on holiday now. Your father is on his way. I suggest you say goodbye to your friend and get this mess cleaned up before he arrives.’
She gave Laura one of her special white smiles that never quite reached her eyes. ‘So nice to see you again, Laura,’ she cooed. ‘I hope it’s not too long before you can visit us again. Our best to Mrs Webb. Safe trip home.’
9
LAURA STEWED ABOUT the incident all evening and the whole of the next day. She was convinced it was Mr Mukhtar who’d inflicted the terrible bruises on Tariq. Probably beaten him for not making enough progress in his English lessons. ‘Lazy and obstinate,’ he’d called his son.
The son who wasn’t really his son.
She was tempted to tell her uncle what had happened, but without proof what was the point? Added to which, if she was wrong, if Tariq had fallen down the stairs the way he’d tumbled from the ladder, the consequences of accusing his father of beating him could be catastrophic. Besides, Calvin Redfern barely knew the Mukhtars. When Laura had mentioned she’d become friends with the boy whose parents ran the North Star, he’d looked blank until she explained it was the corner store on Back Road West. At that point, he’d ruffled her hair and said: ‘I’m proud of how quickly you’ve settled in here,’ and Laura had felt a warm glow spread through her because she’d never had anyone tell her they were proud of her before.
That warm glow had now gone. It had been replaced by a slightly sick feeling that came over Laura whenever she thought about the bruises on Tariq’s arm. Had Mrs Mukhtar spotted them? ‘Safe trip home,’ she’d said in a way that made it sound like a threat. ‘Give our best to Mrs Webb.’ Laura had no intention of doing anything of the kind.
What a glamorous woman like Mrs Mukhtar could possibly have in common with the sullen, pug-like Mrs Webb mystified her. She supposed the shopkeeper and his wife made it a practice to speak glowingly of every customer who spent large sums of money in their store.
On Friday morning, midway through a maths lesson, Laura made a decision. If Tariq’s adoptive parents were hurting him, she would report it to the police or social services, or call a child helpline or something. But first, she would go to the North Star and attempt to get the truth out of Tariq. The previous evening, she’d searched her Matt Walker books for tips on the art of interviewing people who refused to talk - usually because they were afraid of the consequences. The trick, it seemed, was to be kind, casual and
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