Laura Marlin Mysteries 2: Kidnap in the Caribbean (2 page)

It was true. Miracles did happen. How else could Laura have been plucked from the dreary confines of Sylvan Meadows orphanage after eleven long years and deposited in a room with a sea view in the home of her uncle, where she was quite blissfully happy. Especially since Skye was allowed to sleep on her bed every night.

It was the possibility of being able to repay Calvin Redfern for his kindness that won her over. Money was tight and there was no way her uncle could afford a holiday otherwise. Laura held out a pound coin. ‘All right, I’ll buy one ticket.’

‘Just the one? I suppose if it’s a lucky ticket, one is all it takes.’

Laura studied the ticket. It was about three times the size of a postage stamp and had the number 252 printed on it. She closed her eyes and made a wish.

When she opened her eyes, the woman was watching her intently.

Disconcerted, Laura said: ‘What was the dog’s name?’

‘What dog?’

‘Your husky.’

‘Oh, of course. It was …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Hudson. His name was Hudson.’

Sensing that the woman had lost interest in the subject of Siberian huskies and was probably keen to attract more customers, Laura put the ticket safely in her purse and set off down Fore Street.

A voice rang out behind her. ‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, CAN I INTEREST YOU IN A DREAM VOYAGE TO A TROPICAL ISLAND?’

As she and Skye neared the alley that was a shortcut – via a set of steep stone steps – to Ocean View Terrace, Laura glanced over her shoulder. The Fantasy Travel representative, her beach umbrella and her tickets to paradise were all gone!

It seemed so impossible that the woman could have vanished in under two minutes that Laura walked back a little way, convinced the rain was blurring her vision.

For a moment, she wondered if the whole thing had been a product of her over-active imagination. But the ticket was still in her purse, now speckled purple with drizzle.

She was halfway home when she remembered that Hudson – or, at least, TM Hudson & Sons – was the name of the bakery opposite where the Fantasy Travel rep had been standing. More than likely it was a coincidence that she happened to have had a husky of the same name. After all, what possible motive could she have had for inventing one? But then Matt Walker always said that there was no such thing as a coincidence.

‘A WATCHED POT
never boils,’ declared Mrs Crabtree.

Laura and Skye were sitting on the stone wall outside number 28 Ocean View Terrace. They were waiting for the postman and gazing down the hill at Porthmeor Beach, where grey waves steamed up to the shore beneath a sullen sky. Between the house and the beach was a cemetery. On sunny days it was serene and quite lovely, but on stormy days like this the Celtic crosses, twisted tree and jackdaws pecking among the crumbling gravestones made it feel eerie.

Laura glanced at the sky. It was threatening to rain again. The Fantasy Travel woman had told her that the raffle draw was taking place on Monday and that she’d be notified soon afterwards if she’d won, but today was Thursday and so far she’d heard nothing. Laura would not have admitted it to Mrs Crabtree, but she was losing hope that she’d be going off on a luxury cruise any time soon.

‘I’m not watching for a pot; I’m waiting for a letter telling me I’ve won a trip to paradise,’ Laura told her neighbour.

Mrs Crabtree stabbed a weed with her trowel. Though retired, she liked to dress for effect, and today she was in yellow gardening gloves and a leopard print coat. ‘There’s a reason people often use “trouble” and “paradise” in the same sentence, you know. The two words tend to go together.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Laura, but Mrs Crabtree’s response was drowned out by furious barking from Skye.

The postman scowled as he handed Laura a bill for her uncle, taking care to stay out of range of the husky’s jaws. ‘I’ll be demanding danger money if this goes on much longer, I will,’ he complained. ‘Day after day, you and that werewolf lying in wait. It’s not good for my heart.’

Laura’s own heart sank as it became obvious that there was no post for her. ‘He’s not a werewolf or even a wolf,’ she said, clinging to Skye’s collar. ‘He’s a Siberian husky. And he’s normally very sweet-natured.’ She didn’t add that, although he was mostly very gentle, he had strong objections to strangers approaching Laura.

She eyed the postman’s bulging sack. ‘Are you sure you haven’t got anything for me? Maybe the letter’s slipped down the back of your mailbag, or been delivered to the wrong address. Oh, please can you check again?’

The postman took no notice of her. He handed Mrs Crabtree a package and stamped off down the street muttering something about ‘kids today’.

‘What makes you so sure you’ve won?’ Mrs Crabtree opened her parcel and gazed approvingly at a carton of rose feed. ‘It could be a scam, like so many of these things. I mean, have you ever met anyone who’s won so much as a packet of shortbread in a raffle, let alone a holiday or millions of pounds? I never have and I’ve been around for six and a half decades. I think it’s a con.’

‘It’s not a con,’ Laura said stubbornly. ‘Lots of people bought tickets. Besides, the travel rep who was selling them used to have a Siberian husky, and huskies are very choosy about who they spend their time with so she must be all right. Anyhow, I had a dream that I’d won the competition.’

She didn’t tell Mrs Crabtree that the dream had been more of a nightmare. In it, the Fantasy Travel woman had kidnapped her on a pirate ship and taken her, not to Antigua, but to a plank suspended over a shaft that led to the earth’s core. As molten fires seethed below her, some unseen assassin had tried to push Laura in. She’d been very relieved to wake up in her own bed with Skye licking her face.

‘Stay away from raffles and lotteries,’ Mrs Crabtree counselled her. ‘Hard work, that’s what earns holidays or makes fortunes. Sweat and elbow grease.’

Laura didn’t respond. Her uncle had told her much the same thing. He’d said that the chances of Laura winning them a free trip to the Caribbean were thousands, if not millions, to one, and that in the unlikely event she did scoop first prize, there was bound to be a catch. They’d discover they had to row themselves to Antigua on a raft, or there’d be loads of hidden expenses on the trip and they’d be bankrupted.

Mrs Crabtree’s comment about hard work reminded Laura that she still had a ton of homework to do. Even though the term was about to end, Mr Gillbert was merciless when it came to piling it on.

Skye did his ‘
Pleeease
-won’t-you-take-me-for-a-walk?’ whine. Laura ran her hand over his thick coat. ‘Not today,’ she told him, looking wistfully down at Porthmeor Beach. ‘I have to finish my geography project. In two more days, it’ll be school holidays and you’ll get tons of walks because —’

She got no further because Mrs Crabtree suddenly gasped, cast aside the box of rose feed, and checked her blonde curls for neatness.

A gleaming stretch limousine with blacked out windows was gliding up the street towards them.

‘A movie star!’ cried Mrs Crabtree. ‘Must be. Of course, St Ives has always attracted artists, writers and other flamboyant folk. Ooh, I wonder who it is. Laura, let’s try to get a good look if the chauffeur slows.’

Laura gripped Skye’s collar and watched the limousine approach. The dark windscreen gave the impression that the car was driverless, directed by an invisible force.

To her surprise, the car sighed to a stop right in front of her. A chauffeur in a sharp suit and white shirt hopped out and, with a double take at Mrs Crabtree’s leopard-print coat, started up the steps of number 28.

Laura experienced a moment of pure panic. The last time she’d seen a black car with dark windows, two members of the Straight A gang – the most evil and sophisticated crime syndicate in the world –had been inside it. She’d been ignorant of that at the time and the consequences had been catastrophic.

‘Oh, my goodness, Laura, someone famous has come to visit your uncle!’ cried Mrs Crabtree as the chauffeur rang the doorbell. ‘Perhaps a Government Minister? Why are you standing there like a dummy? Quick, run and see who he’s after.’

But Laura couldn’t move. She was mute, rooted to the spot.

Mrs Crabtree gave her a sharp poke. When that didn’t work, she called out: ‘Young man, if you’re looking for Calvin Redfern, he’s not in right now. Can I help you? Will you be quiet, Skye! Any more of that and my hearing aid will explode.’

The chauffeur descended the steps three at a time. ‘Thank you, ma’am, but I’m not here to see a gentleman. I have urgent business with the lady of the house – a Miss Marlin. Are you familiar with her?’

Another awful thought occurred to Laura. What if the chauffeur was not a member of the Straight A gang but really was a Government Minister come to lure Calvin Redfern away on some special assignment that would result in Laura being sent back to Sylvan Meadows? Or what if someone with a red pen and too much power at Social Services had read about her adventures at Dead Man’s Cove and sent a lawyer to inform Calvin Redfern that he was a thoroughly unsuitable guardian and that she’d be better off back in the orphanage?

She tried to catch Mrs Crabtree’s eye, but it was too late. Her neighbour piped up, ‘This is Laura right here. And who, might I ask, are you?’

A smile lit the face of the chauffeur, a black man who could easily have been a movie star himself. ‘
You’re
Laura Marlin. And there I was picturing someone much … older. Not, I’m certain, that it makes any difference. Miss Marlin, would you come this way, please? I have something for you.’

Laura backed away in alarm, keeping Skye close to her.

The chauffeur raised his eyebrows. ‘I must say, that’s not quite the reaction I was expecting.’ He smiled again. ‘No matter. You’re right to be wary of strangers.’

He returned to the limousine and produced a dozen pink balloons and a large, thick pink envelope, all of which he placed in Laura’s reluctant hands.

‘You didn’t tell me it was your birthday, Laura,’ exclaimed Mrs Crabtee.

‘It’s not.’ Laura was braced for a trick or a trap. She and Calvin Redfern, a former detective who had a top-secret job investigating illegal fishing in the waters around Cornwall, had recently been responsible for the arrests of several key members of the Straight A’s, and the gang was notoriously vengeful.

She needn’t have worried. The chauffeur merely touched the brim of his hat and gave another grin. ‘Goodbye and good luck, Miss Marlin.’ He nodded at Mrs Crabtree as he climbed into the limousine. ‘Goodbye, ma’am. If you don’t mind me saying so, that’s some outfit you have on. Quite striking. Brightens up a cloudy day, it does.’

Laura started forward. ‘Wait,’ she cried. ‘What company are you from? Who sent you?’

But the chauffeur’s dark window was already sliding shut and he didn’t appear to hear her. Jackdaws rose screeching from the cemetery as the limousine purred away.

‘Aren’t you going to open your letter?’ demanded Mrs Crabtree, still glowing from the chauffeur’s compliment.

Laura turned the envelope over. Her name was typed on the front but there was no other mark on it.

Mrs Crabtree said impatiently: ‘Here, give it to me.’ She ripped the envelope open without ceremony, withdrew a pink card and read aloud:

‘
Dear Laura Marlin
,

‘
Congratulations from all at Fantasy Holidays Ltd on winning a luxury cruise for two to the beautiful Caribbean island of
—’

She had to pause then because Laura squealed with delight and started leaping around like a crazy person. Skye threw his head back and howled with excitement.

‘–
Antigua. The enclosed voucher
– shush, Skye, you’re giving me a headache –
includes a voyage from Falmouth, Cornwall to Antigua on the Ocean Empress, a week’s all-inclusive accommodation at the five-star Blue Haven resort, a helicopter tour of Montserrat’s volcano, and return flights to the United Kingdom
.’

Mrs Crabtree engulfed Laura in her furry leopard coat. ‘My dear girl, I take everything back. Your holiday competition is genuine after all. Forgive me for being such an old cynic. Oh, I could not possibly be happier for you and Calvin. Two people more deserving of a holiday I simply can’t imagine.’

When at last Laura managed to extricate herself from Mrs Crabtree’s embrace, she walked up the steps of 28 Ocean View Terrace in a joyful daze. It was impossible to take in. The winning mauve ticket had
her
name on it. She and her uncle were going on the trip of a lifetime to the Caribbean. She’d be able to pay him back for his kindness. They’d be sipping coconut milk in hammocks and swimming with dolphins in turquoise lagoons.