The Cove: a shocking thriller you won't be able to put down (The Devil's Cove Book 1)

by Malcolm Richards

  She moved to the bed and began pulling off the sheets, even though they’d not been slept in. Perhaps she should stay home with Cal, after all. The shop could wait another day.

  But it would be another day Cal had to stay locked up inside. It would be another day to wait for life to return to normal.

  The bed stripped, she hooked the basket under her hip and headed for the door. She stopped and tilted her head, sniffing the air. What was that smell?

  She would take Cal to the shop. She would cancel Rose and drive Melissa to school herself. The sooner life returned to normal, the better.

  30

  THE CONTINUING RAIN allowed Carrie the excuse of driving down to the sea front, where she parked the car on a side street and hurried Cal into an alleyway and through the rear entrance of Cove Crafts.

  In just that short distance, she’d seen Cal change from observant to alert, his head swivelling on his shoulders as he absorbed his surroundings.

  Once inside, Carrie made some tea for them both then showed Cal how to build the flat pack boxes that the shop’s stock would be stored in over the winter season. Leaving him to work in the storeroom, she moved to the shop floor, where she logged onto a desktop computer and began the laborious task of stock checking.

  Occasionally, she would look to the back of the shop, or out into the town square, where a handful of shoppers moved from store to store. At first, Carrie thought she’d managed to avoid a full inquisition by the cove’s inhabitants thanks to the bad weather keeping them at home. But as the morning progressed, the rain dried up. Then, every ten minutes or so, someone would notice her at the counter and peer through the glass in search of the enigmatic, returned-from-the-grave, Cal Anderson. One or two even ignored the Closed sign and came inside, only to find Carrie alone.

  If they’d ventured a little further, they would have found Cal, methodically building boxes and stopping occasionally to examine a mermaid figurine or miniature ship’s wheel from the shelves of excess stock. But Carrie had not allowed them to get that far.

  Lunchtime arrived. Carrie returned to the storeroom where Cal had built four neat towers of boxes and was sitting on a chair in the corner, poring over a book of local history. The current page showed an old illustration of smugglers carrying crates of rum from the beach, where a wrecked ship had run aground.

  “When you were little all you wanted to be was a pirate,” she said, startling him.

  Cal stared at her before returning his attention to the book.

  Is that where you were? Off sailing the seas in search of buried treasure? Carrie watched him for a moment, revelling in the sight of her son.

  “Lunchtime,” she said, crossing the room to the small refrigerator. “I made ham sandwiches.”

  Cal turned the pages of the book, his brow wrinkled with concentration. Removing the sandwiches, Carrie put them on plates and poured out two glasses of orange juice. The picnic table in the small courtyard was still wet, so they remained in the storeroom.

  “Cal? Are you going to eat?” She waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she drummed her fingers against the top of her thigh. “Cal? Please, don’t ignore me.”

  The slightest of smiles rippled across Cal’s lips. Closing the book, he stood up.

  Then he froze.

  He turned his head in the direction of the shop.

  Carrie followed his gaze. “What is it?”

  Brushing past, she motioned for him to stay, then entered the shop floor.

  “Is someone there?” she called out.

  A small Yorkshire Terrier appeared in the aisle and snarled at her. Ignoring it, she reached the counter to find a figure peering down at the computer screen.

  “Hello, Mr. Spencer,” she said, sidestepping Caliban, who had scampered in front of her to issue a warning yap. “I’m sorry but we’re closed. Until spring. How are you keeping?”

  Even bent over his stick Grady was a formidable figure; one Carrie wasn’t particularly fond of. It wasn’t that she had personal reasons to dislike him. It was his nature, she supposed. She didn’t like the way he looked at people, as if he deemed himself superior. She didn’t like the way he always had something bad to say about his fellow townsfolk. He could dress it up as being a lonely old man, but Grady Spencer was a misanthrope of the highest degree. The kind that not only hated people but actively went out of his way to let them know.

  Tapping his stick on the floor, Grady turned away from the computer.

  “Oh, you know. I keep myself to myself, don’t I?” he said, flashing her a shrewd look before casting his eyes over the store. Beside him, Caliban sniffed the air and let out a yap. “That boy of yours turned up again, I see. Where is he, then?”

  Carrie arched an eyebrow. At least the old man wasn’t pretending to be interested in her wares.

  “Actually, he’s in the storeroom, keeping a low profile. Which is exactly how I’d like to keep things for now. Let’s call it a settling in period. I’m sure you understand, Mr. Spencer.”

  “Doesn’t make a difference to me.” Grady’s eyes drifted back to Carrie, hungry and expecting. “Has he said anything? About where’s be been?”

  “Not yet. But I’m sure once he’s feeling better, he’ll tell us exactly where he’s been and who did this to him.”

  That was all she was giving the old man.

  Grady nodded. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the back of the shop. At his feet, Caliban continued to sniff the air and growl. “You think someone took your boy, then?”

  “I don’t think. I know. There can’t be any other explanation.”

  “Maybe he wandered off.”

  “For seven years?”

  “Maybe he didn’t much like it where he was.” The old man sneered, his lips twisting at the edges.

  Clenching her hands by her sides, Carrie forced a smile. Gnarly old bastard.

  “Well, he seems happy enough now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get on with closing up.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Grady said, waving a knotted hand. “Husband away, is he?”

  Carrie looked up to see a strange smile ripple across the old man’s lips. “He’ll be back on Sunday.”

  She turned away, pretending to work on the computer. When she looked up again, Grady was by the front door and staring in the direction of the storeroom.

  “Did you hear about Margaret Telford?” he said, his gaze sliding back to her.

  “I heard the police came around.” Carrie didn’t want to spend another second talking to the man, but she was curious about what had happened.

  “Dog’s dead,” Grady said, with a half-smile. “Found pieces of him in the backyard. So I heard.”

  Carrie drew in a shocked breath. “My God, poor Margaret.”

  The old man glanced down at Caliban, who was busy wagging his tail and whining, his nose pointed at the back of the shop. “Terrible thing to happen after finding your son, don’t you think?”

  “Do they know who did it?”

  “Someone with a grudge against her, I imagine.”

  Grady smiled. He pulled open the door.

  “Come,” he barked at Caliban, who scampered back to his master’s side.

  As soon as she was alone, Carrie crossed the floor and locked the door. She leaned against it for a second, horrified by what Grady had told her. Poor Margaret, she thought, and wondered again who could have done something so horrific.

  Her face pale and waxy, she returned to the storeroom.

  Cal was not where she had left him.

  Panicking, she spun around.

  “Cal? Where are you?”

  She moved to the back door and pulled it open. The small yard was empty. She returned to the storeroom and was about to grab her keys and head into the alley behind the shop, when she heard a sharp intake of breath.

  She turned her head to the corner of the room, where Cal had wedged himself beneath the shelves, and was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chin. He was deathly pale. His
body quivered like an autumn leaf.

  “Cal, what is it?” Carrie rushed forward onto her knees.

  He stared at her and shook his head.

  “Talk to me. What’s wrong.”

  She reached out a hand. Cal flinched.

  “Won’t you tell me?” Carrie said. “Please, Cal. Can’t you try to say something? Even just a word?”

  Cal pushed back against the wall and balled his hands into tight fists. Carrie’s phone began to ring.

  She sat back. “I’m sorry. I just want to help, that’s all. I just want you to be happy.”

  She pulled her phone from her pocket as Cal continued to glare. Melissa’s school was calling.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Killigrew. This is Valerie Taylor, the school receptionist. Mrs. White would very much like to see you when you collect Melissa this afternoon. There’s been an incident.”

  Carrie’s heart thumped a little faster. “An incident? Is Melissa all right?”

  “Oh no, it’s nothing like that,” the receptionist said. “Melissa is fine. But Mrs. White would like to see you as a matter of urgency.”

  Carrie turned to see Cal still crammed into the corner of storeroom, watching her. “What’s this about?”

  “We’ll see you at the end of the day,” the receptionist said. She hung up before Carrie could question her further.

  Lines of worry creased Carrie’s brow. The beginnings of a headache began to manifest at the top of her skull. She looked up at Cal then back at her phone screen. Grady Spencer’s words echoed in her mind.

  She stood.

  “Come out of there, Cal,” she said softly. “Everything’s fine.”

  Her words sounded as empty as the surrounding boxes.

  31

  PORTH AN JOWL PRIMARY School was situated at the very top of the cove, just past Briar Wood and opposite the caravan park. It was a small Victorian building with an even smaller playground, where less than a hundred young students spent their lunch hour chasing each other while collecting new bruises and grazes. Now, the playground was a hive of voices as parents arrived to collect their children.

  Carrie pulled up on the road outside and switched off the car engine. A few heads turned in her direction, more interested in her passenger than they were in her.

  Cal had spent the short drive with his face turned to the window. It had taken Carrie almost fifteen minutes to convince him to come out from under the shelves and even longer to leave the shop. Once inside the car, his agitation had lessened, the hum of the engine and the changing view acting like sedatives. At the sight of the crowd, Cal pulled away from the window.

  “Maybe you should stay here,” she told him. “Unless you want to come inside with me.”

  Panic returning, Cal shook his head.

  Carrie stroked his hand, feeling tendons tensing beneath his skin. “I’ll leave the radio on but don’t touch anything. And if anyone tries to speak to you, ignore them.”

  She punched the button on the stereo and pop music began to filter through the speakers. Cal cocked his head, listening to the tune.

  “You’ll be okay?” She didn’t feel comfortable leaving him, but the alternative would be even more stressful.

  Cal nodded. He pressed the button on the stereo, changing the channel.

  Stepping out of the car, Carrie closed the door. At the school gates, she stopped and glanced back at the car, then pushed the remote lock button on the car key. Cal’s head snapped to the left, startled by the click of the locks. He peered through the window, touching the glass with his fingertips.

  “Five minutes,” Carrie mouthed, spreading her fingers.

  Pushing past the other adults and children, she headed for the main building. Someone called hello to her, but she ignored them, hurrying through the doors and away from the staring faces.

  As she entered the reception office, she wondered if she’d been right to leave Cal alone in the car. His behaviour in the store had worried her. What had he been so afraid of?

  She reached the reception desk, where Valerie Taylor sat behind a glass partition, talking with another parent. Carrie waited, staring out the window into the playground, watching the other parents and children walk away hand in hand. Had Cal overheard Grady Spencer talking about Margaret Telford’s poor dog? Was that what had upset him?

  She shuddered as she turned back to the desk. It would have taken a very sick individual to mutilate an animal in the way Grady had described. The murder of Margaret’s dog could not be a coincidence. It was almost as if someone had wanted to punish Margaret. But for what? For saving Cal’s life?

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Killigrew. You’re here to see Mrs. White?” Valerie said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Carrie nodded. “I can’t be long. Cal is waiting in the car.”

  “Of course. I’ll take you through, then I’ll fetch Melissa. She’s in with the after-school club.”

  Carrie was led along a long corridor, its walls adorned with artwork and writing done by the children. Valerie was silent, leaving her to grow increasingly disturbed by the thoughts churning her mind.

  She stopped in her tracks, growing suddenly pale.

  What if whoever had taken Cal was responsible for killing poor Alfie? That would surely mean Cal’s abductor lived in the cove. Did that also mean Cal had been kept hidden away all these years just metres away from her? The thought had crossed her mind more than once since his return, but she had dismissed it. Because that would mean it was entirely possible she knew her son’s abductor.

  “Mrs. Killigrew? Carrie? Are you all right?” Valerie had stopped outside the headteacher’s office door.

  “I’m fine.”

  Looking unconvinced, the receptionist knocked and waited until a woman’s voice instructed them to enter.

  Elsa White was tall and gaunt, dressed in a tweed jacket and skirt, her white hair pulled back in a tight bun. She had been the headteacher at Porth an Jowl Primary School for what seemed like forever, even when Carrie had attended. Her hair had grown whiter, her face thinner, but not much else had changed.

  Also present was Laura Rhodda, Melissa’s teacher, who stood and smiled nervously as Carrie entered. She was younger than Carrie, perhaps in her late twenties. She was not from the cove.

  “It’s nice to see you, Carrie,” Elsa White said, her voice soft yet firm. “Please, sit down.”

  The three women sat for a moment, silence pervading the room.

  “I can’t be long,” Carrie said. “I’ve left Cal in the car.”

  “Of course.” Elsa’s face softened a little. “How is he?”

  “Getting there. The doctors say it will take a little while.” Carrie shifted on the chair, crossing her legs.

  “It was such a tragedy when he disappeared,” the headteacher said. “Callum was always such a bright, kind boy. I’m so glad he’s come back to you.”

  Carrie smiled and nodded. She turned her attention to Laura Rhodda, who was busy staring at the desk. “Melissa was involved in some sort of incident?”

  The warmth in Elsa’s face quickly faded. She glanced sideways at Laura.

  “Mrs. Killigrew,” the teacher began, her voice soft and unsure.

  “Mrs. Killigrew?” Carrie laughed. “This must be bad if you’re addressing me as Mrs. Killigrew.”

  A pained look passed over the teacher’s face. “Carrie... It’s nothing too serious, I hope. But something I—we thought you should see.”

  For the first time, Carrie noticed a roll of paper clutched in the teacher’s hands.

  “This morning in art class, I asked the children to draw a picture of their family. I asked them to think about what their family meant to them. I’m afraid that Melissa drew something rather disturbing.”

  Carrie stared at the roll of paper, her mouth running dry.

  “Oh?”

  Elsa nodded at Laura. Slowly, she unrolled the paper and flattened it out on the desk.

  Carrie leaned forward.

  “
As you can see, it’s rather gruesome,” Laura said.

  Carrie’s eyes bulged in her head. Her jaw dropped open.

  “Holy shit!”

  Melissa had drawn a picture of the Killigrews’ house and garden. She had taken pains to colour each flower in the garden, and to draw the pattern of the curtains in the living room and bedroom windows. But it was the people she’d drawn that were causing so much concern.

  Two figures lay in the garden, their heads severed from their bodies and red crayon smears soaking the ground. Outside the garden gate, three figures wore happy smiles as they danced away, heading toward a figure that filled Carrie with horror. It was much larger than the others, made up of dark scribbled lines, with a twisted, monstrous face and horns sprouting from its head.

  Carrie stared at the picture, her face draining of colour. She looked up, trying to force words out of her throat.

  “Why would she draw this?” she managed to say.

  Elsa White clasped her hands together. “We were hoping you could tell us. It’s very much out of character for Melissa to draw something so...colourful, shall we say?”

  Carrie’s gaze was pulled back to the drawing. Colourful was not a word she would have used to describe such horrors.

  “Do you think it could be a reaction to Callum’s return?” Elsa suggested. “Perhaps it’s her mind’s way of expressing how she’s feeling.”

  “I want to see her. I want to see her now.”

  “She should be right outside.”

  Elsa stood and went to the door. The receptionist, Valerie, stood on the other side, her hand wrapped around Melissa’s, whose eyes were large and round. They grew wet as she saw her mother. Her lower lip began to tremble.

  “It’s okay, sweet pea,” Carrie said, reaching out a hand and helping Melissa into the chair next to her. “You’re not in trouble. We just need to talk about something, that’s all.”

  “Do you know why we had to call your mummy today?” Elsa asked her.

  Melissa shook her head and stared at her knees.

  “Sweet pea,” Carrie began. She picked up the drawing and was immediately drawn to that terrible, demonic figure. “Do you remember drawing this in art class today?” Melissa peered at the drawing with large, sorrowful eyes. “Do you want to tell me why you drew a picture like this?” The little girl shrugged and pushed her lower lip out even further. “It’s okay. Remember, you’re not in trouble. We’re just talking. Do you want to tell me who’s in the picture?”