by Shaun Baines
“Your letter makes it sound like you were trying to run Nancy out of town,” Holly said.
“I can’t speak about that.”
“Who is the new owner?” Callum asked.
“I can’t tell you,” Mr Salting said.
“What has your brother got to do with this?” Holly asked.
“He was one hundred percent behind regenerating the area. When the owner revealed his true plans, Arnold said, we’d gone too far. He hit me and stole the keys for the manor. I didn’t report it because a scandal would derail the project.”
“These keys?” Callum asked, swinging them from his finger.
Mr Salting gave him a doleful look. “May I have them back, please? They don’t belong to me.”
Callum gripped them tightly, strangling the wooden duck keyring.
“They don’t belong to you, either,” Holly said to Callum, shooting him a look.
His shoulders slumped and Callum dropped the keys into Mr Salting’s waiting hand.
Holly returned her idle pen to her pocket and laid an arm around Mr Salting’s shoulder.
“What are the plans that got Arnold so riled?” she asked.
Mr Salting hung his head, but kept quiet.
“This is serious,” Holly said. “Your brother could be in danger. He might be a danger to others. We have to tell the police.”
Mr Salting leaned into her. “I want you to know I never hid a thing from the police.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard about what happened to Ms Foxglove. I called the police because I was worried about what my brother might do in his present state of mind. But I swear that no matter how he feels about me or what we are doing to Little Belton, Arnold wouldn’t harm a fly.”
Holly didn’t agree. Arnold Salting was violent and unstable. He had attacked both his own brother and Mr Winnow. He had been in the area when Regina was discovered and he had Nancy’s file.
“You don’t have to worry,” Holly said. “All we want to do is ask him some questions.”
As Holly spoke, they heard voices from Mr Salting’s office. Two men stepped into the hidden garden, their mouths open in slack wondered smiles.
Mr Salting shrugged off Holly’s arm and straightened his tie. “Gentlemen, you’ll be the dear old Crockfoot Mail?” he asked, quickly flipping his eye patch back into place.
One of the men pushed his way through the greenery as if working his way through a jungle. “Mr Salting, I presume?” he asked.
“These people were just leaving,” Mr Salting said, giving Holly a less than gentle shove.
She stumbled over a potted plant and Callum swooped to her side, taking hold of her waist.
“I only spoke to you because you seem to care about what happens to my brother,” Mr Salting hissed. “If any of it makes it into that Little Belton rag, I shall sue.”
He turned his back on Holly and Callum to address the newcomers. “Lovely to have some real journos here for a change. I have a stirring speech for you to quote from. Now, what will you have? Sausage or burger?”
Callum led Holly to the door, but she broke free and ran back to Mr Salting.
“What’s in those letters? What is the conclusion of Phase One?” she asked.
Mr Salting handed over two burnt burgers to the Crockfoot journalists. They eyed them with dread and looked about the garden for a nearby Hosta.
Holly waited impatiently for an answer.
Mr Salting wiped his fingers on a serviette. When he was done, he folded it neatly into a square, tucking it into the breast pocket of his jacket.
With a long sigh, Mr Salting whispered his response into Holly’s disbelieving ear.
Chapter Eighteen
It had been a long night for Holly. Leaving her husband to snore into his pillow, she took the blanket from the bottom of her bed. Holly went to the sitting room and wrapped it around her shoulders. Sleep had come in fitful bouts. Her dreams were pitted with images of trees reduced to splinters. She saw again the bird she had run over. It was larger than she remembered and wearing an eye patch. It glided over the estate, salting the earth with its shadow. Everything withered and Holly wept when it flew toward Callum’s cottage.
When dawn broke, she was exhausted from pacing the kitchen floor, awaiting the arrival of the postman. He was late, his face soured by the inexplicable number of letters he’d been required to deliver.
Holly jigged on the spot as she accepted hers.
“I don’t know who the Salting Brothers are,” the postman said, “but I’ve a mind to send them my chiropractor’s bill for all the backache they’ve given me.”
The Salting Brothers’ name was ink-stamped onto the envelope, together with their slogan - ‘Building A Better Future Tomorrow.’
Holly tore open the envelope, speed reading the letter’s contents. Words leapt out at random, but there was no sense to be had. Its contents were implausible. Mr Salting had revealed nothing in his hurried whisper, except to imply Little Belton was in for a shock. Reading the letter now, she had to agree.
Holly forced herself to calm down and read more slowly, her lips moving as she progressed. Reaching the end, her fingertips were numb from gripping the paper too hard.
This was it, Holly thought. This was Little Belton’s Better Future. She had only just returned. The village was her fresh start and she’d arrived in time to see it die.
She needed to speak to someone. Derek was still asleep. He slept more and more these days and Holly wondered if it was a symptom of depression. Or the copious amounts of alcohol he swam in these days.
Callum was at home. Presumably. He’d been quiet on the drive home yesterday, merely wishing her goodnight when he dropped her off. He had smiled when he said it so perhaps things weren’t so bad, but part of Holly wasn’t convinced.
There was one place Holly wanted to go and she wasn’t the only person to think so.
The village green was swamped with lost souls, each dragging their letter as if it was a boulder chained to their necks. Gaunt faces stared at each other. They huddled or stood open-mouthed at the timeless mountains framing their village.
Mr MacFarlene, unusually sober, conversed with the wine drinking Mrs Threadle, who was not. Old Jack consoled Reverend Applecroft, rubbing his back and repeating calming Psalms. The Winnows walked the green, arm in arm, their facial expressions resolute.
Holly approached and they waved their letter.
“It’s terrible, dear,” Mrs Winnow said, clutching her husband tighter. “It doesn’t seem right.”
Mr Winnow rubbed his wife’s arm. “We’re all for progress. We’d like Little Belton to grow. Maybe get as big as Crockfoot, but not like this. All we wanted was a Starbucks.”
“How are you?” Mrs Winnow asked Holly. “I bet you wished you’d stayed in London now.”
The whispering village green grew silent. All eyes were turned to a four-by-four with mirrored windows. It was a black Range Rover with a silver grill. The engine was silent as it circled the green.
“It looks like a shark,” Mr Winnow said quietly.
The Rover stopped, the low hum of the engine throbbing in Holly’s chest. The sound was cut dead and Little Belton held its collective breath.
“I followed them down the B725,” Callum said. “I guess they’re out-of-towners.”
Holly jumped at Callum’s sudden presence.
“Where did you spring from?” she asked.
“I told you. The B725. I was trying to work. Thought it might keep my mind off the letter, but then – ”
“You needed to be with your friends?” Holly asked and without thinking or second-guessing herself, she slipped her hand into his. “So did we.”
The door to the Rover opened and a pair of long shimmering legs appeared, followed by the woman who owned them. She was tall and slender, wearing a tight-fitting camouflage dress.
“I saw that dress in a magazine,” Mrs Winnow said, yanking her waterproofs over an ill-fitt
ing jumper. “It’s a Harvey DuBec. They’re worth thousands.”
“Well, it looks a million bucks on her,” Mr Winnow said, quickly regretting it when his wife flicked his ear.
The woman’s face was thin. She had high cheekbones and lips fixed into a fashionable pout. She swung an expensive handbag and searched the sky.
The villagers shuffled toward her, drawn to her presence. No one spoke. No one looked at one another. They inched closer as the woman lifted her nose and looked away.
“Why are the newsagents closed?” Derek asked, fighting his way through the crowd to Holly. “I came for my paper.”
Holly dropped Callum’s hand, hoping her husband hadn’t seen her. Callum stepped aside.
Derek’s face was blank, staring around the village green. “Is there another Spring Fair?”
It didn’t seem right to keep Derek in the dark, but Holly didn’t know how to explain they might have to move again. He was fragile enough without dropping a bombshell like that. His relationship with Little Belton stopped at his morning paper and the occasional lottery ticket. He didn’t know the village like Holly did, but leaving it might untether him further.
“Is that why you’re here?” Derek asked, pointing into the sky.
Following his finger, Holly saw a black shape cutting through the clouds, its engine going from a hum to a growl as it approached.
“What is it?” Callum asked, jamming his hands on his hips.
Dark wings were silhouetted against a yellow sun. There was a sharpness to the creature, a danger. It reminded Holly of Black Eye Bobby or the bird who had haunted her dreams.
Mr Winnow rubbed his forehead, a red mark appearing above his eyebrows. “Whatever it is, it’s making a hell of a racket.”
“It’s a microlight,” Holly said. “I hired one on holiday once.”
The villagers craned their necks, nudging each other with their elbows. The microlight swooped toward the village green. The fabric wings were black, flecked with yellow dots, looking like the cap of a deadly toadstool. The trike underneath was of a similar colouring, gleaming as it streaked toward them.
The pilot was crouched forward and waving at the crowd. With both hands.
Holly wondered how he was steering.
“It’s going to crash,” shouted the Reverend.
With a scream, the villagers ran for their doorways.
Holly watched the microlight loom closer, fearing the touch of its poisonous wings. She turned to see Derek and Callum cowering beside her.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, grabbing them both and hauling them to the safety of a doorway.
The microlight’s engines were cut. The air whistled under its wings, the toadstool fabric stretched taut against the updraft.
Classical music started playing from the Range Rover. Holly didn’t recognise it, but there were heavy strings and resounding bass notes, lending cinematic drama to what was about to be a horrific crash.
The microlight reared, its back wheels hitting the ground, churning up the village green, spitting wet mud like bullets. The front wheel of the microlight landed with a bounce. It hurtled toward the Rover while the woman watched it with bored eyes.
The pilot applied the brakes and leapt from the vehicle, happy to watch it continue on its own. Its progress slowed, but not enough to stop without help from the Range Rover. There was a crunch and the microlight toppled to its side.
The pilot barrelled to his own stop, hopping into the air with his arms aloft. “Welcome to Black Rock Adventureland,” he shouted.
Chapter Nineteen
“My name is Devron Masterly,” the pilot said. “You may have heard of me.”
Mr Masterly was around six foot with angular shoulders. His dyed blonde hair hung in curtains around a handsome face. When he smiled, his perfect teeth were unnaturally white.
“Come on, dudes,” he said. “Don’t be shy. I’m the new owner of the Black Rock Estate.”
The villagers were skittish, their wide eyes seeking assurances from their neighbours. They inched toward Mr Masterly, but Callum strode through the herd, offering his hand.
“I’m Callum Acres. I’m your gamekeeper,” he said, standing tall.
Mr Masterly grabbed Callum’s hand, attempting an intricate greeting involving fist bumps and finger grips.
Unable to understand his boss’ intentions, Callum abandoned the handshake in favour of an embarrassed pat on Mr Masterly’s shoulder.
“My family have been working on the estate for generations,” Callum said.
“Good to have you on board, Cal,” Mr Masterly said, turning to the crowd. “Anyone else want to say hello?”
Holly detected a faint blush of pride in Callum’s face and approached Mr Masterly.
“I’ve heard of you,” she said. “You’re based in California. You own Arcadia Leisure.”
“Yes, I do.” Mr Masterly swept his blonde locks from his eyes and pointed to the woman by the car.
“And this is Sadie, my wife,” Mr Masterly said.
Mrs Masterly cast her eyes over the crowd of people emerging from their hiding places. She glided toward the village green and took her place next to her husband. Where most objects appeared larger close-up, the thin frame of Mrs Masterly seemed to shrink.
Holly nodded a welcome while sucking in her stomach.
“You own a chain of theme parks,” Holly said. “Treetop Mountain Range. Splashdown Waters. You’re worldwide.”
“And now we’re here,” Mr Masterly said.
Derek was at Holly’s side, lowering his head in a bow. “I used to work in real estate myself. Nothing quite as grand as yourself, but I’ve always been an admirer. If I can be of service in any way, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“Not now, Derek,” Holly whispered to herself.
Mr Masterly held up his hand for a high five. “That’s the kind of welcome I’m looking for, dude.”
Derek slapped Mr Masterly’s hand and grinned.
Holly fumbled in her pocket for the letter they’d all received and read the opening paragraph. “Arcadia Leisure applied and was granted permitted development rights in the Little Belton area. As it was deemed the residents would not be directly affected, there was no public consultation, but a brief period will be held to hear any objections.”
“But why would you object?” Mr Masterly asked the crowd. “We’re building a massive theme park. It will draw millions of tourists. There will be jobs. There will be money. It will bring people to your tiny village.”
“How many people?” Mr Winnow asked, rubbing his hands. “How much money?”
“You’ll be overrun with both.”
“We should have been consulted,” Old Jack shouted. “You can’t do all this on our doorstep and expect us to roll over.”
There were murmurs, but Holly didn’t know if they were in agreement.
Mr Masterly picked at a grass stain on his trousers caused by his dramatic entry. “But it’s not on your doorstep. It’s mine. I own the Black Rock Estate and everything on it. This is what I do. I rejuvenate tired, forgotten places and you’re welcome.”
Callum cleared his throat. “You’re getting rid of the estate? The land? The animals?”
“I’m making it better,” Mr Masterly said, “but don’t worry, dude. You’re with me, right? There’ll be a job waiting for you.”
“Will there be jobs for everyone?” Derek asked.
“Absolutely. It’s my top priority. Wherever I build my theme parks, the residents of the surrounding area always benefit. You’re family to me now.”
“The estate should be a national park,” Old Jack said, “or a conservation area or something. This is our heritage.”
The thin figure of Mrs Masterly stirred, roused by the vehemence in Old Jack’s voice. She gave a sideways glance at her husband before settling her unflinching gaze on the crowd.
“Adventureland is sympathetic to the environment,” she said. “Given the economic ben
efit to the area, the council waived such concerns aside.”
“Money was slipped under the table, you mean,” Old Jack said, his blue eyes flashing. “I’ve turned a blind eye to this sort of thing for too long. Regina Foxglove is in hospital. Nancy…my Nancy…is still missing. If you ask me, your arrival is too much of a coincidence.”
A cloud tumbled over the horizon and Mr Masterly held up his hands for calm. “I don’t understand. I’m here to help. Are you dudes saying you don’t want me here?”
“Of course, we do,” Derek said.
Old Jack stamped his foot, too furious to speak.
“Our research stated Little Belton was in poverty,” Mr Masterly said, teasing out a strand of his blonde hair. “What about the jobs and money?”
“It’s not always about that,” Holly said.
Derek puffed out his chest. “It is to those of us who don’t have any.”
Holly’s face went crimson and she turned it from the crowd. “We’re getting by,” she hissed at her husband.
“You’re getting by,” Derek said. “I’m getting left behind.”
Mrs Masterly glided to the car, the villagers parting for her as she sashayed past. She slipped inside the Rover and slammed the door shut.
Holly pressed closer to Old Jack. “There’s something not right about all of this,” she said to him. “It’s too rushed. Too forced.”
“Business has to move fast,” Mr Masterly said, over-hearing.
“So fast, you ignore the people you should be listening to,” Holly said.
“I am listening. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You intimidated Nancy Foxglove,” Holly shouted. “She knew all about you and your plans. Now she’s missing.”
The crowd gave a low moan, the sound rattling around the village green like the chains of a ghost. Holly felt Old Jack’s hand grip her forearm.
“I’ve never heard of this Nancy woman,” Mr Masterly said, strolling to his car.
“You directed the Salting Brothers to keep her quiet,” Holly said.
“Little Belton has the right to object,” he said.
