Wildwood (YA Paranormal Mystery) (18 page)

He left the door ajar so he could hear the creak of the stairs and went straight to the old oak wardrobe in the corner. He pulled on the door and it didn't budge. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he looked around for a key. Why lock a stupid wardrobe—unless something was hidden inside?

Opening drawers one after the other, he rifled through socks, underpants, and vests, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He hated prying through Grandpa's things, but even so, he couldn't stop himself. He was close to a breakthrough.

Eventually in exasperation, he closed the last drawer and slapped his hands on his thighs. Where on earth was the key? As a last resort, he felt along the top of the wardrobe. His fingers made contact with a small metal object. It was such an obvious hiding place, he was annoyed with himself for not looking there first.

He unlocked the doors and cautiously pulled them open. Shirts, trousers, and jackets hung neatly inside, with the garment bag at the far end. Todd pulled it out, willing something to be inside.

The weight of the plastic carrier made his heart rate pick up as he laid the bag on the bed. As he unzipped the side, the pungent smell of woodsmoke leaked out. Inside he found a robe like a priest or monk would wear. In the darkness last night, it had looked black, but the fabric was the deep brown of seasoned oak. Around the sleeves, an intricately embroidered pattern decorated the plain material. He turned the sleeve into the dull light from the window. The Celtic knot design reminded him of something he'd seen in one of his father's books.

He dashed across the landing to his bedroom and grabbed a Green Man book off his bedside table. Then he returned to the back bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, book on his lap, and leafed through until he found the page he remembered.

According to the author, the design on Grandpa's robes was a traditional Celtic pattern symbolizing the cycle of life, often used during the worship of Cernunnos. This was confirmation that Grandpa had been worshiping the Wild Lord.

Carefully, Todd returned the robe to the garment bag before hanging it back in the wardrobe. He relocked the doors and replaced the key in its hiding place.

He smoothed the bed cover and was about to head for the door when the title of the book beside Grandpa's bed caught his eye.
Lord of the Wildwood
by William P. Cardell.

Cardell? Could that be Mrs. Bishop's father? Todd dropped his Green Man book on the bed and reached for the one on the bedside table. He opened the cover and read the inside of the jacket.

Renowned anthropologist Professor Cardell spent many years researching what he terms peoples' belief systems, as opposed to organized religions. In this book he details the astonishing similarities between the divine beings worshiped in isolated communities across the world.

Todd leafed through the book. It read like an academic text, but every three or four pages there was a photograph or sketch. Many were the same as the images in the Green Man books, but there were also photos of cave paintings and primitive sculptures that he hadn't seen before.

He sat on the edge of the bed and was just starting to read when Grandpa called up the stairs. Todd jolted back to the present with a shock as he remembered he was still in Grandpa's bedroom. Reluctantly he placed the book back beside the bed. He couldn't take it without Grandpa knowing he'd been in his room.

Because Professor Cardell gave Marigold lessons, Todd had assumed he was a retired teacher. Instead, he was an expert on the Wild Lord. It would be too much of a coincidence for him to live on the hill above Lords Wood and not know what went on there. And from what Mrs. Keller had told him, Professor Cardell had known Dad's real parents. A tingle ran through Todd, excitement mixed with trepidation. He was finally on to something.

***

Mist hung over the harbor like wraiths rising from the sea. Everything was still and unusually silent, all sound muffled by the damp air. However much he needed money, Todd couldn't spend another day stocking shelves in the shop or he would go mad with boredom. And he was starting to feel uncomfortable around Grandpa. He wanted to question him about his nocturnal visit to the woods, and ask him why he'd lied about having a wife, and where Dad had come from. But he had to live with Grandpa for another three weeks. Life would be very awkward if they fell out. He hurled a stone into the sea with a muted plop and watched the ripples.

"Hey, man. What's up?" Shaun walked across the pebbles in paint-spattered canvas shoes, Picasso loping along a few paces ahead. The dog greeted Todd with a wet nose against his hand.

"Nothing much." Todd crouched and rested his cheek on the top of Picasso's head, stroking him. Shaun and his softy mutt would be gone in a couple of days. Todd would be stuck in Porthallow alone with a bunch of freaks who might also be murderers.

Todd sat on the stones and put his arm around Picasso's neck. Shaun crouched beside him and tossed a handful of pebbles into the water. Whatever was going on in the village couldn't involve Shaun because he'd only been here for a few months. Todd was starting to think Shaun might be the only sane person around.

Shaun sighed and rose to his feet. "I have to get back. I'm in the middle of packing my stuff."

"Can I come with you and tell you what I've found out?"

"Sure, man. Long as you don't mind me packing at the same time."

They walked up the street in single file to pass the wheelie bins lined up on the sidewalk in front of the quaint cottages like alien invaders. Shaun's wheelie bin was crammed so full the lid wouldn't close, and three black trash bags were stacked beside it.

A huge sign in the gallery window read, HALF PRICE SALE. Canvases of sunsets over the sea and green Cornish valleys were propped around the walls with sale stickers on them. "No room to take 'em all," Shaun said. "Don't really want to, anyway. They belong here." He scanned the lineup of pictures, then selected a small canvas and tossed it to Todd.

Todd caught the picture one-handed and turned it over. The painting showed Picasso standing on the rocks above the harbor. In the background lay the grassy cliff top dotted with pink bunches of thrift and, stretching into the distance, gleaming white-topped waves.

"Happy birthday," Shaun said and grinned.

"My birthday's not till November."

"Then you're one lucky dude."

"Thanks, Shaun." Todd examined the painting, how Picasso stood with his ears pricked and a doggy smile on his face. His chest tightened and he turned to stare at the street. "Wish I could come with you," he mumbled. He didn't belong anywhere, not at home with Mum or here with Grandpa. None of them really wanted him around.

Shaun finished sliding three canvasses into a plywood carton. "Okay, tell Uncle Shaun what's up," he said, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

With the picture of Picasso pressed against his chest, Todd struggled to breathe, his chest hollow and achy. For a few seconds tears clogged his throat and he was scared he might cry, then the surge of emotion rolled away and he regained control. "It's Grandpa and Marigold. And Dad."

Shaun's eyebrows rose. "Time for a chocky moo cow break. Come on." He ambled through to the studio at the back, grabbed two chocolate milk cartons out of his fridge, and tossed one to Todd.

After slumping in the chair, Shaun stretched out his legs. His easel and palette were gone, the paint stains on the floor the only evidence he'd worked here. Todd dropped into the ratty armchair and propped the painting at his side. Picasso rested his chin on Todd's knee, gazing up at him with soulful brown eyes.

"Someone should give that dog a psychology degree. He always knows when people need a little TLC." Shaun cracked open his milk carton and sucked on the straw.

Todd stared at the smiling cow on the side of the cold carton cradled in his hand. Picasso licked his lips. A reluctant smile pulled at Todd's mouth. "He only loves me for my chocolate milk."

"You might be right," Shaun said with a wry smile.

Leaning his head back, Todd stared at the stained ceiling where water must have leaked in. "Grandpa went out again last night." He expected Shaun to make some crack about Ruby Turpin being Grandpa's girlfriend, but his friend stayed silent. "I followed him up to the Turpins' house. At first I thought you must be right about them getting together." He glanced across at Shaun to see his reaction.

"Go on," Shaun said softly.

"He and Ruby put on these long brown robes and went into the forest. Marigold was with them."

Shaun opened his mouth, closed it again, and then thought for a moment. "You mean like Druids or devil worshipers or something?"

"I think they're worshiping the Wild Lord." At Shaun's blank look, Todd continued. "You know, the Green Man. You must have seen the carvings around the village."

Shaun's eyes widened. "Holy crapoly. Who else's involved?"

"Don't know. But I'm guessing most of the village. The chanting I heard last night sounded like it came from a crowd."

"Marigold too. Phew." Shaun slumped back in his chair. "I guess she wouldn't have a choice if her mum's involved."

Last night, Todd had been angry with Marigold for not telling him what was going on and he hadn't thought about the situation like that. She had probably been worshiping the Wild Lord since she was a little kid.

"Have you asked your grandfather what he was doing?"

Todd grimaced and rubbed a hand over his face. "There's so much stuff I need to ask Grandpa, and it's bound to make him angry."

"If you fall out with him, I'll take you with me." Shaun scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "I could take you home if you want. Have you got a key?"

"No. But the manager of Philippe's restaurant has one."

They stared at each other thoughtfully. Eventually Shaun asked, "So what else has your grandfather done?"

Todd explained what Edna and Mrs. Keller had told him about Dad being adopted, and how Grandpa had lied about having a wife who died giving birth.

When he'd finished, Shaun mimicked wiping sweat off his forehead. "I can see why things might be awkward between you two. Why would he pretend to be married? D'you think he was worried the authorities might not let him adopt your dad if he didn't have a wife?"

"There's something strange about that too," Todd said. "Do you know Professor Cardell?"

"Sort of. He owns this place." Shaun circled his finger to indicate the gallery. "He came to check me out when I first arrived. Creepy old dude. What's he got to do with the adoption?"

"Mrs. Keller told me he knew Dad's real parents. I think he fixed it for Grandpa to adopt Dad."

"Wow. I know he's like some rich, important old guy. He's on the local council and stuff. Maybe he pulled a few strings."

"He's a professor of anthropology," Todd said. "He wrote a book called
Lord of the Wildwood.
He's been all over the world studying gods. What if this Wild Lord stuff is involved with Andrew's death?"

The usual flush in Shaun's cheeks paled, and his face tensed. Suddenly he looked older. "This sounds deep, man. If Cardell's involved, I think you should just forget it. I've only spoken to him once, but he's not someone to mess with."

Picasso raised his head from Todd's knee and whined. A moment later, footsteps sounded in the gallery. Grandpa appeared in the doorway, his face flushed. "There you are, Todd." He jerked his thumb towards the door. "I need you back home. You have a visitor."

"See you later," Shaun said. "I'll come and find you before I leave." He raised his eyebrows a fraction, and a moment of silent understanding passed between them.

"Thanks." Todd followed his grandpa out into the street, wondering what he'd done wrong now. "Who wants to see me?"

Grandpa glanced around as if checking he wouldn't be overheard. "An old friend of mine, an important friend. You'd better be on your best behavior, son. His name's Professor Cardell."

Chapter Fifteen

Professor Cardell was standing at the door to the conservatory staring out at the harbor when Todd followed his grandpa through the door. The man's straw hat lay on the kitchen table beside a silver-topped walking stick. Todd had imagined he would have thick hair to go with his elegant appearance, but his hair was thin and white, sticking to his scalp, making his head look skull-like. Professor Cardell turned smoothly, his pale blue eyes homing in on Todd. Grandpa hurried forward, while Todd halted, returning the stare, his hunter's radar vibrating a warning.

"Apologies for the delay, William. The young rascal was in the art gallery with that hippie fellow."