Salt Girl

SALT GIRL SEAHOUSES MYSTERY KATHERINE GRAHAM Copyright © 2022 by Katherine Graham All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For all the teachers PROLOGUE Then The night is quiet. Deathly still. Those words come to me – it must be a line from a poem, or perhaps the lyrics of a song – and I instantly regret them, pushing them from my mind. I force myself to think happier thoughts. Positive mental attitude. That’s what I need right now. Positivity. The gravel crunches under my feet. I tread as lightly as I can, even if it slows my pace. In the empty silence of the night, my heart is hammering. The last bus left a couple of hours ago. The timetable is folded up in my pocket, even though I know it by heart. I was supposed to be on that bus. No worries. I always have a plan B. I’m out. I’m getting away. That’s all that matters. Hitchhiking is not ideal, but I’ve been mentally preparing myself just in case it came down to this. I’ll have to take my chances. There’s no other choice. I’d hoped to leave earlier. Typical that on tonight of all nights, they were glued to some stupid old film. The music from the closing credits floated up the stairs while I watched the clock, picking at a cuticle until it bled. I was forced to bide my time, listening until the tread on the stairs had faded, until I’d heard the flick of the light switch and the creak of the bed, then waited another half hour for good measure. No one heard me leave. I’m good at going unnoticed. Let’s face it – I’ve had plenty of practice. It’s cold out here. It’s already March, but winter has yet to release its icy grip. My breath mists in front of my face as the chill begins to bite. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck. There are late trains from Alnmouth and Morpeth. In my head, I repeat the timetable I’ve spent weeks learning by rote. I could even sleep in the station and wait for the morning train. That’s OK. I can do that. There’s a fleece and a couple of cereal bars in my backpack. I like to think I’m well prepared. You can’t hear the sea from here. I’m on the path that runs between the houses, a cut dissecting two rows of back gardens. There’s barely even a breeze, but the air carries the scent of a log fire and I find it comforting, reassuring. It’s a homely smell. I don’t know why I think that. I’ve never lived anywhere with a real fire. The windows of the houses are lit up. Little squares, like an advent calendar. Some people haven’t closed their curtains. They don’t expect anyone to be out here, not at this time of night. It’s why I chose to come this way. Besides, why would they worry about someone seeing inside? It’s not like they have anything to hide. I got out. I need to get to Newcastle. This time, I'll tell Dawn the whole story. Once she knows the truth, she’ll cover for me. Not like before. That’s if anyone even comes for me. It’s only two months until my eighteenth birthday. I’m hardly worth the effort now. If I ever was. His words replay in my mind; a scratched record. You can’t leave me. I mute his voice. The light from the windows doesn’t reach the path. The gardens are blanketed in darkness. Shadows pool in the corners, swirl at my feet. I don’t even have the light of the moon to guide me – it’s a sliver of silver, hidden behind a veil of cloud. It’s fine. I know where I’m going. Dawn is going to be livid. Like, nuclear explosion-level furious. But we’ll get through it. We’ve been through much worse, me and Dawn. The thought of her makes me want to cry. I won’t, though. I need to stay level-headed. There’ll be plenty of time for tears later. Right now, I’m in survival mode. Fight or flight. I chose flight. Besides, there’s no fight left in me. I just need to get away from this whole mess. And what a mess I’ve made. Against the darkness, I hear a noise. I freeze, holding my breath. But there’s nothing; only the thundering of my pulse in my ears. It’s just me, spooking myself. I exhale, long and slow. Willing myself calm. From here, I can see where the cut ends, the point at which it meets the street. There’s a lamppost, the orange glow casting long shadows onto the road. I focus on that streetlamp. It’s not too far away, and from there it’s only a short walk to the middle of the village. The arcade, the pubs. People. I’ll flag a car down, ask for a ride. I have a whole story worked out. I’m going to tell them I’m a student at Newcastle University. I came to Seahouses for a weekend with my boyfriend, but we had a row and now I need to get home. Everyone always says I look older than I am. Anyway, it’s dark, and people who give lifts to strangers at night presumably don’t ask too many questions. I hear something. Definitely something this time. I scan the path behind me, the way I’ve just come from. There’s nothing but blackness. What was it? A bird? An animal? A person? It can’t be. There can’t be anyone out here at this hour. Not anyone creeping around, at least. Except me. My phone is in