Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Morgan
Diggerty runs out of the room. Harry calls up to his mum but there’s no answer.
I check my phone, hoping that Mai will have seen my message and missed call, but I don’t think she has.
I’m so annoyed about the Wi-Fi situation at home.
I hate my stupid life right now. At least I have Harry to hang with.
The microwave pings. Harry runs back into the kitchen where he drops the steaming hot samosas onto a couple of plates.
‘Mum must be out.’ He goes to pick up his samosa and burns his fingers, so he drops it again.
‘Probably gossiping with the neighbours about the letters. I remember now, she said she had to get something from the shop earlier.’ He licks the grease off his fingers.
My mouth waters. I didn’t have lunch today as I didn’t want to bump into James again. I sat on my own in the library like some friendless loser, dweeb. My teeth sink into the warm yumminess and I gobble it down. It barely touches the sides.
‘Will you be all right for a sec? I’ll just go and grab our stuff from the games room.’ He takes his samosa with him and leaves me in their giant kitchen full of gleaming marble surfaces. Light bounces off the worktops, and I can’t help but have a nose around. Diggerty follows me.
There’s a long shelf spanning the whole wall that is stacked with the prettiest pots that look like they’ve never been used, all in a deep reddish colour.
One day, when I have my own house, I want a huge kitchen-cum-entertaining room like this to party in.
I drop my empty plate in the sink full of murky washing-up water and listen as it bangs and thuds before settling on another plate.
Then I spot Quinn’s handbag. Who goes anywhere without their bag, especially to a shop?
It’s a fancy pink bag with a huge clasp on the front.
It’s open. A purse and what looks like a tiny notebook stick out.
There is a name written on the spine – Klara .
I take the tiny leather-bound book and it falls open on the first page.
It smells musty and old, almost like parts of Clover House.
That place stinks of old pond, cigarette and dust, all at the same time.
There’s a date written at the top of the page. August , two years ago.
I glance around to see if I’m really alone in the kitchen, and I am.
A coldness runs along my spine and that makes me check the corners of the room.
I never feel alone at Clover House and that’s making me a bit paranoid.
What if Quinn has cameras and can see me snooping?
I don’t even know why I’m snooping in some stupid smelly notebook.
I guess it’s because we’re all looking for answers and I don’t trust anyone, except Harry.
I read what comes next and frown.
This book belongs to Dorette Newmam. If found, please return to Clover House on Clover Lane, Whitby. A reward will be paid.
Her home phone number is neatly written underneath.
I figure the book must have been important to her if she was offering a reward for its return, so why does Quinn have my great-aunt’s notebook?
I think back to what Mum and Dad have been saying.
Quinn and Dorette were friends. Maybe Dorette gave it to her, but why would she?
This is my great-aunt’s work but Quinn has it.
After flicking through a couple of pages, I smile at the little drawings of a friendly dragon with a bow on her head.
Another sketch of a little girl brandishing a sword and fighting some evil blob coming out of what looks like a volcano.
That name again – Klara , is written in black ink capital letters above the drawing and an arrow points from the name to the girl.
Black ink, capital letters – the letters sent to the neighbours were written this way.
I turn the page. There are more notes on the little dragon. A door crashes against the kitchen wall, and I almost jump back as Quinn comes in shaking the snow out of her hair. I throw the notebook back into her bag and I start playing with the ends of my blue scarf.
I force myself to smile at Quinn but she doesn’t smile back, not to begin with. I can’t work out if she caught me snooping. It’s like she’s trying to read me. Her gaze darts to her bag.
In my head, I say four words. I don’t trust Quinn.