Slated

Chapter 32

He walks across to sit on the log where Amy and Jazz rested the last time I came up here. I don't move, and look back down the path. Shouldn't they be here by now?

"I won't bite," he says, and smiles again. "I just want to talk to you about my niece. I think you knew her: Phoebe Best."

"Phoebe? Do you know where she is?" I say, and step towards him.

"Come on. Sit down, and I'll tell you." He pats the log with his hand.

I hesitate, then perch on one end of the log, leaving as much space between us as possible.

"Now, you know you have to get closer to talk about these things. I can't shout, can I? The trees may have ears, eh." He laughs and spits on the ground.

I shift a little closer.

"That's better."

"Is Phoebe all right?"

"In a minute. I want to talk to you about something else, first."

"What?"

"That was your cat, wasn't it."

"What do you mean?"

"Day 'fore she disappeared, I dropped Phoebe at the vets with some cat she picked up. She was always getting strays, or forest creatures to look after. Daft girl."

I don't say anything, and look back down the path again. Where are they?

"Now Phoebe told me the cat belonged to some Slater Slut, one she had words with even though I told her that was dangerous. And for some crazy reason, she wanted to give her back the cat. Then, the very next day, Phoebe doesn't come home from school. Now, what do you know about that?"

I jump to my feet.

"Where are you going? Don't you want to talk about Phoebe?"

Every instinct screams run. But some calm part inside waits, stands there. Needs to hear what he has to say.

"Nice to me, Phoebe was. She's gone now. It is your fault. You said something to the Lorders, and they—"

"No! I didn't!" I shout. Run. I turn and bolt down the path; hearing and feeling the movement behind that says he chases.

But I just reach the first bend in the path when voices float up: Amy and Jazz are close by. At last.

They emerge around the corner, arms entwined. Obviously over whatever argument they had. I almost crash straight into them. Jazz steadies me with a hand on my arm. My eyes are wide.

Jazz frowns. "Is everything all right, Kyla?" he says, and looks up the way I came.

I spin around, but no one is there.

Amy links her arm in mine. "I'm sorry I went on about Gianelli. Jazz explained to me that you were upset about him." She says the words but I see she doesn't really get it.

Jazz looks at me curiously. I can tell he knows something is up, but he doesn't ask, just lets Amy prattle on. We walk down the path back to the village.

A van is parked at the side where the footpath joins the road: Best Builders painted down the side. And it's him, in the front seat: Phoebe's uncle. The window is down; he winks, then whistles as we walk past. Jazz scowls, and we carry on up the road; laughter follows behind us.

"Who is he?" I ask.

"That waste of space is Wayne Best," Jazz says. "Keep clear, he's a freak." Advice I plan to follow.

Home, at last. Amy runs inside the house to ask if Jazz can stay for dinner; when I try to follow, Jazz tugs at my shoulder.

"What?" I say, expecting questions about what spooked me at the lookout, and not sure what to say.