Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

smell of pine trees in the air, and the sea could be heard intermittently, crashing against the rocks. As she watched, Ricky-Lee uncurled himself from the worn leather bucket seat, clutching a paper bag with a sandwich inside. Suddenly a flying squirrel appeared from nowhere and ripped it from his clutches and the fright made him throw himself to the ground.

‘What the fuck?’ he shouted, seeing both the squirrel and his sandwich shoot up a tree. Annie laughed out loud as Ricky-Lee disappeared from view as he hit the ground. When he got up, his hair was dishevelled, and his expression told her he wasn’t amused.

‘Serves you right for not eating it earlier,’ she said. ‘I thought you said you were starving. Was it the argument with the girl at the counter that put you off it?’

‘No,’ he said, like a sulky teenager. ‘Mind your own.’

‘Probably people feed the squirrels whilst they are staying at their caravans, so they are used to humans.’

Annie cupped her hand to her ear as she heard another strange noise. ‘I guess we shouldn’t go knocking, whilst the caravan’s rocking,’ she said in a sing-song voice, trying not to laugh as she watched Ricky-Lee compose himself.

‘It sounds more like someone’s getting strangled to me,’ he said, brushing the soil from the knees of his jeans. ‘Best close your ears, it’s not our problem. We’re just a courting couple wanting to rent a caravan, remember?’

Annie paused, and frowned. ‘Shouldn’t we at least go and investigate?’

Ricky-Lee nodded his head in the direction of the garden chalet which was located at the bottom side of the picnic area. The new, handmade sign indicated that the ramshackle wooden building was the booking office and information centre. ‘If it makes you feel any better, you can mention it to the receptionist.’

An ancient-looking, large battered banner tied to the fence with frayed rope, displayed the caravan park’s name, and the two detectives followed the arrows down the driveway.

‘At least we know we’re at the right place,’ said Annie, with a chuckle.

Ricky-Lee took his phone out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and put it back.

‘How many times are you going to check your phone?’ Annie snapped. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, I am your girlfriend, after all.’

However, before he could answer with one of his usual cryptic comments, Annie spotted an Alsatian dog tethered to a picnic table. The rope was wound so tightly round the table legs, that he looked as if he was in danger of choking. Running to the dog’s aid, she immediately went down on her haunches beside him. Whispering comforting words in a soothing voice, she tried to free the animal, but his head was too near the ground with the knot tight on his tether. The dog’s nostrils flared, the whites of his eyes showed. Annie turned to Ricky-Lee, her eyes pleading for help.

Ricky-Lee instantly dropped to his knees. ‘Let’s untangle you, mate,’ he said softly, taking over from Annie who was struggling with the knot. The dog looked up at his rescuers with red, watery, frightened eyes, but he was losing consciousness. Once Ricky-Lee had untied the dog, he continued to stroke its soft head, and eventually the animal stood on shaky legs, which enabled Annie to pat under his belly. She cringed when she felt his ribs. Her pained eyes went from patches of missing hair on his legs, back to Ricky’s face.

‘Hopefully, the owner has only left him here for a few minutes,’ he said.

Annie took a picture of the dog on her mobile phone. ‘This is disgraceful!’ she muttered, angrily. With her hand under the dog’s jaw, she smiled, and promised she’d return with food and water.

To the left of the reception chalet was a large house. The downstairs windows had bars on, and the gate was secured with a thick metal chain.

Annie knocked at the chalet door, and noticed several pairs of mud-splashed wellington boots lay where they had been hurriedly discarded. When no one came to the door she tried the handle, and it slowly opened. ‘Hello’ she said, to announce her arrival. The smell hit her like a punch in the stomach, a rancid mixture of stale sweat and urine. She turned and looked over her shoulder to see Ricky-Lee watching her, from where he sat with his new-found friend by the picnic table. She pinched her nose tightly with two fingers. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head. He appeared relaxed, as though he was taking in the scenery. However, she knew otherwise. He was on alert, she could tell by the way his eyes were actively scanning the area and Annie had an overwhelming feeling that she was safe with him.

Inside the chalet, Annie observed her surroundings. Instead of a bright, neat, clean office space to greet her, with a desk, computer and a display of brochures for nearby attractions that she would have anticipated at a holiday caravan site, she was presented with a messy, dark living space. In the far corner was a large faded, moth-eaten armchair. Next to the armchair was an aged heater. An old-fashioned boxed TV set stood on spindly wooden legs in the opposite corner. A pile of well-thumbed magazines, and several mugs with mould at various stages growth inside them, sat upon an upturned blue, plastic crate, which served as a table. Annie took a moment to examine the pictures on the walls. Then she saw the hunting photographs and small taxidermy animals. Her stomach turned.

A dragging noise preceded a shuffling, followed by a loud bang when the door was flung wide against the wall. A lady, dressed in a long black dress, stood in the doorway. On her feet she wore flat Jesus sandals, with worn ankle socks that had holes where her big toes peeped through. Her uncombed, salt-and-pepper hair had been dragged back, and tied in a long plait with an elastic band at the back of her head. She observed