Jake exhaled. ‘What are we going to do? Wait here for him to return and ask some questions?’
‘If he is up to no good here, he won’t tell us, whatever threats you intend to use.’ Alkmene gestured with her hand. ‘Better just drive on. Kramer hasn’t seen us yet, and I want to keep it that way.’
‘We are letting him leave?’ Jake exclaimed. ‘Just go back to London, while he could have vital information about what happened on the dig while he surveyed it?’
‘I don’t think he is the type we can convince to share with us if he doesn’t want to. Now just drive on.’
Spluttering, Jake put the car in gear again and they drove on.
Alkmene kept her eyes on Kramer as he stood and leaned over the boy. She didn’t think he had noticed them at all.
She might throw in a phone call to his employers to see how much they knew of his activities here. But only if she had to. For now she’d rather not pursue Kramer too hotly. He might be the sort of man who reacted in an unexpected manner and they already had enough of a mess on their hands here.
‘Where to now?’ Jake asked.
‘Do you know if there is any way down the cliffs to the beach?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘We might just find that beachcomber there. Old Paul, the local who claims that the land Duncan is digging into belongs to him and his family.’
‘Ah, the one with the paper that the charwoman mentioned at the cottage.’
Alkmene nodded. ‘Right. I think we should ask Old Paul what he knows, how much he can prove of his claim and if he was mad enough with Duncan to get him into trouble.’
‘As if he is going to tell us. What makes you think he is any different from Kramer?’
Alkmene shrugged. ‘Elderly people like to talk. I think if we can find him and spend the morning with him, following along as he combs the beach for his finds, he will get talkative at some point.’
‘Spend the morning, following him around?’ Jake glanced at her. ‘I thought you never ventured far without lunch. I don’t see any basket on you now.’
He tried to see her feet. ‘And are you even wearing shoes that can stand sand and water?’
‘I’ll be fine. I want to know what Old Paul knows. And his wife too. Simon Peartree might laugh at her for not being right in the head, but I think she is perfectly sane and even perceptive. She might know more about the cottage’s inhabitants than they would like her to. And why did she insist the dig should not end? I thought her husband did want it to end. Why did she say it should not?’
Alkmene lifted both her hands to underline her point. ‘We have to make sure that Old Paul and his wife don’t know something that could throw a completely different light on the whole matter. Look there, in the distance. Is that a path leading right to the edge of the cliffs? I bet you it will also lead down.’
Jake sighed. ‘There is no side road here. Do you really expect me to just leave the car here and start to cross the fields in that direction? Even if Old Paul is at work right now, he might be trekking ahead of us and we won’t catch up with him any time soon.’
Alkmene glanced at him. ‘I thought you were used to shadowing people.’
‘In London, not out on open terrain. If Old Paul gets a feeling he is being pursued, he might use a trick to escape us. I bet he knows every nook and cranny around here.’
Alkmene said, ‘Thanks for all the gloomy predictions, but we have to do this. Just find a spot where the car can stay for a while.’
Jake shook his head and muttered to himself in protest, but he drove until they were about equal to the path in the distance and parked the car. They started out into the fields, trying to cross to where the sandy path led to the distant cliffs.
Chapter Twelve
Jake helped her down the narrow path that led to the beach. The water murmured against the sand, the sunlight playing across it in little prisms. The constant wind never allowed the temperature around them to feel pleasant. It breathed past Alkmene’s ears like it was whispering secrets to her. She wished it would tell her what had happened at the dig the night when Reiner Goodman had been killed.
‘At last,’ Jake sighed when they saw that the figure of the beachcomber was seated on a beached trunk. The shaggy dog that had run in front of Peartree’s car lay at Old Paul’s feet.
Alkmene held one hand against her sore back as they crossed the last few yards to reach the seated man. He had spread a bit of dark green cloth across his bony knees and was cutting up a chunk of cheese, every now and then dropping a bit for his dog.
‘Hello!’ Jake called to the beachcomber from afar. ‘Nice day for a walk.’
‘It always is for me,’ Old Paul replied philosophically. ‘Rain or shine, it don’t bother me much. I’m used to it.’
He gestured to his bundle lying on the ground beside the dog. ‘I carry a bit of oilcloth to keep my shoulders dry. I never did when I was a youth, but I’m not twenty any more. The missus says I should be careful not to wreck my lungs.’
As if to underline the point, he coughed and spat on the sand.
Alkmene forced a smile. ‘You’ve done this work for all of your life?’
He nodded. ‘My father did it before me, my grandfather before him. Generations upon these cliffs. We know every bit of it.’
‘And your son will follow in your footsteps?’ Jake asked as he sat down beside the man on the further bit of the trunk. The dog raised his head to look at him, then plunked it down again and blinked drowsily.
Old Paul’s weathered face set. ‘I have no son.’ He stared ahead of him with a resentful frown. ‘Just a daughter who married the wrong kind of man. She went away. To the city.’
The old man took a moment to gather his thoughts before he continued, ‘It’s the way with young girls, I suppose. They want clothes and hats and pretty things. They leave thinking they can make it big. She went away for that sailor who only betrayed her. He always made her fancy promises of getting on in life. She believed him for she wanted more than to be the beachcomber’s daughter, to live in a hut that always stank of the sea from the finds. Her words, mark you, not mine. To me the sea doesn’t stink. This here is freedom.’
He gestured around him. ‘What can be better than this life: the open skies above, the certainty you will always find something, because the sea is generous. To the sailor and the fisherman she can be cruel, taking property and even lives. But to me she is always generous, providing for me and my family. But Abby… She needed more money and more things; she left for Plymouth. Her sailor could get a job there as a coachman, driving tourists from the hotels to the seaside.’
He shook his head. ‘I knew Abby would never be happy there. But she would not listen to me.’
‘Sometimes you have to let go,’ Jake said, ‘and hope that somebody comes back to you of their own accord.’
‘When they’re in trouble? Because they have to? Is that of their own accord?’
Old Paul spat on the sand again. ‘It just creates bad blood between family members, I say.’
Jake picked up a shell from beside the trunk and followed the outline with his finger.
Alkmene itched to get the conversation on the murder, the lone castle tower they could still see from here, and the gold.
But she sensed Old Paul might clam up when pressed. They had to get to the point in due time. Considering how far they had walked to get here with the beachcomber, it was not a bad idea to stretch it a little so she could get her bearings for the way back.
She went to sit beside Jake. The dog came over to her and rested his head on her knee. She looked at the beachcomber. ‘Can I pat him, or does he snap?’
‘He never has. He is a good judge of character.’
Alkmene lifted her hand and patted the dog’s head gently. The dog looked up at her with amber eyes. She scratched him behind the ears, and the dog grunted.
Old Paul laughed. ‘He really likes you. Here.’
He handed Jake an apple. ‘You two share that. You came a long way.’
Alkmene glanced at the old man. She wondered if he had seen them all along, following him across the beach. Did he just take them for nostalgic people from the city who longed for a day of unspoiled country adventure?
Or had he seen them before, around town, even on the dig, and did he suspect why they were here? Would he simply block off any questions put to him, refuse to be drawn into conversation that might give something away?
She had no idea how strongly Old Paul felt about the land, his claim to it, but watching him and his peaceful union with the land around him, the sea and her gifts, she could not imagine him taking a life, in anger, for something he wanted. It just didn’t fit.
Jake broke the apple in two with his bare hands and gave her one half. Alkmene frowned. ‘Don’t you have your pocket knife on you?’
Jake scoffed, but got it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She used it to remove the apple’s peel and the core, slipped small slices into her mouth. It was sweet with a tinge of sour and had lots of juice. Local produce, she bet.
The beachcomber said, ‘Her miserable time in Plymouth didn’t give Abby any sense either. Now it’s another fancy city man she’s after. She says she’s not, but I’ve seen them together. They weren’t touching, but I can see it when people are connected, or believe they are.’
He cast them a long pensive look. ‘I don’t want Abby to stay here if she doesn’t want to. But she should know better than to trust a man who will never stick with her.’
Alkmene clenched the knife. Could Old Paul’s daughter be Duncan’s love interest? Why not? She might have been raised here in the country, but she had lived in the city. She might be elegant, sophisticated.
And above all, she might know everything about the gold possibly present on the land Old Paul claimed as his.
It left a nasty taste in Alkmene’s mouth to think it, but it was possible Duncan had gotten close to this woman just to find information about the gold. To play her against her father and the rest of her family.
If it was that, if Duncan was using Abby, cold and ruthless to further his career, Alkmene would give him a piece of her mind. He should know better than to abuse people’s sensitivities, exploit their loneliness or their need to get away.
She took a deep breath to quench the anger bubbling up inside of her.
Jake cast her a quick look, as if he sensed her aggravation and wondered what caused it. Had he not drawn the same conclusion following Old Paul’s revelation his daughter was falling for another city man? It seemed obvious Duncan was this man. Who else could it be? Not Peartree. He loathed the locals so much he’d never look twice at a local woman.
The beachcomber said, ‘Those clouds in the distance could mean rain. You aren’t attired for bad weather.’
‘We’ll have to walk back quickly,’ Jake countered. ‘We have a car parked along the road.’
‘Ah yes.’ Old Paul smiled to himself, scratching across the stubble on his chin. Then he turned his face with the sharp little eyes on Alkmene. ‘You came in another car.’
‘Not mine. Just someone’s driver who dropped me here so I could visit a friend. On request of another friend. I had never heard of this village before, the surrounding lands. I heard it has fascinating history attached to it. About a bride who brought golden treasure.’
The old man laughed softly. ‘Folktales. Every region has them. They draw in people who are eager to spend money on food and drink, lodgings. I bet our innkeeper would write it up into a book to have more people visit.’
‘You don’t believe in the tale of the Black Castle gold?’ Jake asked.
The beachcomber cast him a sharp look. ‘Does it matter? There’s some expedition here now who have tried to find something for weeks on end but came up with nothing.’
‘Not exactly nothing.’ Alkmene held her gaze on his profile. ‘A gold bracelet was dug up, but it went missing from the excavation leader’s pocket.’
‘So he says.’ Old Paul returned her gaze with his bright, perceptive eyes. ‘Is it not convenient for him he can keep the fire of the possible find alive, while he doesn’t have to produce any tangible evidence that something is actually there?’
Jake hitched a brow. ‘You think he lied about the theft? He accused a local boy of it. That’s serious. The boy could have been arrested and –’
‘By our local constabulary?’ Old Paul laughed so hard he started coughing again and had to support himself with his hands on his knees.
Gasping for breath, he said, ‘They’ve not caught a crook in their lives. They would never touch one of ours for no reason. The accusation of some slick city man who could not even prove he ever held anything valuable to begin with.’
‘Now a slick city man has died on the dig,’ Jake said slowly, ‘and the police have to look for a killer. As they will never touch one of yours, as you so succinctly put it, Duncan Woolsbury will have to take the fall?’
‘Hah.’ The beachcomber’s expression was vicious. ‘He can fend for himself, hire a fancy lawyer who will get him off on some technical detail. Some whisper he even has a title, is the son of some earl or duke. He can buy anything he wants with all of his inherited money. Maybe even freedom, escape from the noose.’
‘You don’t seem concerned about the recent developments,’ Jake said.
‘Why should I be? They have nothing to do with me.’
‘Indirectly?’ Alkmene asked, and the old man flinched a moment. He tried to cover it with a scoff, but it didn’t come out as self-confident as he might have intended.
‘Your wife cleans for Duncan Woolsbury, doesn’t she?’ she asked.
Old Paul nodded, not disturbed by the mention.
Alkmene kept her gaze on him as she continued, in an innocent tone, ‘Does your daughter Abby sometimes come along to help out?’
Old Paul tensed. He shook his head. ‘I told her not to go there any more.’
‘Why not? Your wife is not so young any more. A helping hand…’
‘My daughter has had her share of grief in life.’ Old Paul looked at her with his clear eyes. ‘She once made bad choices and paid for it. I won’t let it happen again.’
Alkmene clenched Jake’s pocket knife. Did Old Paul know that Duncan was courting his daughter? Had he forbidden Abby from going to the cottage where she might run into him?
Did Old Paul believe that the murder case would remove Duncan from the scene, either because he had to give up the dig here, after the scandal of the murder on his site, or because he would get embroiled in a lengthy trial?
Either way his daughter would lose the man who was no good for her anyway.
Was that an outcome Old Paul would welcome?
Even if he would, it would not prove he had been involved in the death. She herself was happy when things went her way, even if she had done nothing to make them so. Feeling relieved that a possible danger to his daughter’s happiness would disappear was no crime.
The old man said, ‘It is no secret that they’re digging on my land. I’ve told them so, but they refuse to accept it. They have permission and they go ahead. I don’t mind it too much as long as they don’t find anything valuable and carry it off without giving me my dues.’
‘So it is in your interest that the gold bracelet vanished from the pocket of the finder,’ Jake said slowly. ‘It was the proof there was a treasure there. With the proof gone, the interest in the land might die down again. If the gold bracelet had not disappeared, however, you might now have had even more people hunting for valuables on what you consider your land.’
Old Paul held his gaze. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Were you at the inn the night the bracelet vanished?’
Old Paul flicked his eyes down. ‘Only when it was closing hour, to get Abby and escort her home. I don’t like her to be out on the road alone after dark.’
Alkmene blinked
. ‘Your daughter Abby was at the inn the very night the bracelet vanished?’
Her thoughts raced. If Duncan and Abby had been close, it would have been natural for her to lean into him, slip her hand in the pocket, extract the bracelet… Duncan thought it had happened when the jacket had hung on the chair, but it need not have been so. The theft might have occurred earlier…
Old Paul was explaining, ‘On busy nights Abby goes to The Catch to help out serving and doing dishes in the back. It gets her some extra money, she says. I don’t like it, especially her coming home late. In the darkness. Where she might be accosted, hurt. So I go out to meet her and walk with her.’
He shook his head. ‘A pity when I see her pale face. So much hard work and so little gain.’
‘You must be tired of that, every once in a while,’ Jake said softly. ‘Want something more. Maybe a spectacular find on your land, riches, recognition, at last? A better life for your family.’
The old man smiled at him. ‘Riches would help my daughter, I admit that. But for me it would change nothing. I would keep on doing what I do, living in the house I live in now. I’m happy here with the sea and my dog, the skies above and the wind in my hair. I don’t need anything that I don’t already have.’
Jake rose. ‘You’re so right. But we do need something we don’t have right now. An umbrella, as soon as the rain from those clouds over there begins to hit.’
‘I told you so,’ Old Paul said. ‘I don’t even have to see the clouds to know. I can feel the rain in my old bones.’
Alkmene rose as well and handed Jake his knife. To Old Paul she said, ‘Thank you for the apple and your company. This is a very beautiful place.’
She leaned down to pat the dog one more time. ‘I hope you can keep on doing this work for a very long time.’
Old Paul nodded at her. ‘I have to. Indoors I would simply die.’
Deadly Treasures Page 11