Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

  I spotted a yellow note, about the size of an A4 sheet tacked to the front door of a house and crossed the street to investigate. At the top of the sheet, which was, in fact, a laminated A4 sheet of paper was the word WARNING in a large font. That was what had caught my eye. The warning note was from the local parish councillor, advising the occupant of the house that their property was in disrepair and not in keeping with the tone of the village. It further warned of fines and corrective action if the property were not brought up to an acceptable standard within one calendar month of the date shown. The date shown was a week ago.

  What did corrective action mean?

  The note was signed at the bottom next to a printed name: T Masonberg. I stepped back to look at the property. There was some flaking paint around the windows and the windows themselves could do with a clean. Inside the windows were net curtains which had seen better days and needed to be cleaned or replaced. The guttering was loose, and the downpipe had shifted so that it was no longer properly lined up with the exit from the guttering. When raining, the water would spill out and run down the front of the house and there were a few weeds growing in the cracks where the brickwork of the front façade met the street. However, these were all quite minor points. I had a little bit that I needed to do to my house and would feel rather put out if someone left a bright yellow notice on my door demanding action.

  I filed the information away and moved on. I walked another few feet, then a thought occurred to me. I pulled my phone from my pocket, swiped the screen and called Jane at the office. Jane was a man that I had employed as my assistant who then turned out to have some crossdressing interests. Each day upon waking, he let his mood decide whether he would dress as a boy or a girl. There was never any ambiguity or need to wonder which one he had gone for as when he dressed as a girl, he looked utterly convincing. Until he opened his mouth that is. I was fine with it. He was gay, he liked to wear girl's clothes. There was probably weirder stuff going on within a few yards of my house.

  ‘Good morning, boss,’ he answered. ‘It’s Jane,’ he filled in helpfully, having learned that people could not tell which gender he had gone with over the phone.

  ‘Good morning, Jane. Are you settled in okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Yup. Got everything I need.’

  ‘Jolly good. I need you to do some research for me.' I explained where I was and what was going on, then asked her to look up any newspaper reports, witness statements, the names of those that had claimed to have seen the ghosts and anything else she could find that seemed pertinent. Jane was a whizz at researching odd bits of information. I left it in her hands, knowing she would update me by email with what she had found later and would keep going at it until I told her to stop. I decided that I myself would investigate the ship that had sunk with the treasure on it and see what I could find out about the gold that had been found.

  I continued to walk through the picturesque streets. Around me, the village was coming to life. I saw shop windows opening, neighbours chatting outside their doors, other people walking their dogs. On the hill above me, I could see cars going by in a steady flow and saw that the car park, which had been full last night, was now half empty where residents had taken their cars to drive to work. I also spotted a couple more of the yellow warning signs tacked to front doors but did not stop to read them.

  Then I came across another pub. The Star was a larger building than The Sea Pilgrim and on a sign outside it boasted a beer garden and big screen television where all sporting matches could be watched. It did not look as inviting as the Sea Pilgrim, but it was in good repair, so I had to assume it did sufficient trade for the owners to look after it.

  I reached the harbour, where a small crowd had gathered. A tatty old boat was the centre of attention. There were boats moored either side of it and on the other side of the wooden jetty that formed a walkway to access them all. On many of the boats, I could see crew making ready to cast off and there were gaps at some mooring points where presumably other boats had already left for the day. Some of them were still visible, chugging out to sea.

  I could hear conversation as I approached. There was a man stood on the deck of the tatty boat, poking it here and there. ‘Honestly, Tilda.’ I heard him say. ‘The only thing you can do is scrap it. The engine still works but I don’t know how. All the gear is held together with string and hope. It leaks, it smells. I couldn’t sell it to a sailor if he was sinking.’

  Through a gap in the assembled group on the jetty, I saw who he was talking to. It was a woman in her late fifties, she was stood next to Gretchen and the pair were clearly sisters, they looked so alike.

  ‘I am not even slightly surprised, Norman,’ said Tilda. ‘Just take it away. I want it out of the harbour, but mostly I just never want to see it again.’

  I was hanging around at the back of the group. A chap that was just in front of me noticed Bull sniffing his leg, looked down at the dogs, then looked up at me. ‘What is going on?’ I asked.

  ‘Hmmm?' he said, as if not understanding the question. ‘Oh, you mean the boat. It belonged to Philip Masonberg, the man that was murdered by the pirates on Saturday. That's his wife.' He pointed to the lady with Gretchen. ‘She wants to be rid of the boat, but it is just an old wreck really. Norman there,' He pointed to the man on the boat, ‘buys and sells boats. Nothing for him to do with that one but scrap it though. He was murdered on the boat, you know. Terrible thing to happen. Murdered by a ghost.'

  I thanked the man and moved on, glancing back at the group as I left the jetty. Stopping to take a better look, I could see what looked like yellow crime scene tape fluttering on the boat. If the body had been found on the boat, then I wanted to have a look at it.

  Ever more boats were leaving, sailing out to look for treasure. Whether there was treasure out there or not, the village of Cawsand, or at least the people that had businesses there, were seeing a boom in trade. I wondered about that as I left the jetty and stepped onto the rocky beach.

  The dogs were very curious about the rock pools. I unclipped their leads and watched them scamper away across the rocks. I would come back later to have a look at the boat although I suspected I would need to do so soon, or I might find it had already been taken away. As the dogs scampered, I looked at the jetty – everyone was leaving far sooner than I had expected. I pretended not to watch as Norman climbed back off the boat. He was the last to leave and was talking on his phone while he did.

  Would I be seen going on to the boat? Possibly. With most of the other boats gone there was very little between the shore and the tatty old boat itself to block the view so anyone looking out to sea from the village might see me. I thought about it for a moment but decided it was worth the risk. So, I herded the dogs back towards the jetty, clipped them onto their leads again, and with a quick glance to see if there was anyone obviously watching the area, I strode confidently towards the boat and jumped on board. To prevent the dogs from wandering off I hooked their leads over a handy cleat.

  The yellow tape I had seen was indeed crime scene tape and there was dried blood visible on the wooden deck boards near the little cabin. Looking around, I had to agree that Norman had been right about the condition of the vessel; it was a wreck. Every part of it looked ruined and it really did smell. Like old rotting fish. There was a small below-deck compartment at the front where a couple of steps led down from the cabin. Inside I found old charts, a few items of nautical equipment and general detritus like a stained, old mug and a gas stove which I guessed he used for making tea.

  I wasn’t sure what I had hoped to find. Some evidence of a struggle perhaps. I had no time to dust for prints and had not brought my kit with me anyway. There was nothing here that I had not already seen and the longer I stayed poking around, the more likely I was to get caught where I ought not to be. With that thought in mind, I grabbed the handrail and pulled myself back up onto the deck.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the police officer looking at me from the jetty.


  Bobbi the Bobby. Monday, October 31st 1032hrs

  ‘Good morning,’ I tried jovially.

  ‘I believe this is the point where I place you under arrest,’ she said.

  Bugger.

  ‘I heard this was for sale. There was a chap here earlier saying it was nothing but scrap, so I wanted to check it out for myself, see if I thought I could do something with it.’

  She eyed me dubiously. ‘Are you aware that entering a boat without the owner’s permission is still classed as piracy?’

  Double bugger.

  ‘I think you had best come with me, sir.’ It was not a suggestion. I nodded and climbed off the boat. ‘Will I need to cuff you?’ she asked. She was staring right at me, but now she had a playful smile which confused me. Was I in trouble or not?

  She was holding the dog leads, the two dogs standing next to her and looking at me. When I looked down at them, they wagged their tails, their expressions excited like they were proudly claiming that they had found me a woman.

  I wanted to say something cheeky or flirty, but I gawped at her brainlessly instead. She was a diminutive, little lady in what must have been the smallest police uniform they made. Barely more than five feet tall, my brain finally got out of neutral to provide me with the information it was sitting on. The lady police officer was John the chef’s sister, which made her Gretchen’s daughter and she was the local Bobby.

  ‘You are staying at the Sea Pilgrim, yes?' she asked. Well, she wasn't trying to cuff me or place me under arrest. I nodded. ‘Let's go back there, shall we? Then you can try to come up with a more credible reason for being on my uncle's boat.'

  ‘Right you are,’ I replied. She offered me the dog leads and nodded her head back along the jetty to get me moving that direction. We walked in silence back to the pub with the people we passed looking at me suspiciously. At least, that was what my conscience was telling me they were doing. I was following the officer for most of the journey and about halfway there I worked out that it was her I had seen out jogging this morning. Her shapeless uniform was doing a good job of hiding the excellent shape beneath, so despite Mr. Wriggly's insistence that she must have a wonderfully shaped bottom from all the exercise, I steadfastly avoided staring at it.

  ‘So?’ she asked, as we went through the front door of the Sea Pilgrim. ‘Thought of a new story yet?’ That playful edge was still there, tugging a smile at the corner of her mouth. I could not tell if she was amused because I was such an idiot, or if she was amusing herself by making me squirm.

  The pub was empty and silent. No noise from the kitchen and no smell of food being cooked, although the scent of bacon lingered a little from breakfast. She pointed to a chair by the bar indicating that I should sit. She went behind the bar and pulled out a kettle. ‘Want a tea?’ she asked.

  Now I was curious. Just what was going on? With little option, I decided to come clean. ‘My name is Tempest Michaels and I am a paranormal investigator.' She raised an eyebrow in my direction as if trying to decide if that was an even bigger lie than my previous attempt. ‘Oh, and yes please on the tea,’ I added.

  ‘How do you take it?’ she asked reaching down to find two mugs.

  Mr. Wriggly woke up at the question.

  ‘Julie Andrews, please,’ I replied.

  ‘Ex-military?’ she asked, an eyebrow raised. I had used an old bit of army slang. Julie Andrews – white nun (milk with no sugar for my tea). That she had picked up on it made it very likely she had also been in the forces.

  ‘Army,’ I answered. ‘You?’

  ‘Navy. Six years.’ The kettle began to bubble, hidden from sight somewhere behind the bar. ‘The paranormal thing, that was the truth wasn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘Hmmm.’ She poured hot water into the two mugs. ‘I never met a person that did that before. Does it keep you busy?’

  ‘Surprisingly busy in fact.’

  ‘So, you came here to investigate our dead pirates.' It was a statement. She was adding two and two and reaching an obvious conclusion. I considered playing along, however, the truth was always easier.

  ‘Actually, no,’ I replied. Her head came up from stirring the tea, her expression quizzical. ‘I decided to take a few days off and came here on a whim,’ I explained. ‘I knew nothing about the ghosts or the treasure until last night. My plan was to spend the week walking the dogs and eating cream teas. The lure of the ghost story was too good to resist though. I thought I would poke around, ask a few questions and see if I could work out how they are doing it.’

  ‘How who is doing what?’ she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  ‘The ghosts are not real,’ I said flatly. ‘The ship they claim to have seen out to sea, the skeletal pirates that have scared people away from the town. None of it is real, so if there is something to see, it has to be a hoax, which means the real question to be answered is why, and then - who murdered your uncle?’

  ‘You think that none of it is real but investigate the paranormal for a living?’ she asked seeking confirmation.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘That is… different,’ she concluded, struggling to find a word that fitted. ‘When they found my uncle's body, there were wet footprints leading out of his boat and back into the sea and he was stabbed with a rusty old cutlass. The coroner confirmed there were rust particles and traces of tiny marine organisms in the wound. The shape of the wound was consistent with an old cutlass type weapon. Some of the witness statements I have taken following ghost sightings were far too convincing for me to believe they are not real.' She handed me my cup of tea and took a cautious sip of her own. ‘What about the treasure, do you believe in that?'

  ‘I have no reason not to. Someone either found gold or they didn’t. A ship sank many centuries ago and may well have had something of value on board. Of course, it may not have, and the gold found recently is just a coincidence.’

  ‘Goodness, you are a hard one to satisfy.’

  No, I’m not. I ignored the voice from below my belt.

  ‘Whatever your intentions, I need you to behave while you are here, Mr Michaels. If I find you on another boat that you have not been invited onto, or your poking around leads you to break into someone's property, I will arrest you, cuff you and cart you off to the station in Bodmin. Are we clear on that?'

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Jolly good.’ She seemed placated. I was not a fan of being berated but I had been trespassing so like it or not, she was just doing her job. ‘Now, are you going to invite me out for dinner, or do I have to do all the work?’

  The question caught me by surprise, making me choke on my tea. I had a drip hanging attractively from the end of my nose after I spluttered my mouthful back into the mug. I whipped out a handkerchief and wiped my face. She was chuckling, the playful smile once more tugging the corners of her mouth.

  From three feet south, Mr Wriggly was calling me names for my total lack of cool.

  ‘There are so few eligible or interesting men around here, Tempest,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I need some stimulating conversation that does not involve fish or fishing. Do you think you can manage that?’

  I got my brain up to speed. ‘I am quite certain I can entertain you for an evening.' I gave her my best and most confident smile. I was a man in control of my life, someone for a woman to desire, at least I hoped that was what my face was portraying. I had never been happy about my smile, so she might be reading from it that I needed to go for a poo.

  ‘The whole evening, huh? That opens up a few options.’ Her eyes were dilating right in front of me. How was it that we had gone from threatening me with arrest to openly flirting in a few heartbeats?

  ‘How about tonight?’ I asked, calculating that since I was only here for a few days and that the lady was unlikely to fall into my bed after the first date, I would need to spend some time with her this week if there was to be any wonderful naked skin to skin action before I left on Friday. It was a pleasant concept, but I would need to get on with t
he romancing probably.

  ‘Tonight is fine. I will collect you from here at seven o'clock. You can take me out in that fancy car of yours. I'll let you know where we are going later.' She finished her tea with a swig, put the mug down and picked up her hat. She was very much in charge and seemed to enjoy dominating me. ‘Try to stay out of trouble please, Mr Michaels,’ she shot over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

  Staying out of Trouble. Monday, October 31st 1107hrs

  I finished my tea while wondering what had just happened. I appeared to have a date tonight and could not find a reason to be unhappy about it though I had to admit some confusion about how it had come about. I checked my watch: 1107hrs. Most of the morning was already gone. The dogs were certainly getting some exercise and my plan was to go back out now and poke around some more, then look for some lunch when I got hungry.

  Decision made, I placed the empty mug back on the bar, gathered the dogs and went back outside into the street. The first thing I noticed was a band of dark cloud hanging over the sea like a violent threat, but stood in front of the pub, facing out to watch the boats bobbing on the waves, I still had sunshine on my skin. The bank of cloud might pass us by or might not. Time would certainly tell.

  To my right, there were four men in black outdoor gear coming towards me. They had just rounded the corner, their arms weighed down with heavy boxes, the hardened type that were made to carry expensive equipment. Just behind them, I spotted a fifth person, smaller in stature than the previous four and slight of build, but also clearly the one in charge. She carried nothing but a phone.

  They cut to their right before they reached me, walking down the concrete launching ramp to the beach where they began to dump the gear and open the boxes. The four men with the boxes looked like carbon copies of one another. They were all in good shape. One could argue in fact that their shape was great. Each of them clearly spent a good amount of time in the gym. Even with their fleece tops on I could see how broad their shoulders and backs were. Their afro hair was cut very short as if the team were a military unit, none of them had visible tattoos and they all wore exactly the same clothing. There was an emblem of some kind on the left breast of their tops, but I was too far away to read what it was.