by steve higgs
The two chaps were sat either side of a small table, a decanter of Port on a walnut burr veneered tray between them. The tray held six crystal glasses that matched the decanter. Two were missing, positioned instead in the hands of the two old friends. On the body of the decanter was the name HMS Oberon. I recognised it as a boat my Father had once served on. I also remembered I had to call it a boat because it was a submarine and thus not a ship, a differentiation that confused me but one that seemed important to him.
‘Having a good time, chaps?’ I enquired.
Warty turned to me, ‘Tempest, my boy. Won't you join us for one?'
‘I will.’ I replied, taking up the offered glass. My headache was gone, and I felt it likely the painkillers were now mostly through my system.
‘Lorna.' He called through the main room. ‘Lorna, won't you join us? The sun is across the yardarm.' I had no idea what that meant, but she appeared and also conceded to a glass of Port.
Four glasses were held aloft. ‘To our wives and girlfriends.’ Announced Warty in a toast, then dropped his voice to a surreptitious whisper. ‘I hope mine never meet.’
‘Oh, Granddad. That’s awful.’ Wailed Lorna as the two men dissolved into giggles.
The red liquid warmed my insides as it went down, its deep earthy taste at once refreshing and debasing, like it was something elicit I should not be doing.
‘I am going to leave you to it I think. I still have research to do.’ I announced on my way to the door.
A few minutes later I was back at the computer, speed reading through the vast reams of information. The sun was already setting, taking no time at all to go from twilight to full dark at this time of year.
I read through as much as I could, stopping only to take screen breaks and to stretch.
Lorna had busied herself elsewhere in the Archive but returned to let me know it was finishing time, ‘I really must be getting home, Tempest.’
‘Do you need me to leave?’
‘No. But I do need to get Grandfather home and I expect I will catch hell from Grandmother for letting him get this drunk.’
‘Is he drunk?’ I had no idea. They were being noisy in their little room, but I figured they were entertaining themselves with stories.
‘They both are.’
I got up to investigate. The laughter of earlier had swung around to reminiscing about old or fallen colleagues, men they had known that either through natural causes or other events were no longer around. The Port was gone. My eyeballs almost popped clean out when I saw the empty decanter. It must have held a litre or more of the highly alcoholic liquid.
‘Dear Lord, Dad. How are you feeling?'
‘Sad, boy. Sad. Warty and I are a dying breed, son. So many of our cohort are gone now.’ A single tear ran down his right cheek.
‘I think that should about do it for the Port portion of today then. Time to go home I’m afraid.’
‘But Warty and I were going to go for a curry?’ he said drunkenly, his words mingling in his mouth to come out as a regurgitated, slurry mess.
‘Jolly good. I'll drive. Lorna, would you care to escort your grandfather out? I assume you have a car.'
We got the two men up and moving, their legs supporting them but their sense of balance and direction severely impaired. With my arm around him and his arm over my shoulders for support, I walked him back to the desk I had been working out, snagged some pages I had printed and tottered out to the car. Lorna had a parking space in front of the building, so I left her there gently folding the Rear Admiral into her car, but not without exchanging business cards first in case I needed to ask her something later.
Dad was asleep in the passenger’s seat before I left the car park. I had learned a lot this afternoon, information that was taking my notion of what might be going on in a new direction. I had yet more things I needed to check now. However, I had a rough idea sketched out in my head, I just needed evidence.
Driving back to Cawsand though, the biggest questions I had were whether Mother was back from her trip with Gretchen and Tilda and whether I could sneak Dad back to the room without her discovering just how drunk he was.
What Shall I do with a Drunken Sailor? Wednesday, November 2nd 1921hrs
While my Father snored in the seat next to me and dribbled on the window, I did my best to lay out what I knew in my head. It was still a confusing jumble of clues that were refusing to coalesce into a cogent theory. I felt that I was getting there though. I just needed to confirm a few things. One element that was bothering me was the ghost ship. I could not work out how that was being done or by whom or even why.
There was a spot in the Cawsand carpark next to my own car, so I reversed into the space and killed the engine. My Father came awake at the change in motion, blearily smacking his lips together.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
‘A little light headed. How much Port did I drink?’
‘All of it, Dad. All of it.’
‘What's the time?' he asked pulling back his sleeve to squint at his watch in the dark. His watch was an old model with no light on it. After twisting around and around to try to catch the moonlight enough to see by he gave up.
‘It is 1821hrs.' I said pointing to the still-lit clock on my dashboard very clearly stating the time. ‘We should get back to the pub, I expect Mother is waiting.'
‘She can’t be, son. If she were waiting, we would already know about it.’
Fair point. The phone had not rung to ask my whereabouts yet.
‘I could do with something to eat.' Dad announced. I felt my stomach growl its concurrence. We both exited the car and headed downhill into the village. ‘Warty's granddaughter sure had some big tits on her.'
‘Good grief, Dad.’
‘I'm just saying. You do not see a young woman with boobs that big very often.' I had, of course, noticed the size of Lorna's ample chest but had seen no reason to dwell on it.
‘I miss tits.’ My Dad announced.
Still drunk then.
I wanted to point out that he was married to a woman and therefore surely there were some tits to be had somewhere but since it was my Mother we were talking about I decided to just stay quiet.
Helpfully though Dad filled in my side of the conversation for me. ‘Your Mother had wonderful boobs when we met. Gravity-defying, they were.'
He fell silent again, making me hope he had exhausted the topic. He hadn’t though. ‘I could have married her just to get my hands on them.’
‘Dad.’
‘Of course, they don’t look like that anymore.’
‘Dad!’
‘Now they are more like a spaniel’s ears and she has to roll them up to put them away.’
‘DAD!’
‘Alright. Alright.’ He laughed at my discomfort. ‘Here, can you spot an alleyway anywhere? I need a widdle.’
Good grief.
‘Can you not hold it until we get back to the pub? It is only half a mile.’
‘No chance, son. We stop, or you walk me through the pub with wet pants.’
FFS.
‘Over there.' I pointed. Then stood lookout while he relieved himself against the side of some unsuspecting person's house.
‘Much better.’ He quipped as he hopped back out into the street zipping his fly closed.
‘Tomorrow we need to hire a boat, Dad. I want to check out the coastline. Whatever they are using to create the illusion of the ghost ship must be launched from somewhere. It is a big piece of the puzzle, so I am going to look for it.’
‘Jolly good, kiddo. I'll be the first mate.'
‘You'll be the cabin boy, you drunken halfwit.' I replied jokingly. We turned onto the front, the lights of the pub just ahead of us. The moon was a big glowing ball hovering over the sea. It was an impressive sight and I realised as I thought that, that people should be here to see it. I had not seen another person since we arrived. Had the ghosts finally scared everyone inside at night? We had walked right
through town without seeing a live body. If this had been their intention, then they had succeeded. But to what end? Gina and her ghost team, plus all their equipment were also missing, packed up and gone most likely now that most of the gear was broken.
I pushed my father towards the pub door and through it, the warm air a welcome relief against the coolness outside.
Upstairs, I tentatively tried the door handle, hoping it was unlocked and Mother was inside asleep on the bed. I envisaged one of three scenarios. Either she was not here and that would worry me since I had last seen her leaving with two women I suspected might be guilty of murder, or she was here and asleep which was the favoured option. Or she was here and impatiently tapping her foot for us to return. I pushed the door open.
‘Where the bloody hell have you pair been?’
Option number three then.
‘Good evening, Mother.’
‘Hey, love. Show us yer tits!' Nice one, Dad. That is bound to help.
‘Is he drunk?’ Mother demanded to know.
‘Little bit.’ I conceded.
‘Why the hell is he drunk?'
‘Come on love, give us a kiss.’ Dad slurred as he flopped on the bed.
‘We went to visit an old friend of his. They drank some Port.’
‘So, this is your fault.’ My Mother was now pointing a finger at me and squinting angrily in my direction.’
On the bed, Dad farted. Loudly. Then giggled. Mother picked up a pillow and wafted the air while taking a few steps away. ‘Don't pick on the boy, Mary. He does not make my rules. Neither do you for that matter.'
Mother's temper could reach incandescent levels at times and was headed that way right now. Sensing the volcano creating vibrations beneath my feet I decided that running away was the sensible option. Two backward steps carried me out the door and back into the corridor where Mother's muffled voice was quite audibly blaming me, my father and anything else with a penis for existing. As I hurried towards the stairs something smashed against the door.
I retreated to the quiet sanctuary of the pub where I believed I would find a cold pint of beer that would be pleased to meet me.
‘Good evening, Charlie.' I hallooed as I took a seat at the bar. As always Charlie was halfway through a pint and reading the paper. I had never before witnessed someone spend so long doing the same thing. The level of scrutiny he gave the paper each day was remarkable. For that matter, I found it remarkable that he was always in the bar. There he was in the same seat every time I came in. I wondered how long ago he had started the practice and just how many hours he spent in that seat every week. There was a similar chap in the pub back home displaying the exact same habits. I wondered if every bar everywhere had a Charlie.
There was no sign of Gretchen or anyone else that might serve me a drink, so I took a seat next to Charlie and waited. Then, because there was no sound coming from behind the bar to indicate Gretchen was coming, I asked Charlie what he knew about Philip Masonberg.
‘Philip Masonberg.’ He repeated the name. ‘Don’t rightly know what I should tell you. He was a character that’s for sure. Not one for being monogamous. He didn’t drink here, not for years. Not since Gretchen bought the place.’
‘When was that?’ I asked.
‘Just about two years ago I think. Philip was always in here before then. He was rarely without company if you know what I mean.'
I suspected that I did, but I needed him to confirm information, not hint at it. ‘You are saying he met with women other than his wife.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘That he did. The rest of us could never work out how he did it. He was never that much to look at, even when he was young. Most fellows would have the sense to reserve such activities for when they were further afield and less likely to get caught, but I don’t think Philip cared. Of course, he cared enough to not try to do it under his sister-in-law’s nose, I suppose.’
‘What did he do for a living?’
‘A living?’ Charlie chuckled again. ‘Philip Masonberg hardly did a decent day’s work in his life. Tilda made all the money in that household. Philip was a fisherman. The worst one in the village. probably the worst in the County. Most days he came back with enough fish to feed himself.’
Tilda's husband was a lazy, philandering arse by the sound of it. She had a motive for murder one might argue. Had she arranged a pirate ghost to kill him? Had the whole pirate ghost ruse been dreamt up to distract investigators from the cause of the murder? Make them think it was just another ghostly attack?
I thanked Charlie for his time and made a mental note to buy him a drink when Gretchen appeared. I continued waiting for her and while I was waiting I took my phone from my pocket and called Jane. Who says men cannot multi-task?
‘Hi, boss.’ Jane answered on the third ring.
‘Good evening, Jane. How are things in Kent?’
‘Getting interesting. The voodoo priest case is getting kinda scary.’
‘Is Amanda in danger? Do I need to come back?’ My nonchalant attitude toward the business back at home suddenly shifted and I was sat bolt upright on my bar stool. If Amanda was in trouble I was going to leave immediately.
‘She doesn’t think so and she has Big Ben and Patience with her, so I expect she is fine.’
If she had Big Ben with her she was probably still in danger, but only in danger of being seduced and thoroughly bedded. I would call her in a minute anyway, but first I had a question for Jane.
‘Do you have the name of the man that found the gold coins on the beach?’
‘I do not.’ She replied to the sound of a keyboard being typed on. ‘And… now I do. Gary Wainwright.’ There was more tapping. ‘He lives in Kingsand. I just emailed you his address and phone number.’
Efficient as always. ‘Thank you, Jane. My apologies for disturbing your evening.’
‘No problem. When are you coming back?’
‘Hopefully soon. I only rented the room until Friday.’ I bid her a good evening once more and killed the call, dialling Amanda’s number straight away.
I got no answer though, so tried Big Ben next.
‘Hey, dog's dick. How's the West Country?' Big Ben was a delight to talk to as usual.
‘Not as relaxing as I had anticipated.’
‘I heard.’
‘I wanted to ask if Amanda needed any assistance. Jane seemed concerned, so I am really just calling to hear whether you think she is in any danger.’
‘Mate, listen. Amanda’s only problem right now is that she continues to resist me and thus is missing out on the shag of her life. Honestly, I don’t know what is wrong with her. She swears she is not a lesbian but can spend all day with me and not feel the need to rip my clothes off. It is so weird.’
I could not tell if he was joking or serious.
‘Seriously though, the voodoo thing is a bit creepy. I don't think there is any actual danger to her or anyone else, but we are being cautious. Don't go racing back here for no good reason. Stay there until you are ready to come back, mate.' His tone softened for the last sentence, sincerity creeping into his voice. We had both been in tough situations before, so he knew what I was feeling and why I had wanted to get away for a while.
I thanked him and feeling less tense about the situation I had left Amanda in, I disconnected.
‘Would you like a drink, love?’ Gretchen asked from right by my ear, scaring the life right out of me. I had been so focused on other events I had not heard her approach.
When my heart started beating again a second later I pointed to the Rattler cider pump and gave her a thumbs up as she grabbed a glass and started pouring the clear liquid.
‘Thank you.’ I managed. As always, the drink was smooth, cold and utterly refreshing. However, now that my brain was working again I remembered that Gretchen had been out with my Mother all afternoon and that I was still convinced she was involved in the ghost conspiracy.
I decided to ask her about it. ‘Gretchen how was your afternoon?'<
br />
‘Oh, it was very nice, thank you, Dear.
‘How was your ghost chasing? Any closer to working out how to stop the pirates?'
Now it was time to be lenient with the truth, ‘My Father and I went into Plymouth. He had an old Navy colleague to visit.’
‘That sounds nice.’ She seemed to have nothing further to say on the subject though, no further questions to ask me. I decided to test out a theory.
‘Actually, I did discover something quite pertinent about the ghosts and who is behind it all. I will have to make this my only drink as I need to be out tonight. I have something to investigate.’
It was a few seconds before Gretchen replied. ‘Goodness. That sounds mysterious. What did you find out?’
‘Too early to reveal anything yet, I’m afraid. Tonight’s activities should prove my theory though.’
‘Fair enough, Love.’ Gretchen’s disappointment at my refusal to provide details was obvious. Then a few seconds later she excused herself as she wanted to check the barrels and vanished into the bowels of the pub behind the bar.
I turned to see who was coming in when I heard the pub door open. Pleasingly it was Gina, who was in normal person clothes for the first time since I met her only a couple of days ago. Thus far I had only seen her in the all black outfit she and her minions wore. I had thought perhaps she had already left since all her equipment was gone from the beach, yet here she was crossing the room towards me with a smile on her face.
‘Hi, Tempest. I hoped I would catch you here.’ She was wearing make-up again I noticed. It was subtle, just enough to highlight her features. She looked great. I could not determine what her racial diversity was, Eritrean perhaps, but whatever it was it had imbued her with enviable bone structure.
‘Good evening, Gina. I see that you have packed away your toys. Are you here to say goodbye?’
‘Sort of. We are not leaving yet. I still have lots of data to go through and the equipment is still being repaired to see what else we can retrieve from it. I was hoping I might catch you early enough to take you out for that dinner.’
‘That sounds nice. Oh, I just remembered. I have something for you here.’ I dug around inside my coat pocket where I had folded and stuffed the pages I had printed at the Archive.