Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  He held up his hand. “I swear to you, Maggie Mulgrew, there is a museum in Castel Bay. A maritime museum, at that.” His grin returned. “We’ll find more than enough information on the shipwreck. Maybe even take a look at it.”

  “Stop right there.” She crossed her arms. “We are not, under any circumstances, searching for a two-hundred-year old ship.”

  “Oh, we won’t need to.” He patted her cheek. “I already know where it is.”

  Maggie sighed as she watched him practically dance out of the carriage house. She already had a feeling this adventure wouldn’t end well.

  2

  Sometimes Maggie hated being right.

  She trudged after Spencer, constantly shaking the sand out of her shoes as she followed him along the beach. Unlike Holmestead’s rock beach, Castel Bay boasted a long stretch of pale, soft sand that curved around the quaint, pretty town.

  Spencer insisted on heading to the beach first, sure that he knew exactly where the wreckage of The Maritime Queen sat. After wandering for at least a mile, muttering under his breath while he consulted a hand-drawn map, he finally stopped and stared out at the waves.

  “I was wrong,” he mumbled.

  Maggie stepped closer, fighting a smile. “Was what that, Spence? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  He clenched his jaw, refusing to look at her. “I said, I was—wrong. I thought—never mind.” He lowered himself to the sand, his backpack sliding off his shoulder.

  Putting aside her need to gloat, she sat next to him. “Let me see your map.”

  Without arguing, he handed it over. That told Maggie he was more disappointed than he let on.

  She studied the crude outline of the coast, then looked out at the actual coast. “Spence.”

  “What?”

  This time, she did smile at his petulant tone. “Your mark for the shipwreck is here.” She tapped her finger on the map. “But we’re here.” She tapped a spot at least halfway down the coast.

  “How—” He snatched the map out of her hands and scowled at it. “I know I—when did we—bloody hell.”

  “It’s not a tragedy, Spencer.” Maggie patted his shoulder. “Let’s keep walking.”

  “Yeah.” He stood, then hunched his shoulders and stomped across the sand, skidding to a halt when an old man who had been coming from the opposite direction stepped into his path.

  “Looking for the old shipwreck?” His voice sounded like he’d been smoking since he was two. He pointed behind him, at a spit of land jutting into the water. “Wait until low tide, lad, and it will appear to you.” He moved to Spencer, so close Spencer stumbled back to avoid the man running into him. “Stay well away, if you know what’s good for you. The wreck already has one unanswered death, and has endangered fools older than you, lad.”

  He walked past Spencer, smiled at Maggie like he hadn’t just threatened them, and headed up the beach. Spencer stared after him, his mouth open.

  “Did he just—”

  “Yeah, he did.” Maggie moved to Spencer and took his hand. “Maybe we should just go to the museum, then home. I’m getting a bad feeling about this whole idea.”

  He tugged his hand free, then laid both hands on her shoulders. “Why don’t we go to the museum, then see how you feel? We have to wait for the tide to go out, so we might as well explore the town, have some lunch, maybe find a bakery with decent blueberry scones.”

  Maggie just managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Spencer’s fondness for blueberry scones had become an obsession as he got older.

  “Fine,” she said. “But on one condition.”

  “What?” He studied her, frowning already.

  “I get to pick where we eat.”

  He laughed, obviously relieved. “Deal. And Maggie,” his smile faded, his blue eyes serious as he studied her. “If you feel uncomfortable at all, just tell me and we’ll leave. I won’t be happy about it, but I’ll go when you say the word. All right?”

  Relief spread through her. “All right.”

  “Brilliant.” He grabbed her hand and started dragging her back toward town. “Let’s go check out that museum.”

  The local museum turned out to be a treasure trove—of everything that had obviously taken the fancy of the current curator.

  Maggie wandered around while Spencer ran from exhibit to exhibit like a kid let loose in a toy store.

  “Mags—come and look at this.”

  Since it was at least the tenth time he’d waved her over, she ignored him. She did not want to see another cracked ship in a bottle, or a pile of rusty coins.

  “I’m busy, Spence.” Being bored out of her mind.

  “Seriously, Maggie, you need to see this.”

  She turned, hearing the change in his voce. He hunched over a display case, his nose almost pressed against the glass.

  “What is it?” She joined him, expecting some long-winded lecture about an obscure legend. Instead, when Spencer straightened to give her a better look, she saw a case filled with nautical implements. “Whoa…”

  She did the same as Spencer, moving in until her nose touched the glass.

  “Do you notice what’s missing?”

  “The compass,” she whispered, spotting the placard stating it had never been found, along with— “The captain’s log.” She turned her head, found Spencer right next to her. “We have to go home.”

  “No need.” He gave her the crooked grin that had gotten her into her share of trouble, and reached into his backpack. “I brought it with me.”

  “Not here, Spence.” Maggie glanced around the room, not surprised to spot the old man from the beach lurking near a case not far from them. “Let’s go eat,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry across the room. “I’m bored and hungry.”

  “Fine.” Spencer sounded put out, and made a show of stomping toward the exit, ignoring the old man. “But I get to choose where.”

  “You promised I could.” Maggie ran after him, grabbed his hand, and let out a gasp when he took off the second they cleared the doorway. He didn’t stop until they were out of the museum and in an alley halfway down the street. Once she caught her breath, she looked up at him. “How long do you think he was skulking?”

  “He followed us from the beach.” Spencer took her hand and led her to the far end of the alley, tucking them in a recessed doorway. “How did he know we were looking for the shipwreck? Unless he overheard us at some point between the station and the beach, in which case he has been tailing us since we arrived.”

  He cursed under his breath—then jerked back into the shadow of the doorway, taking Maggie with him. She understood a few seconds later, when she heard footsteps in the alley.

  “Is it him?” she whispered.

  Spencer nodded, before he inched forward and peeked around the corner. “He’s gone.” With a sigh, he leaned against the brick wall. “We need to look at that captain’s log. I know.” He straightened, took Maggie’s hand. “I spotted an old pub off the high street. We’ll find a corner, eat, and take a look at it.”

  “Good idea.”

  She followed him down the alley, tucking strands of her red hair behind her ears that had escaped her ponytail. As much as she loved her wild curls, wind and humidity worked against her every time, no matter how much product she used to tame them.

  Spencer turned the corner—and skidded to a halt. When Maggie joined him, she saw the reason. A constable stood in front of Spencer, studying him, his arms crossed.

  “Visitors?”

  Spencer lifted his chin, and Maggie squeezed his hand, trying to silently warn him to hold his temper. “Yes, sir. Just here for the day.”

  “Not going out to that bloody shipwreck, are you?”

  Spencer glanced at her. “No, sir. Just to have some lunch, then explore your lovely town.”

  Maggie let out a sigh, and stepped in. “We’re interested in the ship, but only from a history angle.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’re a Yank.”
<
br />   Maggie gave her winning smile. “I live with my great aunt, and I love it here.” That always seemed to throw any skeptical local. “We just came from the museum—”

  “The maritime museum?” The constable shook his head, then gestured over his shoulder. “You’ll be finding more information at the seaside museum, right off the high street. That museum you just came from is a tourist lure.” He shook his head. “Someday, I will have the local council—never mind. Enjoy your day. If you run into any trouble,” he glanced across the street, and Maggie’s heart skipped when she spotted the old man leaning against a shop front. “You head straight for the police station and ask for Will Tomlinson.”

  “Yes, sir,” Spencer said. “I take it that would be you.”

  The constable smiled for the first time. “It would be.” His smile faded as he studied them. “Steer clear of the shipwreck, do you hear? It’s not safe. I’ve had to pull more than one fool out before the tide drowned them.”

  Maggie stepped in front of Spencer before he said something he’d regret. “Do you know about the wreck, Constable? Anything we might not learn at the museum?”

  He stared past them, his gaze unfocused. “I do know that there was murder done aboard that ship, just before it wrecked itself on the sandbar. Historians are still trying to figure out how it managed to sail so close to shore.” He turned his attention back to Maggie. “I am a descendent of the first mate, on my mum’s side. I try to keep myself removed from the family history, since the first mate, Donnie Lassiter, was the murder suspect. Not a good connection for a constable.”

  “We’ll keep that fact to ourselves, sir.” Spencer’s voice seemed to snap the constable back to the present.

  “I have no idea why I told you—never mind.” He laid his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “I am assuming you are the level-headed member of your team. Keep clear; find your history, and take it home with you.”

  “We will. Thanks.” She let out her breath after Constable Tomlinson freed her and kept walking down the sidewalk. “What was that all about?”

  “Strangers in town, checking out the local legend.” Spencer took her hand. “Now that we’ve been roundly scolded, ready for lunch?”

  She laughed, relieved at his light tone. He hated being told what to do.

  He led her to a huge pub halfway down the street. The swinging sign proclaimed it as The Bounding Hare, with a giant rabbit leaping over the pub name. Maggie just hoped there wouldn’t be giant rabbits inside the pub.

  Thankfully, it looked like every other pub she’d experienced in England—including the deep, tall booths along at least one wall. Spencer grabbed the one in the back corner, glanced at the menu in a holder on the table, then started toward the bar to order. She grabbed the hem of his jacket.

  “You don’t know what I want. And you’re paying, since I didn’t get to pick the place.”

  “Fine.” He crossed his arms and tapped his foot while she studied the menu. “Anytime, Mags.”

  “I’m weighing my options.” She fought to keep from smiling at his growing irritation. “Okay. I’ll take the chicken burger, with chips.”

  She did smile when he groaned.

  “The same thing you order every time? And you needed to weigh your options?”

  “There might have been something new and exciting.”

  He sniffed, dropped his backpack on the table, then stomped over to the bar.

  Maggie took the opportunity to pull out the log book. She had weighted the log with several books after they found it, and the once waterlogged pages were now flat, making it easier to read. Not that she could; the author’s illegible scrawl had her squinting to try and decipher the words.

  “Issues, Mags?”

  She raised her eyebrows as she looked at Spencer. “You’re good at reading the unreadable, since that’s how you write.”

  “Hilarious.” He didn’t deny it as he set two glasses of water on the table and sat. “Give over.”

  She handed him the book, and he hunched over it, blond hair falling into his eyes. With an absent swipe, he shoved it back, then ignored it as it flopped back down.

  “Would you like a hair clip, Spence? I happen to have one.”

  “Touch my hair at your own risk, Maggie Mulgrew.”

  She smiled and leaned back, watching him as he pored over the log. “Anything interesting?”

  “Maybe. I found—” He cut himself off as the waiter brought their food. “Thanks, mate. Where are the condiments?”

  “Table at the end of the bar. Enjoy.”

  Spencer waited until he left to examine his burger. He liked his meat as close to charred as possible. “Good enough,” he muttered, then stood and headed over to a table loaded with bottles of catsup, mustard, mayo, and salad cream. Maggie had tried that—once.

  He returned with catsup, mustard, mayo—and the salad cream.

  She tried not to cringe as he squirted the salad cream on his burger, then added catsup.

  “How can you eat that?”

  “With my mouth.” He grinned at her and handed over the mustard and mayo.

  Maggie had picked up the habit of dipping her chips in mayo after her first summer in Holmestead. When she tried to do it at home, her parents had reacted with such disgust she never made the attempt again. One day, she planned to become a permanent resident of Holmestead, leave behind the loveless, uptight people who had raised her.

  As he ate, Spencer pored over the log, muttering more than once. Maggie knew better than to interrupt him, so she ate her chicken burger, and was attacking the last of her chips when he finally spoke.

  “It’s the log for The Maritime Queen.”

  She dropped her chip and leaned forward, keeping her voice as low as his. “You’re sure?”

  Nodding, he turned the log book, and pointed at an entry. This one she could read. Kind of.

  “There is little wind today, the sea around us nearly as smooth as glass. I fear for my life as my crew grows restless. Too many days have passed since our last shore landing, and both food and drink is down to ration levels. If we do not find a safe port soon, mutiny on The Queen is a near certainty.”

  She looked at the date of the entry. It was three days before the shipwreck.

  “Spencer—who was the murder victim?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” He leaned forward and tapped the book. “It was the captain.”

  3

  They headed to the seaside museum, after asking for directions from the bartender.

  It turned out to be a small, neat building at the far end of the high street, facing the beach.

  “We can see the shipwreck from here,” Spencer said. He gestured toward the beach, and Maggie spotted the spit of land the old man had pointed out to them. “I don’t think the location is a coincidence.”

  “Let’s go inside, before our tail finds us.” She pushed at him and he smiled, taking her hand before he pushed the door open.

  Unlike the maritime museum, this one was neat and organized, with a printed map that showed the best route for viewing the displays. Maggie grabbed one of the maps just as a young woman approached them.

  “Welcome to the Castel Bay Seaside Museum. Is this your first time?”

  “Yes,” Spencer said, stepping between the girl and Maggie. He gave her a smile and laid on the Knight charm. “I am quite intrigued by the history of The Maritime Queen. Can you possibly point me to any information on the ship, and the shipwreck?”

  Since Maggie was doing her best not to roll her eyes, she saw what Spencer missed while he was fawning over the girl—a flash of anger in her clear green eyes.

  “Of course. The ship is the highlight of our humble museum. This way.”

  She headed over to the far side of the display area, stopping at a large case. On the wall above it, a huge oil painting showed a ship riding a high wave. It was dark, dramatic, and struck the right tone for a display about a doomed ship.

  “My grandfather painted it,” the
girl said. “He said he dreamed about the shipwreck, and painted the image from his dream. Sorry—I’ve been so rude.” She held out her hand. “I’m Cassie Lassiter.”

  Spencer’s eyes widened. “You’re—” He cut himself off when Maggie gripped his elbow. “Pleasure. I’m Spencer, and this is my friend, Maggie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Maggie said.

  This time, Cassie’s eyes widened. “You’re a Yank.”

  “Guilty. Don’t you get Americans here?”

  “Not really. They tend to bypass us for the resort towns further down the coast.” Cassie turned to Spencer and smiled. “I am a descendent of Donnie Lassiter, if that’s what you were about to ask, before you were interrupted.” She glanced at Maggie.

  “I didn’t want him to be rude about it.” Maggie didn’t know why she was defending herself. She didn’t care what a girl in a small town she’d never see again thought of her. “But we would like any information you might have.”

  “Of course.” Cassie waved at the display case. “This is everything that was brought ashore with the crew that survived. You’ve been to the maritime museum?” They nodded, and she curled her lip. “Every single ‘artifact’ in their case is a reproduction. These are the original items. When the curator couldn’t buy them off the former owner of this museum, he had them copied, and claimed them as the actual items. Despicable.”

  “It is.” Spencer was studying the painting, already distracted. “Thanks for guiding us over.”

  Cassie raised her eyebrows at the obvious dismissal.

  With a sigh, Maggie turned to her. “Don’t mind him. He tends to get absorbed, and doesn’t like interruptions. He really does mean what he said.”

  The girl’s face cleared. “Oh. Well, if you have any questions, I’ll be over in the gift shop. Doing double duty today, since my grandfather is off taking the air, as he calls it.”

  Maggie watched her head back to the small shop in the front of the museum, then smacked Spencer’s arm.