Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  It turned out to be a long knife, the intricate handle inlaid with jewels. They couldn’t see the blade, because a piece of crumbling paper wrapped it.

  “Hold still, Maggie.” Spencer switched the torch to his left hand, then slowly eased the paper off the blade. “I think I can unfold this without destroying it.”

  “Be careful, Spence.”

  “Take the torch.”

  She did, focusing the light on his hands. Holding his breath, he inched the paper open. They both froze when part of the corner fell off, fluttering to the bed.

  “Spence—”

  “I know. Careful.” He moved even slower, and an endless minute later, he finally had the paper open. “Move the light closer, Maggie. I think I recognize…” His voice faded, his eyes wide as he examined the scrawl across the middle of the paper. “Captain Hamilton,” he whispered.

  She moved closer, squinting at the single, illegible sentence. “Can you read it?”

  “I think so.” He scanned it again, then cleared his throat. “My fear has come true, though I suspected the wrong man – Stine has come to take my life. That’s it,” he said. “It looks like he was interrupted and ran out of time.” He glanced at the knife. “Why didn’t he use the knife to defend himself?”

  “It’s more decorative than deadly.” Maggie touched the edge of the blade. “This has never been sharpened. It’s also badly weighted.”

  Spencer grinned. “Still taking those knife throwing lessons?”

  She lifted her chin. “I happen to be quite good. My teacher says I have a natural talent.” She looked down at the blade. “Stine—where have I heard that name—”

  She met Spencer’s eyes.

  “The bakery.”

  They said the words at the same time.

  Spencer folded the paper and carefully tucked it in an outside pocket of his backpack, did the same with the torch, then took the knife from her. “Let’s go.”

  “Not before you put that away. I’m pretty sure those are real jewels in the hilt, and the knife is probably worth a fortune, but I want Aunt Irene to look at it. We can decide what to do with it then.”

  “Right.”

  After tucking the knife in another outside pocket, he grabbed her hand and headed for the door.

  It slammed shut just before they reached it.

  5

  “No—” Spencer rammed, shoulder first, into the door. It didn’t budge. “Ouch—ouch—bloody hell—”

  “Are you okay?” Maggie wrapped her arm around his waist.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his shoulder, then stepped away from her, using both hands to push at the door. “It’s been blocked from the outside.”

  “You don’t think Mr. Lassiter—”

  “I would have, before. But now that I know who he is—”

  “Even a great artist can have ugly motives, Spencer.”

  He turned on her. “Do you think he would have let us come up here if he really had something to hide?” He let out his breath. “Sorry, Mags. I didn’t intend to snap.”

  “I just insulted a personal hero. I’m sorry, too.” She took his hand. “Let’s find a way out of here. We have plenty of time before the tide comes back in.” She watched him frown as he looked at his watch. “Don’t we?”

  “Yeah. We—we spent more time here than I thought.” He showed her his watch.

  They had been exploring for more than two hours.

  “How long—” Maggie swallowed, then finished her question. “How long before the tide comes in?”

  “We have time.”

  “How long, Spencer?”

  “About four hours.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Maggie.”

  Her heart skipped at his serious tone. “What?”

  “We’re on a sandbar, farther out than the beach. That means—well—”

  “That the water will rise sooner around the ship.”

  She cursed under her breath, then ran over to the porthole. Maybe they could dislodge whatever blocked the door. Her heart sank when she spotted a thick length of wood, firmly wedged under the latch.

  “We’re trapped,” she said, looking over at Spencer.

  “Maybe not.” He dropped to his knees and started tapping on the floorboards.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Do you really think the captain only had one niche built? He sounded like he was one paranoid man. With good reason, as it turned out.”

  “You’re thinking there’s another exit.” She joined him, crawling in the opposite direction as she knocked on each floorboard, listening for the distinctive hollow sound. She stilled when she heard a wave crash against the bow of the ship. “Spencer—”

  “I heard it. Keep going, Maggie.” He sounded grim.

  She forced herself to move slowly, her cheek brushing the floor as she listened after each knock. The waves obscured any sound, so she had to wait between swells to check the next board.

  She butted up against the bed frame, and was just about to give up when she had an idea. Sitting back on her heels, she visually measured the distance from the floor to the base of the frame, and nodded.

  “Spencer—I need your help.”

  “What? I’m busy over here.”

  “Fine. I’ll wait.” She had to raise her voice for the last part over a crashing wave. One that shook the ship.

  Spencer pushed to his feet and walked over to her. “What?”

  She waved at the space under the bed frame. “Do you think you can fit under there?”

  “Of course. Why are you asking such a ridiculous…oh. Oh.” He took off his backpack and lowered himself to the floor, then shimmied under the bed. “Plenty of space—Mags.” His hand reached out and waved at her. “Grab my backpack.”

  “What did you find?”

  He caught her wrist and tugged her down, grinning as he patted an iron ring in the floor. “The way out.”

  The escape hatch would have allowed a thin man to escape, which told Maggie that Captain Hamilton had probably not been muscled, or athletic.

  Spencer barely fit, with his broad shoulders. After some creative gyrations, he finally managed, and she flinched when she heard water splash after he dropped.

  “Come on, Maggie.” She peered over the edge, spotted him about six feet down. Water swirled around his ankles. “I can see the main hatch from here, and it’s open.”

  That explained why he wasn’t a blur in the dark. It also told her that whoever had trapped them in the cabin had no idea about a secret hatch.

  She took a shaky breath, then dragged his backpack to the edge. “Catch,” she said, then lowered it as much as she could before letting go.

  He snatched the pack, then slung it over his shoulder before reaching both hands up to her.

  “Your turn, Mags.”

  “Spencer—”

  “I’ll catch you. I promise.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, then nodded. After a few deep breaths, she scooted around until her feet pointed at the hole.

  “Now or never, Maggie,” she muttered. Another wave crashed against the hull, a warning that they needed to get out. “Okay, I get it.” She raised her voice. “I’m ready, Spencer.”

  “I am right below you. Just push backward.”

  She did, her legs sliding out over empty space. There was nothing to grab on to, no way to stop herself if she started slipping—

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  Slowly, she inched backward, until her hips passed the edge of the hatch—and let out a gasp when gravity yanked her through the hatch.

  Strong hands caught her, eased her to the floor, held on when her knees buckled.

  “You’re fine, Maggie.” Spencer wrapped his arms around her, tucked her head under his chin as she shivered uncontrollably. “Just breathe for me, sweetheart.”

  He didn’t use the endearment often, but it soothed her, and her breathing evened out.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks
.”

  “I hardly expected you to come shooting through the hatch.”

  “Gravity.”

  “And nothing to hold on to. Got it.” He leaned down until their eyes met. “All right?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted her chin. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He took her hand and they waded to the main hatch. The water reached Maggie’s knees, icy cold, constantly trying to push her off her feet. By the time Spencer helped her up the short flight of stairs and to the deck, she was cold and exhausted.

  “We can head straight home,” he said. “All I want right now is a hot bath, and a huge bowl of your aunt’s chicken stew.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  When she shivered, Spencer wrapped his arm around her. Together, they headed for the rope ladder. She would be happy to climb down it without assistance, as long as it meant being off this ship, and far away from Castel Bay.

  “I’ll go first,” Spencer said. “Then you can—Mr. Lassiter—”

  He let her go and practically leapt over the side.

  Maggie rushed to check on him—and found him in the surf, supporting a limp figure. What looked like blood stained half the man’s face.

  “Oh, no.”

  She headed to the ladder and climbed down as quickly as she could, then jumped the last few feet, splashing in the water.

  “Maggie—help me.” Spencer struggled to keep Mr. Lassiter above the water.

  She sloshed over to him, supported the old man’s head. “Drape his arm across your shoulders, Spence.”

  He did, cursing when the backpack slipped off his shoulder. “Take this, Maggie.”

  She grabbed the pack and slid the straps over both shoulders, then took Mr. Lassiter’s left arm and helped Spencer carry him toward the beach.

  They carefully lowered him to the sand, several feet from the water. Maggie sank to her knees, fighting for breath. She watched Spencer as he bent over Mr. Lassiter, cleaning the blood from his face.

  “Someone hit him over the head. Hard.” Spencer lifted his head, anger sparking in his blue eyes. They widened as he stared past her. “Maggie—”

  “No need to warn her, love.”

  Maggie whirled at the familiar voice—and jerked back when Susie pointed a long, ugly knife at her. A chef’s knife. This one had definitely been sharpened.

  “Touch her, and I will kill you.” The cold rage in Spencer’s quiet voice scraped over Maggie’s skin.

  “I will be happy to let both of you leave, with the old man, if that pleases you.” She smiled, and Maggie wanted to recoil from the madness she saw in what she had thought were friendly eyes. “All I want is what you found on my ship.”

  6

  Maggie stared up at the woman. “You’re the one maintaining the ship.”

  “I pay for men to do it, yes. Early in the morning, when the tide is low.” She smiled, and Maggie flinched. “So few here care about our history, or want to exploit it.” She sneered at Mr. Lassiter. “What my ancestor did was righteous, and for the good of his men.”

  “You’re Stine’s descendent,” Spencer said. He was still crouched next to Mr. Lassiter, but Maggie saw his muscles tense, like he might leap up at any second and try something stupid.

  Something that would get him killed.

  Susie nodded, her smile widening. “And proud of it. He stopped a man determined to pay for his greed with the lives of his own crew. Hamilton was a noble,” she nearly spat out the word, “but Percy Stine was an honorable man, and he did what he had to—”

  “He was a murderer.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened at Spencer’s words.

  Susie lunged at him, waving the knife. “He would have been honored, had he lived!”

  Maggie held her breath, waiting for that knife to cut Spencer. Finally, Susie lowered it, tapping the blade against her thigh.

  Spencer stood, slowly, his arms out to his sides. “Tell me more about him. The local accounts don’t even mention him.”

  “Of course they ignored him. Lassiter was the first mate.” She glared at Mr. Lassiter. “I know he killed Percy Stine, to shut him up. But he was too late. The woman who took Percy in was already with child, and she knew the truth.” Fury edged her already angry voice. “Lassiter enjoyed the notoriety of being a suspected killer. All the attention of the locals, and every historian, has been focused on him. I only needed one piece of evidence, one solid thing to prove my theory, and I would tell the world the truth.”

  “But you haven’t been able to find it.”

  Maggie wanted to shout at him to stop antagonizing her. Instead of lashing out, Susie started pacing, agitated.

  “I’ve spent years searching that bloody ship, to no avail.” Every time she walked past him, Spencer waved at Maggie, then pointed at his back. She frowned, shaking her head, then stilled when Susie glanced at her. “You look like Irene Mulgrew. Is she your aunt?”

  “Great aunt, yes.”

  “Shrew.” Susie moved to Maggie, standing over her. “She has intentionally outbid me on nearly every item I wanted at estate sales. I finally gave up my dream of opening an antiques shop, and fell back on my skills as a baker.”

  Spencer raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with Susie’s tirade. Maggie knew he couldn’t ever imagine giving up his dream because things didn’t go his way. He cleared his throat, drawing Susie’s attention back to him.

  “Why do you think we found something?”

  “Because I was watching you, through the porthole.” She pointed at him with the knife. “Did you think I would allow you to spend time on my ship without keeping tabs on you?”

  “If we had known it was your ship, we would have asked for permission to board.”

  Maggie cried out as Susie lunged forward and grabbed the front of Spencer’s shirt, the knife inches from his chest.

  “No—please—”

  Susie ignored her pleas. “I would have said no, boy.” She laid the knife against his throat. Maggie clenched her fists, needing to do something—anything—and realized what Spencer had been trying to tell her.

  The knife. In his backpack.

  With a shaky breath, she moved as fast as she dared, without drawing attention to herself, and eased the backpack off her shoulders.

  The jeweled hilt winked at her. She reached for it, forced to use her left hand, then managed to drop it on the sand behind her just as Susie glanced over her shoulder.

  “You. Where I can see you. Now.”

  Maggie used the excuse of pushing to her feet to grab the knife, and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans as she stood. She joined Spencer, who kept his gaze on Susie, the knife hovering near his throat.

  “Give me what you found.”

  Spencer swallowed. “We didn’t find anything.”

  “Liar! I saw you—I saw you find the secret compartment in the headboard.”

  “Why did you block the door if you knew we’d found something?”

  “The discovery should have been mine.”

  Maggie swallowed. The woman had meant for them to drown so she could take credit for finding the knife.

  “Give it to me.” Susie pressed the knife against his throat. “Now.”

  Maggie bit her lip to keep from crying out, and eased her hand to her pocket. Once she gripped the hilt, she pulled the knife out, not sure if she could do what she needed to do. How could she throw a knife at a live target?

  How could she not, with Spencer’s life at stake?

  She’d have to take a step back. She was too close. Once she did, there was no turning back.

  “Tell me where it is, you little—what are you doing?” She spun toward Maggie, taking Spencer with her, just as Maggie backed up.

  “Spencer—down!”

  He tore himself out of Susie’s grip just as Maggie flipped the knife in her hand and threw it.

  7

  The knife scraped over the top of Susie’s hand.

  She let out a scream and dropped her knife
.

  “You dare—” She lunged toward Maggie—and stumbled when her head jerked back. Maggie gasped as the chef’s knife whipped into sight, the sharp edge pressed against Susie’s throat.

  Spencer appeared behind Susie, his blue eyes cold, anger sparking off him.

  “Move. I dare you.” He looked at Maggie, and she sucked in a harsh breath when she saw blood on his throat. “I’m all right. Ring Constable Tomlinson, tell him we ran into trouble.”

  Maggie’s hand shook as she pulled out her mobile and looked up the number for the local station. When it rang through, she almost dropped her mobile as the ring echoed across the beach.

  Constable Tomlinson ran toward them, his shoes slipping on the sand. Cassie Lassiter was on his heels, looking terrified and determined. She ran past them, straight to her grandfather.

  The constable relieved Spencer of the knife, then grabbed Susie’s arm.

  “No more, Ms. Stine. This time, the complaint will stick.” He scanned Spencer, then Maggie. “All right, then?” They both nodded, and Spencer flinched, one hand moving to his throat. “I’ll have our local doc meet us at the station, look you both over. Impressive skills, young miss.”

  He bent down and picked up the jeweled knife, tucking it in his coat pocket. Maggie swallowed, twisting her hands together. She didn’t want to think about what she’d just done. Not yet.

  “Constable.” Cassie ran over to him. “My grandfather needs medical assistance.”

  “Stay with him.” Constable Tomlinson pulled out his mobile with his free hand and tapped out a number. “Doc, we have a patient for you on the beach, near the shipwreck. It’s Leland.” He paused then spoke again. “I’ll have two more at the station once you’ve checked him over. Ta.” He nodded to Cassie. “He’s on his way.”

  “Thank you.” She ran back to her grandfather.

  Maggie looked over at them, relieved to see Mr. Lassiter awake, and trying to get up. Cassie kept pushing him back to the sand, and Maggie knew he’d be all right.

  Spencer untwisted her hands, then took her left hand, squeezing her fingers. “Thanks,” he whispered.