Kat and Harper had reminded Edith that she was an adventurer at heart, and she’d repaid them by using her extensive book collection to help them solve their case. When her seaside cottage became Bluebell Bay’s official library, Edith named it the Armchair Adventurers’ Club. When she wasn’t hosting children’s book clubs, she was usually researching the latest forensic techniques. She often joked that if Sergeant Singh ever checked her internet history he’d find searches for undetectable poisons, lethal weapons and ‘how best to hide a body’.
‘One never knows what’ll prove useful when the Wolfe & Lamb Detective Agency takes on another case,’ she’d tell Kat and Harper. ‘If you have a crime conundrum, I want to help you find a solution.’
The library doubled as Edith’s home and was an irresistible combination of pre-loved and new books, freshly baked cookies and cakes, and a selection of comfy reading chairs and nooks between shelves full of novels. In term time, Kat spent most afternoons doing her homework at a table with a harbour view.
‘One minute to nine,’ said Harper.
Edith snapped upright. ‘I’m on it!’ She tapped at a remote and a TV slid out from between the bookshelves. The catchy drumbeat that heralded the Fast News bulletin boomed into the room. Xena’s skull find was the second headline: ‘JURASSIC DRAGON TEAM UNCOVER GRISLY KEY TO MISSING MAN MYSTERY.’
‘Grisly?’ said Harper. ‘Really?’
‘It’s the go-to adjective of crime reporters,’ Edith informed her.
Kat leaned forward. ‘Shh!’
An over-tanned anchor man said solemnly, ‘Idyllic Bluebell Bay has long been considered one of the jewels in Britain’s seaside crown: historic, pretty as a picture and, most importantly, safe. That changed last Sunday when a cliff disintegrated, revealing a two-hundred-million-year-old “dragon” dinosaur. Just four days later, a palaeontology volunteer made a gruesome discovery – assisted by a celebrity dog. We’re going live to Dorset, where Fast News reporter, Rosalyn Winter, has this exclusive report.’
A windswept Rosalyn filled the screen. She was standing on the harbour wall, waves spitting up behind her, wearing an orange cagoule and a grave expression.
‘When Hollywood stars Ethan and Alicia Swann chose Bluebell Bay for a well-deserved vacation, they never dreamed that their beloved miniature Pomeranian would unearth a secret that had stayed buried for two years. More extraordinary still, the pocket-sized dog found the skull in among the rocks and fossils being sifted through by Professor Theo Lamb and his team – the same team that discovered the dracoraptor last Sunday.
‘Late last night, an extensive search by police and forensic experts turned up human remains and an identity card. The victim’s next of kin have been notified. He has been named as Johnny Roswell . . .’
Edith squeezed her retriever so hard that he let out a yelp. Kat looked round, but the librarian was watching the screen with rapt attention.
‘Roswell was reported missing from Tooting, London, in June two years ago,’ Rosalyn Winter continued. ‘A keen amateur fossil collector, he was twenty-four at the time of his disappearance. Earlier, I asked Alicia Swann how she felt about being caught up in the drama.’
The scene switched to the Ocean View Suite at the Majestic. The actress was clad in funeral-black from head to toe, her perfect face luminous as she gazed into the camera lens. The Pomeranian was perched on her knee, a black bow on her fluffy head.
‘Xena seems so angelic,’ commented Harper. ‘You’d never know she had the temperament of a werewolf with anger-management issues.’
‘There are no bad dogs, only bad owners,’ Kat reminded her.
‘But Alicia is lovely, so I don’t see—’
‘Shh!’ said Edith.
On the screen, Alicia’s eyes shone with emotion. ‘It’s been a terrible shock, to be honest, Rosalyn. When I sent my little warrior princess to doggy day care, the last thing I expected was that she’d lead the cops to a missing person. I only hope some good will come of it and that the family of this unfortunate young man will finally get some closure. My husband and I would like to send them our condolences. We’d also like to thank Viktor, our hotel manager, for understanding that Xena needs some TLC and to be with us after the stress of last night.’
‘Course she does,’ Rosalyn said insincerely. ‘The combined police forces of the UK failed to do in twenty-five months what Xena managed in minutes – locate Johnny Roswell. She should be given a medal by the Queen. But I’m curious, Alicia. Why did you choose Bluebell Bay for your vacation? Did you and Ethan hear about the Jurassic Dragon discovery and think, “That would make a great movie?”’
The actress adjusted Xena’s bow. ‘Not at all. Our trip had been planned for months. We’d heard that Bluebell Bay was a gorgeous place to get away from it all. We only learned about the dinosaur after we got here and found the town rammed. It’s been a shock to realize that accidents happen even in beautiful places, and to nice people. But we won’t let this put us off. We’re looking forward to exploring the area and maybe seeing this dragon skeleton over the next few days.’
Watching Alicia’s performance, Kat thought: I don’t believe you. You were lying about having a booking at the Majestic. That part of the Swanns’ holiday, at least, wasn’t planned. If they hadn’t come for the dinosaur, what were they doing in Bluebell Bay with their silver sports car and out-of-this-world horse?
The couple were too good to be true, Kat felt sure of it. Xena was aggressive for a reason. Kat intended to investigate what that reason was.
Now Rosalyn Winter was interviewing Sergeant Singh. A photograph of a hollow-cheeked young man with Bambi eyes flashed up on the screen behind him.
‘This tragic case highlights the dangers of the Jurassic Coast’s cliffs,’ the policeman was saying. ‘I urge families and fossil hunters to keep clear of them this summer. I’d also like to appeal for witnesses. If you recognize Johnny Roswell or have any information about what he was doing in Bluebell Bay at the time of his disappearance, please contact Dorset Police HQ. There’s no suspicion of foul play. All evidence points to death by misadventure.’
‘What’s death by misadventure?’ asked Harper. She’d given in and was treating herself to an Armchair Adventurers’ Club crumpet. If there was a mystery in the works, she really did need to keep her strength up.
Edith switched off the TV and poured them each a glass of lemonade. ‘It’s when a dangerous risk is taken voluntarily. If Johnny Roswell chose to go fossil hunting on a precipice, the coroner will rule that he understood he was taking a chance but did it anyway.’
Harper and Kat shuffled on their bean bag, thinking guiltily about Kat’s near-disastrous bid to rescue Pax.
Edith wiped away a tear. ‘I can’t believe that lovely young man is gone.’
Now she had their full attention.
‘You were friends with Johnny?’ Harper was aghast.
‘Goodness, no. I only ever talked to him twice, but he left an indelible impression on me. I can see him now, face aglow, as he showed me an ammonite he’d found at Kimmeridge Bay. He was wearing a “Save Sheffield’s Trees” T-shirt and was so skinny that whenever he turned sideways, it was as if he’d put on an invisibility cloak. He told me he was a nature writer, but it didn’t seem to pay him enough to eat. He was a contented spirit, though – passionate about fossil collecting and saving the environment.’
Edith hugged the retriever as he licked another tear off her cheek. ‘Seems as if one of those enthusiasms cost him his life.’
‘Was Johnny here on holiday?’ asked Kat.
‘Couldn’t tell you, love, but I know a man who could. Harry Holt and Johnny were inseparable for a time. I’d see them from my window, scrambling over the cliffs at all hours in search of ammonites, brittle stars, brachiopod shells and other bits. Rain, sleet or snow, they were out there.’
Harper put down her fork. ‘Harry Holt? Is that the weirdo who’s been protesting the dracoraptor excavation with blood-splattered signs?’<
br />
Kat jumped in eagerly. ‘Ollie Merriweather told us that Harry’s one of those local eccentric weirdos who come out of the woodwork wherever palaeontologists are working.’ She giggled. ‘We were there when Harry sprang at Ollie and ranted on about how Professor Lamb didn’t understand what forces he was unleashing.’
She mimicked his Dorset accent and deep voice. ‘When blood is spilt, as blood there will surely be, don’t say Harry didn’t warn you.’
‘It was hilarious.’ Harper giggled. ‘He’s been out there with a placard ever since, wittering on about ancient darkness. “Ooh, Professor, let sleeping dragons lie.”’
They stopped. Edith wasn’t laughing. She was staring at them with a mixture of sadness and disappointment.
Kat clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, gosh – Harry’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?’
Harper felt unwell. ‘Edith, I’m so sorry. We didn’t think.’
‘No,’ said Edith, ‘you did not. If I didn’t know from personal experience how kind you’re capable of being, I’d suspend you both from the library for flying to judgement on an innocent man. As detectives, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Tell me, what was it about Harry that made you regard him as an “eccentric weirdo” – to borrow your words? Was it his wild hair and crooked teeth?’
Harper stared hard at the floor.
‘How about his tattered, stained clothes? Or was it what he said about forces of darkness and blood being spilt?’
Kat squirmed. ‘Umm.’
‘Edith’s right, Kat,’ said Harper. ‘We call ourselves detectives, but we didn’t ask the most basic question: Why? What made Harry think Dad didn’t know what he was digging up? Did he suspect foul play when Johnny disappeared two years ago? Or is he psychic? After all, blood has been spilt. It’s old blood, but it’s still blood.’
‘We weren’t interested because we’d already put Harry into a box labelled “Barking Mad Local”,’ answered Kat, shame-faced. ‘Sorry, Edith.’
‘Ach, don’t be too hard on yourselves. Many older and wiser detectives than you have made the same mistake. It’s Harry you should apologize to, not me.’
Edith got to her feet with difficulty and put the kettle on. ‘You asked if Harry and I were friends. Once upon a time, I suppose we were. When I was a school librarian, he was my shyest student, bullied because he was obsessed with fossils even then. I like to hope that with my influence, books became his friends. He was my best reader. And as is often the way, books helped him make real friends.’
‘The way they did with the three of us?’ said Kat, anxious to make amends.
Edith smiled. ‘Exactly, love.’
‘What did Harry do next, when he grew up?’
‘He was smart enough to go to university, but was forced to quit school in his teens to take care of his sick mum. On the rare occasions I’d run into him, we’d chat about books and fossils. His depth of knowledge was phenomenal. I dare say he could teach your father a thing or two about dinosaurs on the Jurassic Coast, Harper. After his mum died, he was very lonely, and I was glad when he found a friend in Johnny, a fellow fossil fanatic.’
Her hands trembled as she spooned Darjeeling leaves into a teapot. ‘I have a confession. Last year, the talk around town was that Harry had quit his job at the hardware store and become a virtual hermit. I was too caught up with my own troubles to wonder why. Then, last month, he came to the Armchair Adventurers’ Club and asked to borrow a book. He knew what he wanted and was gone in minutes. I was helping a couple of children, so couldn’t spare long to catch up. I did enquire after Johnny and ask why I hadn’t seen him in a while. I thought he might have been ill or moved away.’
‘What did Harry say?’ asked Harper.
‘It was strange, really. He said quite curtly, “They didn’t like what he was doing, so they put a stop to it.”’
A tingle ran through Kat. ‘What did he mean?’
‘To be frank, I thought that he and Johnny had had a fallout, and it was an excuse. Before I could respond, he was shuffling out. I thought I heard him mutter that it was all his fault, but I can’t be sure. I wasn’t aware that Johnny had been missing for nearly two years at that point.’
Harper gave Kat an Are you thinking what I’m thinking? nudge.
Edith stirred her tea with unnecessary vigour. ‘In case your suspicious minds put two and two together and make five, I refuse to believe Harry had anything to do with Johnny’s death. He’s the most meek and mild soul in town.’
Kat was sceptical. The man who’d lunged, hissing, at Ollie had seemed both fearful and fanatical. There’d been nothing meek and mild about him.
Conscious she was being judgemental again, she told herself off for letting her imagination run amok. If Johnny Roswell had had an accident while ‘scrambling’ over the cliffs in rain, sleet and snow, it was hardly surprising. There was no mystery. She and Harper should put it out of their heads and enjoy the summer.
Unfortunately, her brain had other ideas. Unanswered questions kept pinging into it. If Harry and Johnny enjoyed searching for fossils together, where was Harry when the cliff gave way? Or if Johnny had been alone, why was he by himself? Had they rowed, as Edith suspected? Or was Johnny in search of some fossil he didn’t want Harry to know about? Something precious, like the dracoraptor?
Harper was also deep in thought. ‘Edith,’ she said, ‘what book did Harry borrow?’
‘Let me think. It’s on the tip of my tongue . . . He never returned it, that I can tell you. Kept it past its due date then pushed a note though my letterbox saying he’d spilt coffee on it, leaving a battered copy of The Hobbit and some magazines as compensation.’
A no-nonsense knock interrupted her. To Kat’s ears, it was the demanding rap of a man working against the clock to find answers at 9.36 a.m. An official on official business.
‘I knew it!’ she said triumphantly when she opened the door to Sergeant Singh. ‘I could have told you there’s been foul play.’
‘There certainly has,’ he said with disapproval. ‘And where is your partner in crime? Is she here?’
‘What partner in crime? Do you mean Harper?’
He tucked his helmet under one arm. ‘How many partners in crime do you have, Kat Wolfe?’
Unsteady footsteps tip-tapped into the hall. ‘Are you going to keep Bluebell Bay’s best bobby on the doorstep, Kat? Join us for a cup of tea, Sergeant Singh?’
‘Thanks, Edith, but I’m in a hurry. I’d like a brief word with Misses Wolfe and Lamb, if I may.’
In the library, Harper climbed out of her bean bag and beamed at him. ‘Have you come to ask for our assistance in solving the crime, Sergeant Singh?’
‘Indeed, I do need your assistance solving the crime.’
‘You do?’ Kat was wary. More often than not, an amused glint in the Sergeant’s eyes betrayed the sense of humour that lay beneath his formal manner. This morning it was absent. Purple quarter-moons of sleeplessness and crossness tugged them downward.
He took out his notebook. ‘I have it on good authority that a girl matching your description, Kat Wolfe, was observed taking life-threatening risks on the cliff steps last Saturday at around four thirty in the afternoon, minutes before the cliff collapsed.’
Kat’s heart began to pound. ‘I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . .’
He glowered at Harper. ‘And I have it from two different sources that a girl matching your description, Harper Lamb, was seen on the deck of Avalon Heights – a house that has been locked and empty for months – the same afternoon. I should caution you that any girl, or girls, found to have done such a thing could be charged with breaking and entering.’
‘Sergeant Singh, I must object to these outrageous accusations,’ chastised Edith. ‘My dedicated young library assistants would never mess about on cliffs or “break and enter” so much as a bar of chocolate.’
‘Thanks, Edith, but it was me on the cliff steps,’ said Kat, knowing that denial was pointless. ‘Only, I wa
sn’t taking risks for fun. I was saving a life.’
‘What life?’ Sergeant Singh asked disbelievingly.
‘A dog’s life. Harper and I found a wounded stray – a Border collie. We took her to the animal clinic, and Mum stitched her up.’
The policeman turned on Harper. ‘And what’s your excuse, young lady? How do you explain your presence on the deck of a locked house? Let me guess. You were rescuing a lost kitten?’
‘You’re asking the wrong question,’ Harper said smoothly.
‘Am I now?’ Sergeant Singh started to simmer. ‘And what, in your opinion, is the right question?’
‘You should be asking if we witnessed anything unusual.’
Kat saw where she was going and seized the chance to turn the interview around. She and Harper had discussed the possibility that the cliff had been blown up on purpose, but the discovery of the Jurassic Dragon had pushed it to the back of their minds.
‘What Harper means, Sergeant Singh, is that if you’ve finally figured out that the cliff didn’t come crashing down all by itself, you might want to check if we noticed anything.’
The policeman did an excellent impression of a haddock out of water. ‘How could you possibly . . . ? Where did you hear . . . ? I didn’t say . . .’
‘For goodness’ sake, spit it out, Sergeant,’ Edith said impatiently. ‘Why don’t you ask the girls what they saw and stop fussing about trivial concerns.’
‘Breaking and entering is not a trivial concern!’
‘If you vow not to get us into trouble, we’ll tell you what we know,’ Harper bargained.
He was incredulous. ‘You’re blackmailing a policeman?’
‘Nonsense, Sergeant,’ scolded Edith. ‘It’s only reasonable that the girls’ memories will improve if you promise not to punish them for nobly rescuing a dog. Is that about the size of it, Kat and Harper?’
Kat grinned. ‘Pretty much.’
Sergeant Singh groaned. ‘Three against one doesn’t seem fair. I’m not making any promises, girls, but if the dog story is true, I’ll consider overlooking your other offences. Once more with feeling, did you spot anything out of the ordinary before the cliff fell?’
Kat Wolfe Takes the Case Page 7
