by Sam Short
Millie glanced over her shoulder. George was busy studying Judith’s phone with her. Looking up more capital cities, no doubt. “No problem,” she said. “Anyway… how did your search go today? Did you find much more gold?”
Tom’s face broke into a wide smile. “That’s why I’m in the pub on a Monday night!” he said. “I’m celebrating! I found a lot more, but the less I say about it in public, the better.” He leaned across the table, and lowered his voice. “The walls have ears.”
“Oh, right, of course,” said Millie. “I won’t mention it again.”
“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” said Tom, his voice still low. “There’s plenty of gold in that sand! I found a woman’s gold ring, too. I handed it in to the sergeant at the police station in case it was lost recently. I’ll get it back if it’s not claimed within a few months. He didn’t seem too interested, though, that sergeant — he just took the ring from me and scribbled a few notes on a sheet of paper.”
“I’m sure he’ll take care of it,” said Millie. “I know Sergeant Spencer quite well. He’s busy with other matters at the moment — he’s taking a look at unsolved cases which occurred before he moved to the town, I’m sure he’ll get around to filing the ring away properly.”
Tom sat back in his seat. “A busy man. I can accept that.” He took a sip of beer. “That little bird of yours didn’t follow you straight home, did he?”
“Erm… no,” said Millie, heat rising in her cheeks. “He’s well trained, though… he always flies home eventually.”
“I seem to recall having an interaction of some sort with him,” said Tom. “But when I try and remember, it all goes fuzzy…. must be the gold fever, hey?” He smiled. “Or my age.”
Or the concealment spell, thought Millie, with a hidden sigh of relief. She smiled. “He probably squawked so much, he sent you mad,” she laughed. “He likes the sound of his own voice.”
“Odd, though,” said Tom, staring into his pint. “When I try to recall the image of him, all I can think of doing is changing my old diesel car for a petrol version. They’re far better for the environment, you know? And the power difference is remarkable!”
“Oh, right,” said Millie. “Well, thanks for the drink, Tom, but the quiz will be starting —”
“Excuse me, Millie,” said a voice from behind her. “I’ve got an order for this table.”
Millie stepped aside, and Mary placed a plate loaded with sandwiches on the table in front of Tom. “Chicken sandwiches,” she said.
“With mayonnaise?” asked Tom.
“Plenty of it,” said Mary, “just the way you asked for.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” said Tom, when Mary had scurried back to the bar. “How does a man get to my age without trying mayonnaise in a chicken sandwich? I’ve had a terrible craving for it since I left the beach today. I’ve never so much as considered it as a sandwich option before… must be the salt air, hey? It makes a man hungry.”
“Indeed,” said Millie, silently cursing Reuben. “Thanks again, Tom, but I must be going —”
“Ah! There you are, Tom Temples!” boomed a voice, as the door slammed shut behind the man who’d burst into the pub. “Or should I say Tom Midas? The man with the golden touch?”
Tom looked up at Millie.
“I didn’t tell a soul!” said Millie. “I promise!”
Chapter 3
“I know you didn’t,” said Tom, turning to face the doorway. “You’ve got an honest face.”
“Celebrating are you, Tom?” said the newly arrived man, his greying hair combed in a way which managed to conceal half of the fact that he was balding, but left the other half proudly reflecting the lights hanging from the pub ceiling. “Celebrating your gold coin find?”
Tom looked at the contents of the table top. “Celebrating with a sandwich and a pint? That’s hardly pushing the boat out, is it?”
“You usually have a half-pint!” spat the man, approaching the table and invading Millie’s personal space. “I’ve seen you in here before, sitting alone in the corner sipping your lady’s drink! They say the first sign of somebody coming into wealth is a change in their habits!”
“What makes you think I’ve found gold coins, Eric?” said Tom. “And if it’s the one-pound-twenty price difference between a pint and a half, then that’s hardly evidence, is it?”
Eric folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, his bushy eyebrows forming a snowy mono-brow. “I popped in to see Pawn Shop Pete tonight. I wanted him to look at the Roman coin I’d found, but Pete told me that a certain man visited him this evening asking for a rough valuation of the gold coins he’d found. When Pete informed this particular gentleman that he would be rich when he sold them, he left the shop with a spring in his step and a wobble in his buttocks — Pawn Shop Pete’s words, not mine!” He glanced at Millie, and gave a quick shake of his head. “Certainly not my words.”
Millie smiled. “Why are you so angry?” she said. “So what if Tom has found gold? You should be happy for him. Not that I’m saying he has, of course.”
“We detectorists are a close-knit bunch,” said Eric. “We like to keep each other informed about the forgotten treasures we discover beneath our little piece of England!”
Tom laughed. “Surely you mean the detectorists in your little club are a close-knit bunch, Eric. The little club which is full to capacity, and definitely has no room for one more person — especially a beginner who owns a top of the range detector, which just so happens to be better than everyone else's in the club, giving him the chance to outshine the veteran members and embarrass them with his superior finds!”
Eric took a deep breath in, and puffed out his chest. “It was nothing to do with the fact that you had purchased a Garrett ATX Extreme Pulse Induction metal detector, Tom Temples! The club was full when you applied to join last week. The Spellbinder Sand Diggers was at full capacity, Tom! The committee had a meeting, and decided they couldn’t allow you to join due to overpopulation in the ranks, not because you own a machine which costs the same as a small used family car!” He glanced at Millie, and lowered his voice. “It is a good machine, though. I’ll say that much.”
“Full to capacity? Committee meeting?” laughed Tom. “There’s only three of you in that club, you daft old sod!”
Eric shuffled his feet, and looked at the floor. When he lifted his face, he was forcing a smile. “Tom Temples,” he said. “I’m here on behalf of The Spellbinder Sand Diggers. It would be my pleasure to offer you a place in our club! We’ve made space for one more member! Welcome aboard, old chap!”
Millie spotted movement through the window behind Tom, the uppermost portion pushed open to allow a cooling breeze into the room.
A checkered flat cap and a bright red baseball cap ducked out of sight as Millie smiled at their owners. “Are they with you, Eric?” she said. “It seems like they are.”
Eric waved a frustrated hand at the window. “I told them to stay out of sight!”
“Well, I’m glad the whole club is here,” said Tom, turning in his seat and rapping on the glass with his knuckles. “Hello?” he yelled, “are you there? We know you are!”
The two caps appeared slowly, the flat one adorning the head of a pensionable aged gentlemen, and the baseball cap teetering on the skull of a younger man with curly black hair. They nodded in unison.
“Can you hear me from out there?” demanded Tom.
The two heads nodded once more. “Just about,” said the older man. “I’d appreciate it if you could speak up just a little, though. My ears aren’t as good as they once were. The doctor says it’s age related, but my wife insists some warm olive oil will sort it out.”
Tom sighed. “Try the oil.” He stared at Eric. “Thank you for the offer, members of The Spellbinder Sand Diggers,” he said, his voice raised. “But I’d rather douse my testicles in cheap brandy and set fire to them, than join your club of losers! You’ll never know where I found my gold, and there’s plenty more wh
ere it came from, too! I didn’t tell Pawn Shop Pete where I’d found it, so good luck searching — it’s a very big beach, and I’ll have emptied the hot-spot of gold before you get anywhere near it!”
Eric bristled with rage, and Millie took a nervous step away from him. “How dare you!” he yelled. “You’ll regret not taking us up on our offer! We’ll find out where you found that gold, Tom Temples! You mark my words! You’ve messed with the wrong club! We’re not the softies from The Bexington Beach Burrowers — we’re The Spellbinder Sand Diggers! And we don’t mess around! You’d better watch your back!”
“Okay! That’s enough,” said Stan, hurrying across the pub floor and grabbing Eric’s elbow in a large hand. “We can accept a little shouting in The Fur and Fangs, but we do not accept threats towards our patrons! It’s time for you to leave!”
“You get a badge, Tom — when you join!” urged Eric. “And a free cup of coffee or tea, with a biscuit, at meetings! A homemade biscuit! Often with a choice of raisins or chocolate chips! Sometimes both, Tom. Sometimes both!”
“No thank you,” retorted Tom. “I can buy all the biscuits and badges I like from now on!”
Eric allowed himself to be escorted to the door as the rest of the customers looked on. As Stan pushed the door open, and guided the grumbling man through it, Eric gave one final warning. “Watch your back, Tom Temples! Watch your back! You’ve been warned!”
“Sorry about that, ladies and gents,” said Stan, as the door slammed shut. “Now he’s out of the way, let’s have a little quiz!”
“Gold fever,” said Tom, over the excited chatter of the other customers. “An awful thing.”
“Are you okay?” said Millie. “You look a little shaken.”
Tom smiled. “I’m fine. Now off you go, and enjoy your quiz, young lady. I’ll finish my sandwich and go home for an early night — I’m going back into the dunes at sunrise tomorrow, before those idiots do manage to find my spot.”
“I know it!” said Millie. “I actually know it!”
George scratched his nose. “Are you sure? This could win it for us. I haven’t seen any of the other teams write an answer with any confidence.”
Millie took a gulp of beer and wiped her mouth. “I spoke to Aunty Hannah on the phone yesterday,” she began.
“In Australia!” said Judith.
“Yes,” said Millie, “and after I’d spoken to her and Uncle James, they put Peter on the phone! He’s settling into his new country wonderfully, and he loves school! He’s only six, but he’s really bright — he told me all about what they were learning regarding the history of Australia, and he was very proud that he knew the name of the first Prime Minister!” She cupped her hand around George’s ear, and whispered. “Edmund Barton. Write it down.”
George put pen to paper, his pupils dilating as he looked at Millie. “Are you sure? This could win it for us.”
“I trust my little nephew,” said Millie. “Write it down. We’ll win the star prize! We’ll win the turkey crown from Edward and Son’s Butchers, and the free pint of ale each from the Fur and Fangs microbrewery range — prize not transferable to outside brewery supplied ales.”
George scribbled on the paper. “Say what you want, but it’s better than last month’s prize — a basket of scented candles and a sandwich each.”
“Prize not transferable to the hot food menu!” laughed Judith.
“I’m glad we didn’t win last month,” smiled George. “But I’d like tonight’s prize.”
George lifted his head as a girl seated at a table near the fireplace called his name. “Got the answer?” she teased. “How about you share it with us? We’d make it worth your while!”
The four women at the table burst into laughter, making George smile. “I’m sorry ladies,” he said, “you’re on your own — I want the prize tonight! You know I’m a wee bit partial to a nice plump bird!”
The girls broke into another round of laughter, their eyes fixed firmly on George. Millie had become accustomed to girls taking a fancy to George, but for a reason she couldn’t quite put a finger on, she didn’t much like it.
She stared at George. “What terrible flirting. That was embarrassing. And probably sexist. Is one of those girls your nurse?”
George displayed his white teeth in an over-exaggerated grin, his eyes dancing with fun. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Like I said earlier, you have your secret, and I have mine.”
“You all heard my secret!” said Millie, fixing George with a scowl. “The whole pub heard the argument about Tom’s gold! That was my secret.”
Running a hand through his thick dark hair, George sat back in his seat and handed the team’s sheet of paper to Mary as she passed their table, collecting quiz answers. “Maybe I like having a secret,” he said.
Millie narrowed her eyes. “Fair enough,” she conceded. “Keep your secret. I don’t care.”
George smiled. “I know that stare, Millie Thorn,” he said. “Are you trying to read my thoughts?”
“No, George Brown,” she said, quickly tuning out of the signals she was receiving from numerous sources in the room. “I promised I wouldn’t attempt to read anyone’s thoughts unless it was important. Your thoughts are safe in your head.” She gulped two fingers of beer. “They’re probably better off trapped inside that thick skull than they are let loose in public, anyway.”
George drained the last of his beer, and laughed. “Good,” he said. “I don’t want my juicy secret getting out.”
“Children!” snapped Judith. “Quit the bickering. Stan’s about to read out the answers and announce the winners.”
Stan stood at the bar reading out the answers, to groans and excited muttering from the assembled teams, and when he announced The Dazzling Duo as the winners, the other teams gave a polite round of applause as Judith collected the turkey crown and three vouchers for a free pint of beer.
“Thank you!” she shouted, as she made her way back to the table, plopping the wrapped meat in front of Millie as she sat down. “There,” she said. “You take it home… that fridge of yours needs some healthy food in it, and I thought maybe you’d like to invite your fellow pub quiz team members for a meal at your cottage?”
“That would be nice!” said George. “Will there be roast potatoes?”
“And cranberry sauce?” said Judith. “You can’t have turkey without cranberry sauce.”
Rolling her eyes, Millie smiled. “Do you two fancy coming to mine for a meal on Wednesday night? I’m doing turkey with cranberry sauce and roast potatoes.”
“That would be splendid,” said George. “I’ll put it in my diary.”
“Diary!” laughed Judith. “Since when does a man who spends most of his days whizzing around the countryside on his motorbike need a diary? People with jobs and responsibilities need diaries — not wealthy vampire gallivants!”
“Don’t pick on me,” smiled George. “Anyway, Millie could be accused of the same thing. She hasn’t done anything meaningful with her life since arriving in Spellbinder Bay!”
Millie tossed a beer mat at George. “Apart from solving a murder,” she said. “That was pretty meaningful. And the very fact that I live in this town is the reason that the door to The Chaos remains sealed. My magical energy is quite meaningful, it seems.”
“You don’t need to do anything, though,” said George. “The door to the other dimension remains sealed because you come from the same bloodline of witches who sealed it in the first place. It takes no effort on your behalf. And anyway, it’s never been fully sealed… things still sneak through every so often. When I say meaningful, I mean… meaningful — as in something that will fill your life with meaning.”
“I’ve been learning magic,” said Millie. “That’s meaningful. I’ve spent hours in the cavern beneath my cottage, trying to fix the magic I broke in Lillieth’s dress.”
“Any progress?” said Judith.
“I think so,” said Millie. “But I need Lillieth to come back
to the bay before I can test it. Mermaids are rare, it’s not like I can fish one out of the sea, ask her to try the dress on, and see if she grows legs.”
“She’ll come back when she’s ready,” said George. “Then you can test her dress, and offer her your newly acquired lighthouse to live in, which is a very kind gesture in my opinion.”
“I feel sorry for her,” said Millie. “We accused her of murder, and I ruined her magic dress, and she said even when she wears the dress, she never feels safe enough to venture far away from the sea. What better place for her to live in than a lighthouse which is as close to the sea as you can be without being in it?”
“It’s very kind of you, Millie,” said Judith. “I’m sure Lillieth will be grateful, but George has a point — you have all that money, yet the only impressive thing you’ve bought with it is a car, and you spend your days in your cottage or on the beach. I think it would be good for you to have a purpose. Have you thought any more about what Henry suggested? Joining me?”
“Being a part-time teacher in Spellbinder Hall?” said Millie. “I don’t know. You enjoy doing it because you’ve had your magic for a lot longer than me, Judith. You’re better at it. What can I possibly teach paranormal kids that their own parents haven’t already taught them?”
“It’s not just paranormal stuff they learn,” said Judith. “And it’s not just witches you’ll be teaching — they don’t all need to learn magic. You have plenty of life experience which would benefit them, and you make a mean cake. You could teach them how to bake! The school has the facilities for cookery lessons, but they haven’t been used in years. Not since Marjory Timkins developed witch dementia and turned herself into a soufflé mix in front of a class of nine-year-olds.”
“Oh no!” said Millie. “Was she okay?”
“She would have been,” said Judith, her eyes dropping to her drink. “But one of the kids thought it would be funny to put her in the oven. Gas mark seven. She was in there for eleven minutes before another teacher popped into the classroom and removed her. It was too late to save her, though.”
