Sealfinger (Sam Applewhite Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  Sam took out her phone and played with the drone app to see, just out of curiosity, if she could get it to have a closer look.

  “Shore View,” said Rich, still lurking. “That’s Jacinda Frost’s new development.”

  Sam felt a small but unshakeable annoyance at Rich. Their relationship had been some time ago now and although she hadn’t exactly returned to Skegness to get away from Rich, there was a part of her that felt it was unfair he had somehow followed her here.

  “You are well up on local business affairs,” she said.

  “Thinking of reinvesting in the local area. Got my eye on some property opportunities.”

  “Going to buy a caravan park?” she said.

  “Actually, got my eye on something much much bigger.” He put his arms on her shoulders and turned her towards the sea, pointing. “Buying myself some real estate out there.”

  Sam squinted. “You’re buying a wind farm?”

  “Further out. Got big dreams.”

  Sam shrugged. There were no islands between here and the European mainland. Wind farms, oil rigs and gas platforms, but nothing else. Unless he meant he was planning on buying Belgium.

  “Hope it makes you happy.”

  He touched his shell necklace. “Material things don’t make you happy,” he said.

  “Try telling that to homeless people. I need to get on.” She went to check on the offenders she was supposed to be overseeing.

  Stacey’s part of the beach was looking very clear. Sam nodded with approval, but then paused. It wasn’t just good and clear, it was utterly empty. The line of tidal detritus Sam had seen before had disappeared. She went to find Stacey.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Fine,” panted Stacey. “Filled six bags so far. Stacked them over there.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Sam opened the bag that Stacey had at her feet. There was a sodden pile of seaweed in the bottom. “You know you don’t have to clear up the seaweed, don’t you?”

  “We’re cleaning the beach, ain’t we?” said Stacey. “Disgusting. Shouldn’t be allowed where kiddies play.”

  While Stacey went full tilt at stripping the beach, the Odinsons cleared their sections with a slovenly fatalism. Greg Mandyke trudged on the shoreline, bag and picker in hand.

  Delia and Rich walked along the high water line, dolls loaded in Delia’s eccentric backpack. It was clear Delia had already taken on more dolls than she could easily manage. The lobster pot was full, with dolls sticking out everywhere, as if Delia had rammed them into every gap, twisting them so that they stayed in place. Rich had a miniature mountain of them on the sledge he pulled for her. Delia’s current problem clearly stemmed from the fact she could no longer get her lobster pot rucksack onto her back. The Odinson girl, Hilde, had even dug a small pit in the sand so that Delia could stand a bit lower and hitch it onto her shoulders, but it wasn’t working.

  “Can I help?” Sam asked.

  “The more the merrier,” said Rich.

  Sam grunted as she lifted Delia’s pot the crucial extra few inches, so that Delia could fasten her shoulder straps.

  “Yes!” shouted Delia, as she got it secured. She took one step and promptly fell over backwards. “Bugger.”

  She wriggled over onto her front and tried to stand up. Rich extended a hand and Delia got cautiously to her knees.

  “I know what it needs,” said Hilde Odinson.

  “Yes?” said Delia.

  “It needs balancing out. I’ve got some elastic bands. I’ve a plan.”

  The plan turned out to be using the rake as a balancing pole. It was strung with pairs of dolls at either end, fastened together with an elastic band, and suspended like an old-style butcher’s display from the rake’s shaft.

  “That actually works,” said Delia. “Very clever.”

  “I likes making things,” said Hilde and went on with her duties.

  “Nice girl,” said Delia.

  “Doing community payback,” Sam reminded her.

  “What for?”

  Sam tried to recall. Specific offences didn’t always come with the paperwork. “Stealing telegraph poles.”

  “Out of the ground?”

  “Before they were put up. I believe her defence was she didn’t know anybody wanted them.”

  The sledge was piled with dolls, so as Delia trudged slowly across the beach, she had Capitalist Whores hanging from every part of her body as Rich pulled another large load of them behind her. Delia occasionally staggered from side to side in order to maintain balance, but she mostly kept moving forward.

  “So, is this how multi-millionaires spend their time these days?” Sam asked Rich.

  “Labels don’t define me,” said Rich serenely.

  There was a panicked shout. “Help! Help!”

  Stacey stood up at the highest part of the beach, not far from the ugly cluster of dunes, hands clutched in her hair like a Hammer Horror scream queen.

  Sam hurried forward. Rich ran beside her, leaving his doll toboggan with Delia.

  “She’s not drowning,” Sam gasped as she jogged.

  “Damsel in distress though.”

  Sam didn’t want to turn the race to get to Stacey into a competition, but she sped up, not wishing Rich to get there first. By the time they got to Stacey, Sam was on the verge of collapse. She heaved in great lungfuls of air, while pretending not to be out of breath.

  “Stay back!” Stacey was wild-eyed. She stood in a wide-legged stance and held her hands high, not wanting anyone to mistake what she was saying. “I think it’s a landmine!”

  Sam and Rich looked down at the sand three feet in front of her. There was a small round object, with a dusting of sand across it, embedded in the beach. From what Sam could see it was a dull black colour, with a flat circular top, and tiny concentric ridges stepping slightly down into the ground.

  “It’s just a lid or something, isn’t it?” said Sam.

  “Don’t be complacent,” said Rich. “Think like that and then it’s step, click, boom. We need to call this in.”

  Stacey’s shouts had drawn in the other members of the beach clearing party. A couple of men had come running down from the Shore View site.

  “Can everyone stay back please,” said Sam. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “It’s a landmine,” said Rich.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh, suddenly she’s the landmine police too,” muttered Greg, loud enough to be heard from a safe distance.

  “Right, I’m not the landmine police.” She sighed and wondered if DefCon4 had bomb disposal as one of its listed services. It seemed possible.

  Stacey was starting to video the scene. The Odinsons appeared to be taking bets.

  One of the men from the site was drifting towards them. He approached Sam. “What’s the situation?”

  “It’s —” She recognised him as the guy from the StoreWatch evening. “Jimmy.”

  49

  “Hey up, Sam.” Jimmy gave Little Miss Marvellous a smile and nodded at the half-buried thing in the sand.

  “Almost certainly not a landmine—” said Sam.

  Landmine. Jimmy heard the word and it had no impact on him. After the week he’d had, nothing had the power to shock him any more.

  “—Although I really don’t know what it is,” Sam finished.

  The curly-haired lifeguard chap spoke up, zipping his phone back into a pocket. “I have alerted the authorities and they are sending someone. They have asked us to clearly mark the position of the suspect object, then to retreat to a safe distance.”

  “What a good plan, Rich,” said Sam. “Everyone, up to the dunes. I’ll find something to mark the spot.”

  “I worked in Senegal with some of the charities who clear land mines,” said Rich the lifeguard. “The advice given there is for whoever discovers the mine to mark its position with a pair of branches, or something that will stick up from the ground.”

>   “Heads up, Saxon,” said a red-headed Odinson girl and tossed something to Rich. It was a Capital Whore doll. The damned things filled the litter pickers’ bags. They seemed to be bloody everywhere.

  “That’ll do nicely,” said Rich and stabbed the Capitalist Whore into the ground. If the circular device was a landmine, he did it too close and forcefully for comfort. But nothing exploded.

  “There,” said Sam, “Landmine Clearing Barbie is on duty now. Up to the dunes.”

  The party trudged up to the level of the grassy dunes. Jimmy walked with them and stayed close to Sam.

  “You know, I can’t see why there’d be a landmine on this coastline,” he said.

  “Exploded ordnance all the way up and down this coast,” said Rich.

  “Sure,” said Jimmy. “Old World War Two bombs, and the RAF bombing ranges.” He thought of the area to the rear of the Frost house, of Yngve Odinson’s favourite dumping spot.

  “Exactly,” said Rich.

  “Not landmines,” said Jimmy.

  “You’d be surprised,” said Rich.

  “I would.”

  The group plonked themselves among the brittle dry grasses of the dune.

  “This delay counts towards us hours, don’t it?” said a young Odinson.

  “It better,” said a man.

  Jimmy realised it was Greg Mandyke. Builder, businessman, access road denier. Jimmy grunted in amusement. So much for wriggling out of community service. “Morning, Greg,” he said.

  Greg Mandyke gave Jimmy a begrudging head nod of greeting.

  So Greg Mandyke was reduced to picking up rubbish for the courts. He was barefoot as well, which somehow tickled Jimmy.

  Greg followed his gaze. “Crap. I’ve left my espadrilles down there.”

  Sam was looking down the beach. “Delia…!”

  On an otherwise deserted beach, a woman with a huge rucksack thing and heavy pole was trudging on the wet sand. She struggling with her burden and making her way up the beach.

  “She doesn’t know,” said Sam. She started down the slope of the dunes to call to her, warn her. “Delia!” Sam shouted, waving her hands.

  The woman, Delia, waved back like it was a greeting and made directly towards Sam.

  “Delia!” Sam waved more vigorously and ran.

  Running was a bad idea, thought Jimmy but said nothing. To confirm it, near the base of the dune slope, Sam stumbled.

  The reflexes of the human body are a remarkable thing. The speed and mental agility needed to, say, catch a thrown object or run over uneven ground was something robots and computers struggled to emulate. The body’s ability to respond to emergencies, at speeds faster than conscious though, was something quite special. The human body was also capable of acts of automatic stupidity. When stumbling towards danger, while the conscious mind could recognise that simply dropping to the ground was the fastest way to stop, the body’s in-built reaction was to trying to correct and compensate.

  Sam stumbled towards the landmine. Her knee gave way and she stumbled further, step after desperate step, flailing. Eventually, she pitched forward into the sand. She landed heavily, pretty much right in front of the Capitalist Whore doll they’d shoved in the sand.

  “Oops,” said Jimmy.

  Sam froze in a prone position.

  Rich began to run down to her. Jimmy found himself tagging along. “Don’t move!” he shouted.

  “I think I’m on the device!” Sam called back.

  “I think you’re on the mine!” shouted Rich.

  Jimmy skidded to a halt at her side.

  “Try not to move,” said Rich.

  “Gee, really?” mumbled Sam.

  Jimmy walked round, taking stock of which parts of her were touching the ground. Her forearms were supporting her top half, but her chest was very slightly elevated. Her left leg was in full contact with the beach, but her right leg and hip were twisted slightly away.

  “Where exactly is it, in relation to my body?” she asked.

  Jimmy continued to circle as he peered down at her.

  “What’s going on?” said the woman, Delia, approaching.

  “Get her away!” Sam hissed.

  Rich was on his phone, urgently calling someone. Jimmy didn’t much care what he did as long as he didn’t do anything stupid.

  “I would say that it’s underneath your face,” said Jimmy slowly.

  “You what?” she grunted against the sand.

  “Stay very still. You should resist the temptation to have a look.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I might be wrong.”

  He crouched down beside her. He wasn’t frightened. He could no longer recall the last time he was truly frightened.

  Here was the woman who, according to Jacinda, was the only one showing an interest in the death of Mrs Skipworth. Here she was, prone and helpless. And if there was a landmine underneath her…? Well, that would certainly be a solution to the problem. In truth, Jimmy wouldn’t really mind if the landmine went off right now, killing them both. A split second of heat, they probably wouldn’t even hear the bang. It had a definite appeal.

  “I want to move,” said Sam. “I’ve got cramp. We need to do something.”

  “I’m on the line to someone now,” said Rich.

  “Jimmy,” Sam breathed. She sounded tired. “I’ve got an idea. Slide your phone under my face and take a picture. We can see if anything’s there.”

  It sounded like a monumentally bad idea. An invitation to set the device off.

  “Okay,” said Jimmy. He took out his phone. “Let me take a picture right next to your face. We might be able to see what’s underneath.”

  “Please.”

  Jimmy moved closer and crouched right down beside her head until he could smell her hair, the floral shampoo she’d washed it with. He brought his phone closer to her cheek.

  “Flash or no flash?” he said.

  “I don’t care!”

  “Close your eyes then.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Right, let’s see,” he said. “Huh—”

  “‘Huh’ what?” said Sam.

  “Lincolnshire police bomb disposal are on their way,” said Rich.

  “‘Huh’ what?” repeated Sam impatiently.

  Jimmy looked at the image. “I can confirm your face is just above the thing. It’s got writing on it that I can see from the side. Promatic? Hang on.”

  “Oh, I’m hanging,” she said, anger masking her panic.

  Jimmy googled on his phone. “I think it’s safe.”

  “Safe how?” she said.

  “Let’s not be hasty,” said Rich. “This thing could go off in our—” He snapped his mouth shut.

  “Faces,” said Sam. “You were going to say faces.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” Jimmy assured them.

  “You sure?”

  “It’s a clay pigeon.”

  “A clay pigeon?”

  “Yeah.” He looked back to Shore View and thought of Jacinda and her dad. They probably weren’t the only ones to have used this spot for some illicit shooting practice. He angled the phone to show her the picture he’d taken. It featured a large, unflattering profile of Sam’s cheek and nose. The disc below had lettering around the centre: Promatic.

  Sam took a deep breath. “Right, stand back, just in case.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?” said Rich. “Because it wouldn’t be beyond credibility for a munitions manufacturer to make both mines and shooting equipment.”

  Sam straightened up, gasping with relief. She looked at the thing in the sand and blew gently on its surface. Jimmy could see the lettering clearly now. Sam pulled it out of the sand and scrambled to her feet, holding it high.

  “It’s all right everyone! Not a landmine!” She dropped the clay pigeon into one of the nearby black bags.

  “You all right?” asked Jimmy.

  “Never better,” said Sam, stretching. Her face was white, though. It reminded Jim
my of Wayne’s ghastly complexion.

  “You know, you look like you could do with a drink,” he said.

  “Bit early for alcohol, isn’t it?”

  “I was thinking a cup of tea. But sure, whatever you fancy.”

  She gestured at the community payback group, who were slowly, reluctantly, getting to their feet. “I’ve got this lot to deal with.”

  “Their time’s not up yet?” he said.

  “Did you say our time was up?” Greg called down from the dunes.

  “I did not!” Sam shouted back. She looked at Jimmy. “You seem to know that guy.”

  He shrugged. “Greg Mandyke. Builder. Semi-retired, I think.”

  “Really? He said he was allergic to cement dust.”

  “Is that so?” said Jimmy archly. “Almost as if he was trying to get out of doing his community service. And after the way he treated that customer.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  “Over-charging for a simple extension and then – what’s the phrase? – demanding money with menaces when they couldn’t pay up.”

  Her mouth set in a hard line. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He watched her stomp back up the dunes. Jimmy returned to Shore View, cutting across the dunes at an angle. Jacinda stood at the edge of the levelled site, watching him with a fixed scowl.

  “Got time to play on the beach?” she said sarcastically.

  Jimmy returned her snide expression. “That,” he said, pointing back, “is Sam Applewhite. She’s the one you said was looking into that ‘business’ at Welton?”

  Jacinda looked at the group on the sand. “And?”

  “Maybe I’ll go on the charm offensive and find out what she knows.”

  50

  Greg was complaining loudly about something as Sam approached, but she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care about him personally, and she’d had more than enough of the community payback session. She could legitimately end the day’s activities when they got back to the car park. She would sign them all off and everyone could go home.

  “He’s got them!” Greg said, stabbing a finger in Ogendus Odinson’s chest. “He’s got my espadrilles!”