In Brenda’s opinion, they were a couple of old fusspots, but there was no doubting their devotion to each other, and to charitable causes.
They greeted Stewart and Brenda with broad smiles, and Brenda returned a catty stare. “I assume you found your giant of the sky, Les, Sylvia?”
Les was immediately flummoxed. “I’m sorry?”
“You know. The next clue in the treasure hunt.”
Sylvia gushed. “Oh, no. We’re not doing the treasure hunt, dear.”
Brenda frowned. “But I’m sure I saw Les pay your entry fee.”
Les bestowed a benign smile upon them. “Yes, we did register, but Sylvia made it clear that she couldn’t cope with all the walking. It is, after all, for charity, isn’t it? And we look upon the twenty-five pound entry fee as a donation.”
Brenda felt a rush of guilt, it was obvious from Dalmer’s face, that he felt it too. “My apologies, Les. I just assumed… I’m sorry.”
“I take it you’re having trouble with one of the clues,” Sylvia said.
“Pity Murray isn’t with you.” Les invariably reserved his most cynical observations for Joe. “He’s supposed to be the bees knees at cracking this kind of cryptic business.”
“I’m not sure you’d be able to get this one, Les. It talks about giants of the sky, and the only thing we can think of is planets, which means we’ve got to get to an observatory outside town. And yet, Lucas Wrigglesworth—”
Tanner interrupted Dalmer with a demeaning gleam in his eye. “If you’d been in the army, you’d think differently. To me, for instance, a giant of the sky would be a C130, transport, or a Galaxy bomber.”
Dalmer and Brenda exchanged more glances.
“But we’ve never been in the army, so…” Now Brenda trailed off, her mind working on the possible interpretations. “So what would the civilian version of this bomber be?”
Les smiled. “A large aircraft? A Boeing 747, for example, or an Airbus 380.” He took Sylvia’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re on our way back over the bridge, and a little bakery in one of the backstreets where they serve the most delightful almond tarts.”
They watched the couple meander across the bridge, and then consulted the clue again.
“Would you know an Airbus 380 from a Sopwith Camel?” Dalmer asked.
“No.” Brenda was most definite. “But I would know a Boeing 747, the original jumbo jet. It has that little bump on top at the front, where the first-class seats are located.” She re-read the clue for the third time. “But according to this, it’s so black and small.”
Dalmer’s brow creased once more. “A small jet aero… Of course. Jet. Whitby’s famous for it. Whitby jet. It’s as black as coal.” He pointed along Sandgate. “If we wander up there, Brenda, we’ll find shops that specialise in ornaments carved from Whitby jet. It has to be one of those.”
***
It was after 10 o’clock when Joe finally crawled out of bed, followed a few minutes later by Maddy. By the time they reached the main bar, where Wrigglesworth was installed, it was declared too late for them to start on the second day of the treasure hunt.
“I’m saying this as I shouldn’t,” Wrigglesworth declared, “but today’s schedule is spread over a much larger area, and at this time of day, Joe, you just won’t get through the crowds. I’ll refund of your money if—”
Joe interrupted. “I’m not bothered about the money. Tell you what, Lucas, we’ve already paid for them, so give us a copy of today’s clues. At least it’ll give us something to occupy our tiny minds while we wait for the police to clear up this murder.”
Wrigglesworth appeared suitably shocked. “You only get one clue. The others are pinned up at the different locations as you go round.”
“I know that, but you must have a list of all of them. Come on, man, it’s not like we’re taking part anymore, is it?”
Wrigglesworth conceded the point and began the search through his morass of paperwork. As he did so, he asked absently, “Are the police making any progress on this Kim Ashton business?”
“Yes. They arrested Joe and me for breaking and entering last night.”
Wrigglesworth almost dropped his papers, he was so shocked at Maddy’s admission. He handed a copy of the clues to Joe, and begged Maddy for more information, and between them, Joe and Maddy recounted their night’s adventures. When they had finished, Wrigglesworth shook his head sadly.
“Someone’s obviously heard that she was dead and decided to chance their arm.”
Joe looked up from the clues. “You think so? We think there’s an alternative explanation. Someone was looking to get rid of something in Kim’s possession, something that might interest the police.” He stood up and Maddy joined him. “Whatever it was about, I’m sure we’ll get to know eventually. Catch you later, Lucas.”
They ambled out into the warm, summer sunshine, and found a spare bench by the Cook monument.
“Why did you tell him that, Joe?” Maddy asked. “We really shouldn’t be talking about the suspects. In some peoples’ minds, any hint of wrongdoing is tantamount to guilt.”
“Yes, I know. But if you watched his reactions, you could see that Wrigglesworth doesn’t think he’s a suspect, whereas I think he is.”
Maddy considered the proposition for a moment. “Except that he’s not six feet ten or three feet three.”
Joe smiled slyly. “I don’t think that’s indicative, do you?”
“You don’t?”
Joe did not answer. Instead he read from the clues. “At a tribute to the head chef, but not around Eve, the writing’s on the wall, tis a puzzling plot we weave. The Cook Museum, obviously. I’ll bet Brenda and Stewart Dalmer are past that and onto the next clue, something to do with large jet aircraft.”
Maddy flounced to her feet. “There are times, Joe Murray, when you are completely impossible. And if you’re looking for jet aircraft, does it mean aircraft powered by jet engines, or aircraft made from Whitby jet?”
Joe grinned at her. “Probably both.”
“In that case, we need to look at the souvenir shops on Sandgate and Church Street, around the market area. Come on.”
With Joe chuckling to himself as he followed her, she led the way to the steep descent from the whalebone arch.
As they battled their way through the crowded pavements along the dock and riverside, Joe realised that Wrigglesworth had a point. This was Whitby in peak season, and it was every bit as popular, every bit as busy as Blackpool, Bournemouth, Benidorm. He and Maddy had returned a competitive time the previous day, but thanks to their overnight antics, and the punctilious efficiency of the local police, they had missed the early start they so desperately needed, the early start everyone else from the hotel had got.
Across the swing bridge, they turned left into the narrow Sandgate, and shuffled along between the various shops, checking out those which sold ornaments carved from Whitby jet. At this hour of the day the street was closed to all traffic, even delivery vehicles, and the pedestrians inevitably took advantage of that, packing the street, moving in random directions, and forcing everyone to take part in a game of random, human billiards, desperate to avoid collision with others, just as desperate to see what the different shops had on offer.
Less than 100 yards in, the street opened out onto the market square, a familiar enough sight for anyone who watched occasional series that were filmed in the area for British television, and it was here that Joe struck gold.
In the display window of a shop which specialised in Whitby jet, amongst the more conventional items for sale, most of them earrings or cameo brooches, was a cartoon-ish model of a Boeing 747, its four engines hanging on stubby wings projecting from the inflated body, and alongside its price tag of £299 was the treasure hunt card pointing them to the next location.
It’s always here to aid
In times of stress, man made
But will this vital spark
Point to your next mark?
&
nbsp; Joe checked the clue against the sheet Wrigglesworth had given him, and Maddy smiled knowingly to herself. “The lifeboat station.”
Joe was at once puzzled and impressed. “You’ve had time to think about that since we left the Westhead, but go on, indulge me. How do you know?”
She nodded towards the tables and seats in the open market square. “Let’s get a cup of coffee and I’ll explain.”
Chapter Eleven
They settled at a vacant table, Joe signalled for the waitress, and while they waited for her attention, Maddy explained her rapid deduction.
“Have you ever read any Neil Munro? The tales of Para Handy and his Clyde puffer, The Vital Spark?”
The waitress attended them, Joe ordered coffee and a soft drink, whereupon Maddy changed her mind and asked for a soft drink, too. The waitress went away, and Joe focused his attention on Maddy. “Never read them. But I think I remember a TV series, a comedy series or something about them.”
“That’s the one. That’s the key to the clue, Joe. Vital Spark. We’re looking for a boat. And if we read the rest of the clue, what kind of boat is there to assist in man-made stress? Or should that read man-made emergencies?” She held up her hands palms open facing upwards, and answered her own question. “The lifeboat.” Now she waved somewhere down to the right. “You follow a maze of little streets along that way, and it’s down at the water’s edge.”
Joe checked the time; 10:45. “I reckon, Brenda and Stewart will be down there now, and then they’ll turn their attention to the next clue.”
The attendant delivered their drinks, he paid for them, and took out the sheet of clues, and read the next one.
From the top
None ties Pennines
You don’t want the top
You’ll find the bottom fine
It did not take him long to solve. “None ties Pennines is an anagram,” he said. “One, nine, nine steps.”
Maddy understood at once. “The steps from the town up to the Abbey.”
Joe nodded, and moved on to the final clue.
Your final destination
After all you gave
Find your lucky number
You nave.
“The Abbey,” Maddy said. “It has to be. And look at the way ‘nave’ is spelled.”
“A bit draughty with no glass in the windows,” Joe chuckled. He took out his mobile phone and rang Brenda. It took her a few moments to answer. “Where are you?”
“Is it any business of yours? We’re competitors, remember.”
“Not any more. Maddy and I have been forced to drop out.”
Brenda laughed. “Come off it, Joe. You’re talking to someone who knows you.”
“I mean it.” He clucked impatiently. “All right, let me take a skilled detective’s guess at where you are. The lifeboat station.” The silence which greeted his assertion told him he had got it right. “Maddy and I are sat outside enjoying the sunshine at a café in the market square. We’ll wait there for you.” He cut the call and reported to Maddy.
Like Brenda, she laughed. “It takes a real friend to know you that well, Joe.”
She lapsed into silent contemplation, and they passed the next few minutes watching the comings and goings of shoppers around the market square. Julia and Alec Staines passed, and as fellow treasure hunters, they were presumably on their way to the lifeboat station. Joe waved, and Alec gave him a cheerful wave back.
“Good looking couple,” Maddy commented. “Surely they can’t be desperate to win the treasure hunt?”
Joe was momentarily lost in a welter of memories of teenage days when he and Alec had been in competition for Julia’s attention. He often wondered how his life would have turned out had he won that battle, but on the other hand, his ingrained knowledge of himself and his friends, the Staineses included, told him that he and Julia would not have lasted long. A good-looking, choosy woman like that would want more in the way of fine furnishings and foreign holidays than the workaholic Joe Murray would have been ready to provide.
“Julia represents one of life’s might have beens,” he said. “And Alec’s business does well. They won’t be interested in a free weekend in Whitby. They’re in it for the fun.”
Silence fell again, each of them basking in the sunshine, meandering through their own thoughts. Joe’s febrile concentration batted backwards and forwards between the nights of raw passion spent with Maddy, and the previous night of ultimate discomfort in a police cell, accused of a crime he had not committed. He craved more of the former and less of the latter.
“Ben Foster.”
The youngster’s name snapped Joe out of his semi-trance and he looked urgently around the crowds in the square. “Where?”
“I didn’t mean he was here.” Maddy managed a soft chuckle. “I mean, what was he playing at last night? Would he have enough of a motive to murder Kim?”
Joe strummed his fingers on his lips. “He clearly didn’t like Kim. Maybe he felt that she came between his mother and father. But the problem with that argument is, it’s been the situation for… how many years? So what we have to do is look for the particular spark that tipped the scales yesterday. What pushed him over the top?”
As if she had given further thought to her initial proposition, Maddy said, “He’s not really tall enough, anyway, is he?”
Joe dismissed the idea. “That’s irrelevant. Anyone could have done it.”
“But Inspector Dalkeith said—”
“Inspector Dalkeith is talking out of her backside.” Joe fulminated for a moment. “Detective? Couldn’t detect a smell in a bunged-up bog.” He took a gulp of cola, savouring the refreshing bite to the back of his parched throat. “Think of it like this, Maddy. Kim is hassling someone, they get down on their knees, begging, she turns her back and ignores them, and they bring a knife down overhead, sink it into her back. Is that more likely than your seven-foot giant or three-foot dwarf?”
“But you haven’t told Helen Dalkeith that.”
“She’s a detective. She should be able to work it out for herself.”
Maddy smiled knowingly. “Especially after locking us up like that last night.”
Joe did not reply, but a rapid analysis of his feelings told him that Maddy was on the mark as usual.
He had promised himself that he would attend this weekend and no matter what happened, he would let nothing detract from his enjoyment of the company of Maddy and his friends from the 3rd Age Club. And yet, here he was, embroiled in another murder investigation. Worse, in the eyes of the police, he was as suspect as everyone else, and because of them, he had been thrown off the treasure hunt.
***
It was Dalmer who had seen the model Boeing 747 in the window of the Whitby Jet emporium, and likewise it was Dalmer who had solved the location of the next clue, the lifeboat station. With only three clues to go, Brenda was getting more excited, more convinced that they were going to win.
The lifeboat station was located on Abbey Wharf, and not to be confused with the lifeboat museum on the opposite side of the river. A fully operational sea rescue service with a number of boats, including an inshore D-class inflatable, they were called out to every kind of incident in nearby waters; everything and anything from emergencies on seagoing vessels to people trapped on the beaches, cut off by the tides.
The Trent class lifeboat (capable of 25 knots according to Dalmer) was moored at its station, rocking gently on the soft swell of the summer tide, and the treasure hunt note containing the next clue was to be found pinned to the station wall when they arrived at the jetty. Dalmer took the necessary photograph, Brenda made a note of the clue, and it was as they were trying to work out where it would take them, that Joe rang.
After the brief sparring, Brenda killed her phone, and was about to bring Dalmer up to speed, when she noticed that he was concentrating on the opposite side of the river.
“Summat wrong?”
He did not answer immediately. Instead he dug
into his rucksack and came out with a small pair of binoculars, which he put to his eye.
“It’s Sheila. And like Joe told you, she’s getting hassle from some… Well, I won’t say tramp, because his clothing looks too casual, too scruffy to be cheap. I wish I could afford to dress like that.”
Brenda held out her hand for the glasses and raised them to her eyes.
Dalmer was right. Sheila appeared to be in some kind of a heated discussion with the shabbily dressed individual, and as Brenda watched, Sheila took money from her purse, and handed it to him. She then turned and walked off, and disappeared behind the shed of the fish market, while the man hurried across the road into one of the stores; either the fish and chip shop or the pub, and Brenda had no doubts that she knew which.
She handed the field glasses back to Dalmer. “Why is this man concentrating on her? Joe and Maddy saw them yesterday, we’ve seen them today. We should get over there, Stewart. Sheila might not be able to deal with him, but I can.”
In the face of her determination, Dalmer was more logical. “Brenda, it must be nearly half a mile from here to there. We can’t cross the river, remember. We have to go round. By the time we get there, Sheila will have disappeared, never mind this man. Better to wait until we get back to the hotel, and speak to Sheila about it this evening, demand that she tells us what’s going on.”
Brenda doubted it, but did not say so. Instead they left the lifeboat station, made their way back through the cobbled streets, and joined Joe and Maddy at the market square café. After Dalmer ordered fresh drinks for all of them, Brenda related what they had seen from the lifeboat station.
Joe and Maddy listened, and the former became increasingly concerned, and when Brenda finished, he gave his verdict. “This guy knows her. He has something on her.”
Murder at the Treasure Hunt Page 11
