Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

  Bugger.

  There seemed to be little I could do about it, so it was this or I would not get to check out the coastline at all. Arguing about it would achieve nothing, so I hopped on board and hoped it wouldn’t sink.

  ‘I already rigged the sail.’ He boasted. ‘Amazing what you remember when you have to.’

  Twenty minutes ago, I had found Mum at the pub by herself. She was sat in the room reading a magazine and debating what to do with her day. She had the dogs with her and was most likely going to drive to Bodmin to take them for a nice walk and get herself a cream tea she said. I told her it was a great idea. I didn’t want her hanging around with Gretchen and Tilda while both Dad and I were away.

  Knowing the dogs were taken care of, I had walked back down to the jetty to look for Dad as that was where Mother assured me he had gone more than an hour ago while I was talking to Mr. Wainwright.

  Now stood in the aft of the tiny vessel I was calculating whether this was indeed a good idea. Dad was fired up for a day on the waves though, so I accepted that it was happening and looked about to familiarise myself with the sheets and tackle. There wasn’t much to it. I was certain this model should come with a spinnaker, but the gear to raise it was missing. We had a mainsail and a jib though and Dad was already casting off.

  With the bowline released we both watched the wind to make sure it pulled the front of the boat away from the mooring point. As it did so I pushed the tiller to port to catch the meagre breeze just as Dad released the stern line. We were away.

  At a glacial pace.

  ‘Oh yes.' Dad exclaimed with glee in his voice. ‘This is it. Bobbing about on the waves.' Bobbing about was exactly the right term for what we were doing. In my head, we were going to hire a boat the shape of a dart with a motor the size of a truck on the back that would have propelled us out of the cove and round the coast to either side in a matter of minutes. A little sulkily, I was silently telling myself that I was getting to spend a great day with my Dad and I should be thankful for it.

  ‘I bought lunch for when we get hungry.' Dad announced as he came to sit next to me in the small open area that served as a cockpit/cabin.

  ‘What did you get?’

  ‘Giant Cornish pasties with traditional filling. Would you believe they had a pasty with chicken curry in it? I ask you. Chicken curry. It just doesn't belong in a pasty. It's like making salt and vinegar ice cream.'

  A fat Cornish pasty sounded great but did not exactly complement the healthy intentions I had started the day with. I sighed mentally, staring up at the mainsail and willing it to fill with wind.

  As if on command a gust of wind rippled along the waves to starboard, the presence of the wind visible only as a fluttering of the waves tops. A quick adjustment to the tiller brought us across to starboard and into the airflow causing us to immediately pick up speed. This was much better.

  Fifteen minutes later we were coming past the headland and could see the jagged coast stretching out either side of us. Flipping a mental coin, I took us East towards Plymouth first and handed the tiller to Dad when I felt my phone vibrate with an incoming email.

  I had expected the signal offshore to be intermittent so that I might get messages and I might not. The email was from Jane, she had found the two drone pilots. I had tasked her with converting my new piece of information – the chaps names, into something useable, like a link to find his colleague and then their mysterious employer. It had not taken her long. The other chap's name was Ralph Minchetti. They were two men that had briefly served in the Royal Airforce as drone pilots. This was a revelation. They were older than I had thought as well, both twenty-three years old. To my knowledge, the drones used in the RAF were nothing like the squat models with a propeller on each corner that I had seen them with here. Instead, they looked more like small airplanes. They could be controlled from an entirely different part of the planet though; the pilot in England while his drone is in Syria for example, unless I had been suckered into believing exaggerated capabilities. It mattered not. They were professional drone pilots and the mysterious man they knew as Edington Hungerford had brought them to Cawsand to do something.

  Jane ended the email by saying there was more to come, but she was still corroborating information and cross-referencing details with Lorna. I relayed the new information to Dad.

  ‘Do you want to head back? This all feels like it is getting bigger than you and I should be handling by ourselves.’

  I had to agree, ‘You are not wrong, Dad. So far though all I have is intangible evidence. There is nothing I can show the Police. Even if I cut Roberta out of it because of her family connections, what do you think Superintendent Charters will say? Or Sgt Andrews? I doubt they will listen until we can show them the murder weapon and the man that was holding it.’

  ‘Keep looking for the ghost ship then?’

  I nodded.

  Forty minutes dragged past as we sailed slowly along the coastline towards Plymouth. Had I not felt a pressing need to get back to Cawsand and confront people, I would have been thoroughly enjoying myself. Maybe Dad and I would have to do this again another year, but without all the drama back on shore.

  We were sailing very close to the jagged cliffs that form the coast in these parts. I could imagine ships wrecking against them in storms over the centuries. Driven against that unyielding black rock they would stand no chance at all. My thinking had been that a small craft could be hidden in a cove or inlet. Accessible by land or maybe even accessed by sea, the person creating the ghost ship illusion would sail it out at night and then back again. All under cover of darkness. That I could not perceive how they were creating the illusion did not put me off, there were many things in life I had seen but could not explain: A magician sawing a woman in half for one. How many people had performed that trick? It was a trick, I knew that, but I had not worked out how they did it. This was the same thing to me. Maybe once I found the vessel they were using it would all be obvious.

  Another fifteen minutes elapsed. ‘Let's turn around, Dad. There is nothing here and the clock is ticking. It will take us an hour to get back to Cawsand anyway.'

  ‘Coming to Port, son. Ready about?’

  ‘Ready.’ Dad pushed the tiller away and the boat swung around as we switched sides and I managed the jib sail. The boom swung over our heads and settled once more against its stops.

  Thankfully, the tide was now flowing with us, pushing us along instead of slowing us down. Our return to Cawsand harbour would be far swifter than the outward leg.

  My phone pinged another email. This one was from Lorna. I had specifically asked her to look at a singular piece of information. It was an absolute guess on my part, but I had been right. Her email had a photograph attached to it with a man’s face. We had found Edington Hungerford and now I knew far more than just his name. I knew why he was here. What his connection to the place was and from that could fill in most of the rest of the blanks in this strange story.

  Jane had been cc’d to the email, so I replied to both girls, asking them to find out if he owned property in Cawsand.

  We were coming close to the turn into Cawsand harbour. Larger yachts were anchored there where the water was deep enough at low tide to not ground them. We had a few minutes yet before we would be sailing past them and Cawsand would be in sight. I was planning still to examine the coastline to the West of the village. It felt a little futile, but if I could just find the vessel being used the create the ghost ship I believed I could blow the case wide open.

  I abandoned that plan though as the next email arrived. Jane had taken all of five minutes to determine that Edington did indeed own a property in Cawsand, but that was not the bit that drew my eye. He owned a yacht. Jane even had its name and we were sailing right past it.

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Cut the engine.’

  ‘We don’t have an engine, son.’

  ‘I know that, you daft old git. Hove to for goodness
sake.’

  Dad shoved the tiller away as I killed the mainsail, effectively stopping the boat dead. Right between our current position and Cawsand was Chesapeake Dreams. It was a little old, but it was still impressive and must have been close to one-hundred and fifty feet in length. I gave Dad some quick instructions so that he would know what we were doing and grabbed the two oars from the bottom of the dinghy. A few strokes covered the remaining distance but as we approached the yachts hull we collided with something, a dull thud echoing through our little boat.

  Since we could not have hit the bottom, there had to be something under the water. Both Dad and I hung over the edge to peer into the water. Sure enough, there was something down there, anchored somehow right next to the man’s yacht.

  ‘What is it?’ Dad asked.

  ‘I am going to guess and say that it is our ghost ship. But, I am not going to know until I go and look.'

  ‘You getting in the water?’ Dad asked, horrified.

  ‘Yup. Not thrilled about the idea, but I see no other way of getting a proper look at it. The water is clear enough that I will be able to swim around it. I won’t be in the water long.’

  ‘You better not be, son. It looks mighty cold and we have no towel to dry you with.'

  ‘I’m going on board that yacht first. Maybe I can find one on there.’

  We steered the dinghy around the underwater object and alongside the yacht where, at the rear end, there was a step for access and egress. With Roberta's warning about piracy echoing in my head I slipped on board and went to look around.

  The yacht was sitting low in the water and I soon discovered why. We had noticed while bobbing up and down next to it, that the sea was resting a foot or more above the yachts natural tide line. All vessels will sit in the water at a set depth according to the weight of the objects on board. A line forms over a period and this vessel was sat far lower than the formed line which was visible as the waves lapped against it. A new line was not forming yet though so the change of weight on board had to be something new.

  It was. The new thing was a mountain of gold, and silver and jewels. I had stumbled across Aladdin’s cave. Below deck, where the galley would house the people on the boat, provide them with a kitchen and both living and sleeping areas was nothing but treasure on every surface. I took pictures, a whole stack of them and then a quick video as I panned around.

  I could fill my pockets and never think about money again. No! a voice in my head cried out. You could take the damned yacht and sail to the Caribbean! I ignored the voice, grabbed a handy tea towel and hurried back to my father waiting at the back of the boat.

  ‘Find anything?’ he asked.

  ‘You should go take a look, Dad. You will never see anything like it again as long as you live. I need to get undressed and check out what is alongside the yacht so don't take too long. My core temperature will drop fast once I am exposed.'

  He scrambled across the side of the dinghy and onto the yacht. Reappearing less than a minute later with a look of stunned awe on his face. ‘A King’s ransom and then some more. How much did you take?’

  ‘The exact amount my conscience could handle.' I replied, pulling off my trousers. I was down to my shorts and already getting cold. ‘Be ready to help me dry off and get dressed. I doubt my finger-tips will do buttons after a minute in the sea.'

  I really didn't want to do it, but my desire to solve the case was greater than my fear of the cold, so with no further messing about I peeled off my pants and jumped over the side. The motion carried me under the waves where I had to fight the natural urge to draw a breath when the cold hit me. I stayed under instead, flipped myself around and swum over to the object we had bumped.

  There was enough light to see it by and I was able to find a handhold, so I could anchor myself to it and stay under. It was a submersible of some kind, a cylindrical shape with a propeller looking thing at one end but the dominant feature was the huge piece of what I believed to be Perspex jutting up from one side like a giant windscreen. I had almost swum into it and would have done so had I not seen the steel frame around the edge of the plastic at the last moment.

  The top of the submersible's body was mostly flat, but a domed protrusion sat in the centre. It was glass, or Perspex also and looked to have some electronics in it. Maybe a camera lens; was what I was looking at? Then it hit me. I knew how they were making the ghost ship appear. At least I had a working concept that I would argue until proven wrong.

  I surfaced. The dinghy was no more than a few yards away, but the cold had penetrated my muscles making my shoulders feel sluggish as I tried to swim towards salvation. Seeing my struggle, Dad held an oar out until I could reach it then pulled me to the boat and helped me clamber inside.

  ‘Let’s get to shore.’ I managed through chattering teeth as I dried most of the water off and started throwing on my clothes. The small boat could be sailed by one man so that was what Dad did.

  I made a phone call.

  Where's Mum? Thursday, November 3rd 1615hrs

  As we sailed around the yacht and pointed the hull at land, the village of Cawsand slowly came into view. It looked so tranquil, so picturesque laid out in front of us like that. The sun was peeking through the clouds creating sunbeams that lit up the village and made the sea sparkle as it moved. From our position out to sea, one would never know there was anything boiling beneath the surface of the welcoming streets. Behind us, the sun was setting, and a heavy cloud bank was moving in. It would be dark soon.

  My phone pinged with an incoming text. Dad had one hand on the tiller, he raised his eyebrows at the sound but did not speak.

  Swiping the screen, I brought up the message. It was from Mum.

  ‘No. No. No. No. NO!’

  ‘What’s up kid?’ asked Dad.

  I didn’t answer right away, I tried calling her instead. The phone rang but was not answered. I tried again with the same result. Dad was waiting patiently, a little concern on his face.

  I showed him the message. Mum had decided to go undercover. She had been eavesdropping on Tilda and had overheard her talking about the need to do something with the Pirates tonight. Mother failed to tell us where she was going, but she was taking the dogs for a walk and was going to see if she could find out if my theories were true.

  Dad’s face was grim, as well it might be. Mum was rubbish at being inconspicuous. She was likely wearing dark glasses (on a cloudy day in November) and thinking she would not be noticed because of them. We needed to get back to shore and find her. I’ll tell you this about boats though. If you have never sailed, you might not appreciate this: Boats move slow. When it feels like you are whipping along, feeling like you are barely sticking to the water because you are moving so fast, the little dingy thing you are in is maybe going eight knots. I can run faster.

  I wanted to get back to land, ditch the boat and look for Mum before she got herself into trouble, but land was a mile away and it was another twenty minutes before Dad and I were impatiently tying onto the dock and abandoning it. The chap that had rented it to us was coming to inspect it and return the security deposit, but we were already running away as he yelled at us.

  ‘Where do you think she is?’ Dad asked.

  I slowed to a walk. I had not the faintest idea. I wanted to say somewhere in Cawsand and she almost certainly was, but even though it is a tiny village there are still a thousand houses she could be in, plus other buildings and there are boats going in and out all the time – it would be hard to find her if she were already on a boat. As we left the harbour to join the winding streets, there were still plenty of people about. Out of season tourists drawn by the buzz of excitement about the village, treasure hunters of all manner and of course the local populace.

  I leaned close to Dad, so I could speak quietly to him, ‘Let's get back to the room. Mum may have left a note for us there. If not then we need to change, call Roberta and start poking around.' Dad was looking worried as we hurried around the corner
to the pub. ‘Don't worry, Dad. We'll find her.'

  ‘We could just go for a pint you know. If they have her it will not be long before they want to give her back.' He was making a joke to lighten our moods. Like me, he was an ex-serviceman, and this was typical behaviour when dealing with high-stress situations.

  Mum wasn't in the room though and there was no note from her. The front door to the pub was locked for the first time since I had arrived, thankfully the key to my room had the second key for the front door on the same ring. I had been carrying it with me since I arrived. I opened up and let us both in.

  Upstairs, at least the room was unmolested, but the dogs were gone along with their leads and Mum was still not answering her phone. I gave up on calling her and rang Roberta.

  She answered on the third ring. ‘Hi, Tempest.' There was a slightly sexy purr to her voice like she was thinking private thoughts about naked romping and I had just interrupted them. ‘What are you up to right now?'

  ‘Sorry, Roberta. I have a bit of an emergency and I need your help.’

  She switched to her serious voice. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  ‘My Mother has gone missing. She left us a mysterious note saying that she was off to follow your Aunt.’ I needed to tell Roberta a little more now. ‘Roberta, your Aunt might be mixed up in the ghost thing.’

  ‘Rubbish, Tempest.’

  ‘Not just her, Roberta. I think others might be as well.’ I held back from saying I thought her Mum might be at the apex of the conspiracy.

  ‘Tempest, do you have any evidence at all?’ she demanded.

  ‘Not yet. Not a damned thing.’

  She was quiet for a moment as if thinking. I gave her a moment but then had to press her. ‘Roberta, my Mum is missing. Let's assume I am wrong about everything, she has still followed your Aunt somewhere. Where might she be?'

  ‘Where might my Aunt be at this time on a Thursday? I have no idea, Tempest. Somewhere in Cawsand.’