Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Teenage FBI

The enrolment phase was a swift affair helped by the incredible efficiency demonstrated by the members of The Blue Thunder Foundation. Shrugging off the melancholy air prevalent at the flagpole, the boys and girls—all in their early to mid-teens—were now inside the hut, a huge space painted in blue and white with a stage and lectern at one end. A Blue Thunder pennant secured to the wall spanned the stage, making an imposing backdrop.

A series of small tables, numbered one to four, were manned by members of the foundation who made sure that, by the time an enrolee had worked their way to the last table, they were a member of the organisation, equipped with three sets of folded, cellophane-wrapped uniforms and a membership pack. The latter included Marcus’ much lauded Blue Bolt DVD and comic book.

‘So what do you think, Beatrice?’ Patience said with a furtive grin.

‘About what?’

‘Marcus, of course,’ she said, forcing the tone out of her voice in case anyone should hear. ‘Is he a big scoop of sweetness from the honey jar, or what?’

‘I can’t say that I noticed,’ she said without looking at her friend.

‘Another lie like that and your tongue is sure to turn black, Beatrice Beecham.’ Patience’s accompanying giggle was infectious, knocking aside Beatrice’s attempts at pretence.

‘Okay,’ Beatrice grinned, her cheeks now fiery red. ‘How can I lie? He is nice.’

‘Nice? The queen of understatement speaks,’ Patience teased. ‘And you must’ve seen how he was looking at you? I thought his eyes were going to bail and roll across the promenade.’

‘Don’t!’ Beatrice laughed, covering her face with her hands. ‘I’m turning crimson here!’

‘Sorry, Beatrice,’ Patience said. ‘But let’s face it, you’ve got the guy’s attention, global. And there’s no denying it’s mutual. If his cooking’s up to scratch I’m demanding first dibs on Chief Bridesmaid.’

‘Patience!’ Beatrice laughed, coming out from behind her hands. Her freckles were darkened by the rouge of her cheeks. ‘We’ve only just met. And I'm sure you’ve got it all wrong. He was just being friendly.’

‘Well you enjoy being friendly when he asks you out later,’ Patience said with conviction.

‘And what makes you so sure he’s going to do that?’ Beatrice asked in disbelief.

‘Oh it’s simple,’ Patience said. ‘It’s in the eyes.’

‘Oh, yes, I forgot. The ones rolling across the promenade, right?’ Beatrice said. ‘Well if he asks me out, I’ll eat a pair of Lucas’ dirty socks.’

‘Okay,’ Patience said swiping her cell phone from her handbag.

‘What are you doing?’ Beatrice asked.

‘Making sure that Lucas’ mum doesn’t get to the wash basket in the next hour,’ Patience laughed.

‘If I can have your attention please?’ The metallic fizz of a microphone cut through the air. Beatrice followed the sound to its source: the portly figure of Mayor Codd standing at the lectern, fidgeting in his mayoral ruff. A smart looking man stood beside him.

‘I’d like to say a few words of welcome on behalf of Dorsal Finn,’ Codd continued. ‘So if you would be so kind as to be shutting your faces I shall begin.’

At this people turned to face the Mayor, Beatrice was never surprised by Codd’s cold and surly arrogance. Despite her contempt for the man, she listened to his address along with the rest; a captive audience in a blue and white prison.

***

‘You cannot possibly involve the Newshounds in this, Maud,’ Agnes protested before Maud put the phone to her ear. ‘We don’t know what can of worms this involves. The danger we could be bringing upon this town.’

‘I’m thinkin’ that any danger’s already visitin’, Agnes,’ Maud said quietly. ‘The new door in yer library wall is proof of that.’ Maud stepped up to her friend and placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. ‘If we had another choice, I’d be makin’ it, ye know that,’ said Maud. ‘We knew this problem hadn’t gone on its travels for long. Those that want the past to come visitin’ aren’t goin’ to let this go. An’ we can’t tell the authorities Agnes, ye know that too. What we did wouldn’t be looked on well by folk round here. No matter how long ago it was.’

Agnes appeared to be ready to protest further but Maud interjected softly,

‘Me an’ thee have rattled a fair few cages in this town, Agnes. An’ the beast wants an opportunity to be out an’ meetin’ us in person.’

Maud felt Agnes’ shoulder sag beneath her palm.

‘I know,’ the librarian conceded. ‘But they are so young.’

‘So were we when we committed treason in the eyes of our elders,’ Maud pointed out. ‘We owe The Newshounds our faith at least.’

‘Those kids are resilient and smart,’ Albert said quietly.

‘An’ discreet,’ Dennis added.

‘Call them,’ Agnes said quietly.

***

In Elmo’s bedroom, Lucas’ mobile phone demanded attention by blasting out the intro to Judas Priest’s You Don't Have to be Old to be Wise. He was thus dragged from his brooding thoughts surrounding his feelings for Beatrice by a delusion that she might actually be calling him.

He snatched up the phone and was puzzled when he saw the unknown caller icon in the display window.

‘Hello?’ he answered cautiously.

‘Good mornin’ young Lucas,’ Maud said unexpectedly in his ear. ‘Got time to help out an old ’un?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you had my number. Thought you were about to try and sell me insurance.’

‘If ye’re surprised by that, ye’re goin’ to be fallin’ off yer perch when I tell ye what’s just happened at the library,’ Maud replied.

‘Okay,’ he said sitting up. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Ye need to come here,’ Maud said. ‘Make it easy fer us.’

‘Us?’

‘Ye comin’?’ Maud said.

‘You betcha,’ he said with a smile.

Although Lucas was completely and utterly puzzled by Maud’s phone call he suddenly felt at peace. For, whilst he hadn’t found a way to make his confusing thoughts known to Beatrice, he had at least found a mystery to help him forget about it for a while.

‘Come on, big guy,’ he said to Elmo. ‘We’re off to see Maud and Agnes.’

‘Why’s that, bro?’ Elmo said getting to his feet and placing the guitar back on its spindly stand.

‘There’s a mystery requiring our attention,’ Lucas replied.

‘I did mention that this is usually the start of something bad, didn’t I?’

Lucas left the room. If he’d heard his friend’s comment he showed no sign of it.

‘This kind of thing never happened to The Beatles,’ Elmo muttered as he reluctantly followed Lucas out.

***

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, as Mayor of Dorsal Finn I am proud to introduce the founder of The Blue Thunder Foundation: Mr Logan Frobisher. Please give him a warm welcome.’

Gideon Codd stepped away from the lectern as those present gave Frobisher a round of polite applause.

The tall man stepped up to the pencil-thin microphone and delivered a brief, bright and cheery smile.

From the wings, a group of uniformed youths stepped onto the stage, each bringing with them a small chair which they deposited in two neat rows of ten before departing and standing in front of the stage, facing the audience in their own orderly line; faces impassive and staring into the far distance.

‘I call to those brothers and sisters who have come here to pledge their allegiance to all that life holds dear,’ Frobisher said with a resolute voice.

Suddenly the boys and girls who had enrolled that day filed silently onto the stage and took a seat.

From her place in the crowd, Beatrice could see her brother sitting in the front row, his cellophane uniforms resting in his lap. He seemed so comfortable there, as though this was meant to be.

To her amazement Beatrice felt a wave of pride sweep through her and a grin formed on her lips.

This was, she thought, turning into a day of surprises.

‘Why are we here?’ Frobisher's voice pounded through the hut. It was quite possible that he didn’t actually require the microphone. ‘It is a question that we will all ask at some point in our lives. As an idea it can be as deep as a canyon or as shallow as a trough, but ask it we will. And for many, the answer will not come readily, if at all.’

Frobisher’s debonair figure surveyed the crowd for a mere moment, allowing his words to seep in—to make their presence felt.

‘Be that as it may,’ he continued, ‘The Blue Thunder Foundation is clear in its purpose. When we ask: “Why are we here?” there is no pause or pointed silence; there are only three words: Faith. Loyalty. Honour.’

Another hiatus in the rhetoric. Another stare into the crowd.

‘These are small words with huge meaning—vast responsibilities. They are not easy to obtain and even harder to maintain.’ He turned, this time to address the row of enrolees sitting to his right.

‘It stirs my heart to see ones so young become so committed,’ Frobisher said to them before turning back to the audience. ‘These children are our future, ladies and gentlemen. I would go as far to say they are our salvation from the chaos through which our world wades. You can be sure that the foundation shall cherish them as our own. Your pride is now ours also. I thank you all for your faith.’

Frobisher stepped back from the lectern as the applause began. Beatrice turned to Patience, her friend shrugging her shoulders in a bemused fashion.

‘Now what?’ Beatrice asked as the audience began to thin out.

‘Hope you’re hungry,’ Patience said spotting Marcus moving towards them with a tray of food. ‘This is where we find if you’ve got socks as well as canapés for lunch.’

***

The atmosphere in the library was oppressive. Lucas and Elmo had arrived with a degree of excitement, but the sullen nature of the four adults standing in the reception area soon curbed their enthusiastic chatter.

‘What the hell happened to the Historical Fiction section?’ Lucas said as he saw the bookcases pulled askew. ‘You had a tornado pass through here, Agnes?’

‘I thought when you tidy stuff up it’s supposed to look better?’ said Elmo to Lucas. ‘Based on this, I guess Lucas’ bedroom isn’t a bombsite after all.’

‘It’s true that we’ve tried to sweep things under the carpet,’ Agnes said mournfully. ‘For quite some time.’

Maud and Agnes looked at each other.

Their uncertainty was reinforced by Albert and Dennis who both wore grim expressions.

‘So are you guys going to tell us what’s going on?’ Lucas said as he sat on the reception counter. He bounced the heels of his Converse trainers against the wooden panelling.

‘That’s the plan, young Lucas,’ Maud said. ‘But give us old ’uns a few minutes to get things straight. If we’re tellin’ this story so it makes sense t’ ye, then we have to tell it right.’

Lucas and Elmo waited patiently; the silence rolled on until both boys thought no words would come. Then Maud began to speak. Her tone was low and her voice, measured.

‘Ye all know that I came to Dorsal Finn durin’ the war,’ Maud said wistfully. ‘I was missin’ me folks an’ friends an’ all.’

Maud reached out and patted Agnes tenderly on her arm. ‘But then I met this wonderful woman. An’ after only a short time it was like this had been me home forever. She certainly made me want to come back an’ live here.’

Agnes smiled, and the boys could see the love between the two women. It made them think about The Newshounds, and strengthened their understanding as to how important it was to have good friends.

‘In the spring of 1942 Agnes an’ me were soap box racin’ up on the bluff,’ Maud continued. ‘We saw an incredible sight comin’ in off of the ocean. A German bomber low in the sky, smoke an’ flames spewin’ everywhere.’

‘So what happened?’ said Elmo. He was leaning on the counter, his neck craned forwards in interest.

‘The plane came down an’ hit Hill Crest farm; the buildin’ an’ plane went up like a rocket.

‘Well if that weren't enough drama for two young girls, we then saw three parachutes driftin’ down over the bluff. So we trailed ’em. Two fell into the sea, an’ the ocean claimed ‘em. But the third, well that landed up on Monument Point, an’ there we found an unconscious German airman.’ Maud paused to take in a private memory. Then she pressed on, ‘So we goes to him an’ he’s pretty bashed up; arm busted an’ a big gash in his head. Yet he was alive an’ that may have been a good thing in the grand scheme, but in a time of war that put him in even more danger.’

The boys were now drawn into the story, fascinated by the past and how they had potential to inform what was happening at that very moment. Such was the power and wonder of history.

‘So what did you do?’ It was Lucas’ turn to speak. His voice was hushed and his feet had stopped bumping against the counter. They hovered in the air as if forgotten.

‘We acted on impulse, that’s what we did,’ Maud said. ‘We didn’t see a German pilot. We saw a man in pain an’ knew no one would help him unless we did. So we dragged him into the disused tin mines up at Monument Point an’ tended to him for two months.’

‘Two months?’ Lucas said in disbelief. ‘And no one suspected?’

‘Ha!’ Maud laughed. ‘Most adults think kids are invisible; it was no different back then. We came an’ went; we had a Girl Guides’ First Aid Merit Badge between us an’ we did our best. An’ in those two months we got to know his name was Klaus Hessel, an’ we didn’t see the enemy, but a man who was far from his family.’

‘He spoke English?’ asked Elmo.

‘A little—a few broken words—but better than our German, that’s for sure. He could write it better than he could say it. That’s how we communicated. Chalk an’ slate came in handy durin’ those few months. He told about his life on his farm in Stuttgart, an’ his wife Greta, an’ their daughter Derika. He talked about how he missed them so.’ Maud’s eyes took on a distant appearance.

‘So we decided to help him get back home,’ Maud said eventually. ‘We stole a rowboat from the bay an’ moored it on the beach. On the night he left, Klaus gave us his thanks an’ a hug, an’ a promise that after the war was done he would come back an’ introduce us to his wife an’ daughter. That was the last we ever saw of him.’

A single tear tumbled down Maud’s cheek, and Agnes reached out and placed her palm gently over her friend’s hand.

‘He never made it home,’ Maud whispered. ‘A motor torpedo boat shot up the scull an’ Klaus was killed. We didn’t know this at the time, of course. We read it in the paper later that same week. They called him a spy. But to us he was only ever a friend in need.’

‘Klaus left us on Halloween, and me an’ Agnes celebrate his memory with a glass or two of brandy every year. It was destined to be our secret, a secret we couldn’t tell at the time. Then after the war, we kept it that way; made it special. Klaus deserved that at least.’

Lucas and Elmo were quiet for a few moments as Maud’s tale sank in. The four adults all appeared as though they were at a wake. Their shoulders were hunched. Dennis fidgeted from one foot to the other.

‘So, what’s this all got to do with this morning’s phone call, Maud?’ Lucas said.

‘This is where yer really need to be pinnin’ back yer ears,’ Maud said. ‘Because this tale’s just gettin’ warmed up.’

***

‘I have to admit to being a little nervous,’ Marcus said as he approached Patience and Beatrice with a wide serving tray. It was brimming with a selection of ornate, delicate parcels.

‘Why’s that?’ Beatrice asked.

‘Someone has mentioned that you are none other than Beatrice Beecham,’ he explained with a voice infused with awe.’ Anyone here says you are an amazing chef.’

Beatrice flushed a little. ‘They’re all very kind. And I think your presentation is wonderful.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, offering them the tray. ‘Might I recommend the Canapés Berne?’

‘You tell me which one it is and I’ll take it on,’ Patience grinned.

‘The triangular one,’ Marcus said, and Beatrice deftly picked up a small wedge of toast decorated with egg whites, yolks and pureed green gherkins. In the middle there was a stuffed olive, its surface glimmering under the fluorescent lights.

It had a divine smell and Beatrice took a bite. For a moment or two she merely stared into space; causing Patience to pause with the canapé hovering at her lips, and Marcus to frown.

‘You hate it, don’t you?’ he said.

Beatrice blinked, chewed and swallowed. Then she looked at Marcus, dumbfounded.

‘That was the best Berne I have ever tasted,’ she said simply.

‘You’re just saying that to be kind,’ Marcus said.

‘I wouldn’t ever do that,’ Beatrice replied. ‘Really, this is Michelin standard. It’s incredible.’

‘I guess Beatrice would love to have the recipe, wouldn’t you Beatrice?’ Patience said nudging her friend with an elbow.

Before Beatrice could reply Marcus delivered a huge smile and his eyes sparkled.

‘How about we meet up later?’ he said to Beatrice. ‘If you’d like to, then maybe we could have stroll along the promenade and share kitchen stories?’

So there it was. A question—a suggestion. No longer wishful thinking or supposition from Patience. And although her friend had been accurate, Beatrice was still unprepared. This was, after all, new territory for her; no one had ever asked to meet up with her for a date. If that was what this was, of course.

At one time she’d thought Lucas liked her as more than just a friend, maybe that he liked her because she was a girl who he wanted to be around. But now that seemed to have passed. Nothing had been said, nothing had really changed, and Lucas never really made any attempt to be alone with her. In fact, on occasions he even avoided the chance. When that happened, she cursed herself for thinking things were more than they appeared.

At first, Beatrice was saddened by this and hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, not even Patience. Beatrice was scared that if she’d got things wrong she might destroy her friendship with The Newshounds. The thought of not being able to see Lucas at all, the thought that The Newshounds would no longer exist, were ideas she found too painful to bear. So she’d decided to wait for Lucas to show a sign that he liked her. But it never came.

As such, things remained as they were and Beatrice wasn’t clear if this was right or wrong until Marcus had asked his question and the fireworks exploded in her inexperienced heart.

And because the situation was alien to her, Beatrice’s mind did what it needed to do to unravel some of confusion.

Beatrice called the council together.

***

If you were to ask Beatrice just how the Culinary Council came to be she would, in all honesty, not have been able to say. What she could say was that the council seemed to drop into her head as soon as emotional confusion or major life choices presented themselves.

In reality the discussions that occurred between Beatrice and the group of esteemed chefs happened in the wink of an eye, but in that nanosecond conversations were held and conflicts addressed.

The council consisted of Gordon Ramsay, Raymond Blanc, Gary Rhodes and Mario Batali; but as austere as these chefs were, the head of the Culinary Council was Beatrice’s all-time favourite, Jamie Oliver.

It was of little surprise Beatrice had made Jamie the patriarch, and in her mind’s eye it was towards his wisdom she was now drawn. She may have been in the Blue Thunder hut, but what she saw in the moment it takes for a battery of neurons to fire across the synapses of her brain was Jamie sitting on a gingham table cloth, slicing an apple with a small Belchette’s kitchen knife. About him were countless items making up a very fine picnic. The whole spread was shaded beneath the hunched branches of a Weeping Willow tree.

On a nearby river, the other members of the Culinary Council were having an argument in their boat because Gordon Ramsay had lost an oar and was trying to use Gary Rhodes’ instead.

‘Hi Jamie,’ Beatrice said looking about her. ‘I have a problem.’

‘I love a good picnic, don’t you?’ Jamie asked.

‘Yes, I do,’ Beatrice said.

‘Food tastes somehow better outdoors, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose it does,’ Beatrice replied.

Jamie popped a large slice of apple into his mouth, his smile widening briefly to accommodate. He crunched slowly, in rhythm with the birdsong about them.

‘That wasn’t always the case,’ he continued after he’d swallowed the slice. ‘I once thought that without good planning things can be forgotten. Things can get left behind. And then all would be lost; the day ruined.’

‘That’s always a possibility,’ Beatrice nodded.

‘But when we’re faced with the unknown, inspiration has a chance to work its magic,’ Jamie said. ‘Without the shackles of a recipe the true chef can work on that which separates the good from the great—’

‘Are you talking about instincts?’ Beatrice asked tentatively.

‘Sometimes it’s the only option left open to us,’ Jamie admitted. ‘We have to go with our gut to feed our gut. And that might mean heading into unknown territory. It might mean—’

‘Taking a chance?’ Beatrice suggested.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Jamie said.

***

As with most of her imaginary dealings with the Culinary Council the whole process was instantaneous. So to those looking in—the expectant faces of Marcus and Patience, a prime example—her response appeared without any hint of hesitation.

‘I’d like that very much,’ Beatrice said.

‘Then it’s a date?’ he said, his cheeks slightly pink.

‘I guess it is,’ Beatrice replied, her own cheeks several shades deeper.

‘See you at the flagpole at, say, 8pm?’ Marcus suggested.

‘I’ll be here,’ Beatrice said. The light-headedness was back with a vengeance.

Marcus nodded, grinned and turned away. Had he turned back he would have seen Patience jump up and punch the air in silent triumph.

***

Agnes picked up the tale where Maud had left it. The librarian’s voice was quiet, as though she was setting a good example regarding library etiquette. As Agnes spoke, Elmo and Lucas could see that Maud’s demeanour was a mix of melancholy and wonder.

‘As Maud has already said, we celebrate our memories of Klaus every Halloween,’ she said. ‘And the anniversary has come and gone without incident until last year’s festival.’

‘Really?’ said Elmo. ‘What happened last year?’

‘I was walking through the library and suddenly I could hear Klaus. His voice came to me through in my hearing aids.’

‘Wow,’ Lucas said. ‘It wasn’t interference or something?’

‘I thought that too at first, but it was Klaus,’ Agnes said with conviction. ‘I recognised his voice immediately. Yes, it was faint and garbled, but I knew it was definitely him. And that was before Zachery Tyrell turned up at my door.’

‘Who was Zachary Tyrell?’ Growing up in a village as small as Dorsal Finn meant that Lucas and Elmo knew most people. And the name Zachery Tyrell did not make the list.

At Lucas’ question Agnes appeared uncomfortable. She shivered on the spot and wrapped her arms about herself as though trying to stave off an unexpected chill.

‘He was ghost hunter,’ she said after taking a deep breath.

‘Oh, wow,’ Lucas whispered. ‘Are you saying that you were hearing Klaus’ ghost?’

‘You have to remember, young Lucas, that at the time I didn’t know what to think,’ Agnes said softly. Like Maud, the librarian’s eyes seemed distant, as though her mind was straddling the past and the present.

‘So you brought in Tyrell to rule it out?’ Elmo guessed.

‘Zachery Tyrell came to me,’ Agnes said. There was irritation in her voice as she said the ghost hunter’s name. ‘He pitched up here a few days before Halloween and claimed that he could hear voices. He called it Clairaudience.’

‘I’ve heard of that,’ Elmo said. ‘It’s when people can hear things—voices—outside the normal range. People like mediums and spiritualists. Is that what Tyrell was?’

‘We ain’t sure what that man was,’ Maud chipped in. ‘Nor his true intentions. We just saw what the bugger did when he got inside this library. An’ what came after.’

‘So what did he do?’ Lucas said. His legs were swinging again with barely suppressed excitement.

‘He claimed that he could hear Klaus’ voice too,’ Agnes continued. ‘And that he was saying my name. He’d tracked me down in order to help me. But it was all a ruse of some sort—a means to get access to the library. He insisted that he must exorcise the spirit that was dwelling here.’

‘And did he?’ Elmo asked.

‘No, young Elmo,’ Agnes sighed. ‘The only thing Zachery Tyrell did was make matters worse.’

***

Elsewhere in the hut, Gideon Codd managed to steer Frobisher through the crowds of people who he was certain had only attended for a free meal. It was Codd’s nature to feel somewhat superior to those about him. In reality, he found the bulk of those he served a total embarrassment. There seemed to be an inability for most of the community to filter out contention before they opened their mouths. Codd was at a point where he was about to relax when he saw Dorsal Finn’s finest example of tactlessness heading directly for them.

Edna Duffy was a short, thin lady. She was sixty years old and had pale skin and deep brown eyes that sank into heavy lids. Irrespective of the weather, she often wore a headscarf over her grey, bobbed hair. Today this headscarf was a sky blue to honour the event.

Edna was a woman with a sad past. A child had been lost to her. Eric had died in a boating accident when he was only five years old. She blamed Simon, her husband, as he could not pull the struggling boy out of the churning Atlantic currents, despite several attempts. It soured their marriage for some time. Edna took out her pain and misery on Simon, and then her emotions festered to the point where bitterness became her guiding principle, and the affairs of others filled the emptiness of her own life. Most townsfolk understood this, Edna was able to poke and pry without quarter; much to the irritation of Codd.

Like a heat-seeking missile streaking towards its target, Edna homed in on Codd and Frobisher, intercepting any attempt the mayor made to outmanoeuvre her.

‘Ah! Mister Frobisher,’ Edna said standing in front of the Blue Thunder leader. Frobisher towered over her but Edna was as tenacious as she was thick skinned.

‘Well hello,’ Frobisher beamed. ‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’

‘Quite,’ said Edna coolly. ‘Edna Duffy.’ She offered a tiny hand. Her fingers were like pale twigs and were suddenly lost in Frobisher’s huge hand.

‘Yes,’ Codd said quickly. ‘There we go then. Now you’ve met our highly influential patron, perhaps you can sort of push off, Edna?’

‘The whole town is very intrigued by your commitment,’ Edna said.

‘And why would I not wish to invest in this wonderful place, Edna?’ Frobisher said.

‘Many reasons come to mind,’ she said. ‘It’s history for one.’

‘As I have said to Mayor Codd, I am familiar with the heritage of this town,’ Frobisher said cordially.

‘Then you know Dorsal Finn was founded on tragedy?’ When Edna talked her head bobbed up and down. Given that she talked a lot, her head did a lot of bobbing, making her look like a small bird foraging for worms.

‘Indeed. The clipper, Charlotte Elizabeth, dashed on the rocks in 1806.’ Frobisher replied. ‘And the tragic death of the Pontefract heir, Julian, I believe?

‘Lured to its death by a false beacon,’ Edna said with a conspiratorial whisper. ‘For the sake of insurance money.’

‘We all know the sorry tale,’ Codd huffed.

‘The devil is always in the detail as they say,’ Frobisher said softly. This had Edna’s head bouncing up and down on her scrawny neck like a faulty Pez dispenser.

‘Exactly,’ Edna said. ‘The Pontefract family built this town out of guilt and attrition. That is a fact plain and simple. No one here can deny it.’

‘No one but you is raising it as an issue,’ Codd said.

‘And that is why history repeats,’ Edna said firmly. ‘Such things are never truly challenged. Thus, wayward Xavier Pontefract tried to stage the very same tragedy years later in order to kill his own twin brother and steal his identity. And reclaim the inheritance denied to him by his estranged family.’

‘And where is this Xavier Pontefract now?’ Frobisher asked. The intrigue made his eyes sparkle.

‘Dead,’ Edna said. ‘At the hands of the Beecham girl no less. Pontefract trapped her on top of the lighthouse on The Bluff; tried to throw her to the sea after she and her friends thwarted his plans. But that youngster was resilient. He fell trying to kill her, and instead the ocean claimed him. Good riddance to bad rubbish. There, I’ve said it!’

‘It’s stopping you saying it that’s the issue,’ Codd muttered.

‘Sorry?’ said Edna.

‘Shall we move on?’ said Codd to Frobisher with some urgency.

‘Nice to have met you, Mrs Duffy,’ Frobisher said. ‘And don’t forget to watch the Blue Thunder address on TV this coming weekend.’

Codd and Frobisher disappeared into the throng, leaving Edna and her bobbing head gawping after them.

***

Back in the library, Agnes continued her story to a fascinated audience. Though Dennis and Albert were already party to it, the two men still appeared captivated.

‘Tyrell came here on Halloween and asked that he was given privacy to perform the exorcism. Something about cluttering the astral plane or some hogwash like that,’ Agnes said. ‘But there was something about the man that still left me uncertain. So I called Maud and we snuck into the library and watched him conduct his ritual. Then it happened.’

‘What?’ Elmo breathed.

‘The storm came,’ Agnes said cryptically. ‘Thunder and lightning but no rain.’

‘An electrical storm?’ Lucas said. ‘And that’s unusual because—?’

‘It happened inside the library,’ Agnes said.

‘Okay,’ Elmo said. ‘That’s going to the top of our ‘pretty unusual’ list.’

‘There was green goo running down the walls. Then there was lightning, and it came from the ceiling and the walls at first,’ Agnes said with a degree of anxiety. ‘Then it all channeled through Tyrell; a lightning bolt struck his head and poured from his eyes, his mouth, and then struck the back wall of the Historical Fiction section, punching a hole in the wall.’

At this, Lucas and Elmo’s eyes went towards the displaced bookcases as Agnes continued,

‘Tyrell was left unconscious and taken to Ashby on Sea General Hospital,’ she said. ‘I believe he remains there to this day, still in the same sorry state.’

‘And what was behind the wall?’ Elmo said.

‘That brings us to the reason why we called ye,’ said Maud. ‘Come an’ have a look-see.’

The group approached the rear wall of the Historical Fiction section. Lucas could see that an ugly diagonal gash now scarred the magnolia paintwork, and there was enough of a gap to see a recess beyond.

‘What’s inside there?’ Lucas said.

‘A reluctant secret,’ Maud said. ‘An’ a past that doesn’t seem content with keepin’ its peace.’

Dennis used his might to completely remove the bookcase and it was pretty evident that there wouldn’t be any sealing the room again in a hurry.

‘You sure you want to pursue this?’ Albert softly asked Maud and Agnes. ‘Maud? Is this what you really want?’

‘It isn’t what any of us want, Albert,’ she sighed. ‘But it’s what we’ve been dealt. Let’s see if we can play it to the end.’

‘From what you’ve told us,’ Albert said rubbing at his moustache, ‘there’s no putting the lid back on this once it’s opened.’

‘Just do it, Albert,’ Agnes said sternly.

Albert nodded, pained by the hopelessness in Maud’s eyes, and impressed with the resolve shown by the librarian. He turned to Dennis.

‘Do it, Dennis.’

‘That’s if ye’re happy to get involved in our mess,’ Maud said solemnly.

‘All I need to ask is if what we’re doin’ is right or wrong,’ Dennis said gruffly. ‘An’ I'm figurin’ that Maud Postlethwaite an’ Agnes Clutterbuck ain’t got no wrong in ’em. So I guess me choices are crystal.’

‘Good on ye, Dennis,’ Maud said gratefully.

‘Then let me just clear some more space, young Lucas,’ Dennis said bringing his bulk to bear against the damaged wall. The plaster board gave way with a crisp crunching sound, spilling dust over the big man’s shoulders.

‘Bit embarassin’ how easy that was to bring down,’ he said picking bits of plaster out of his beard and wild wiry hair.

‘Can’t plaster over what don’t want to be hidden, Dennis,’ Maud said.

‘Got a flashlight?’ Albert said to Agnes who produced a high powered torch from a nearby shelf almost instantly.

She powered up the bulb and aimed it into an antechamber. The group stepped through the hole where the past and the present shared company for the first time in several months.