Beatrice Beecham's Cryptic Crypt
***
The Albatross was tousled upon the raging ocean, its prow lifting high into the air and then slamming down into the water, a fan of spray rising before being whipped away by the gale.
In the wheel house, Beatrice watched as Colin Cresswell fought with the helm, his eyes never once leaving the writhing water ahead.
They had found him at the docks, sitting on his boat fixing his nets even as the rain lashed down on him, his yellow rubber trench coat making him appear like a big, animated banana. Much to Beatrice’s relief, Colin didn’t need much persuasion once he’d heard their swiftly told tale. Nor did he need proof. He’d already heard strange stories of screaming, and exploding CD player
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