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Submerged
Jordan Gray
Mills & Boon M&B
The mysteries of the English seacoast town of Blackpool linger centuries after its powerful founder died with his secrets. Newcomers Molly and Michael Graham are intrigued by the sinister curiosities of their adopted home, for though the picturesque waterfront shops are a haven for tourists, the locals keep to themselves.And most have something to hide….A preservation grant brings a massive restoration project to the marina, throwing the town into political turmoil. As Molly wades into the fray, a young woman is kidnapped, a thug turns up dead and a shipwreck is discovered in the harbor! The Grahams are plunged into a legacy of smugglers, betrayal and murder…and even deeper into the heart of Blackpool's most shocking and long-buried truths.
“I need to see Detective Chief Inspector Paddington.”
The assistant pushed her glasses up with an index finger. “He’s busy, Mrs. Graham.”
“It’s critical that I speak to someone. You see, I found—”
“The D.C.I. will get to you when he has a moment, flower. Or you can return when—”
Molly couldn’t stand it anymore. “Can I use a phone? Please?”
The assistant gestured to a desk overflowing with papers and used foam cups. “You can use that one.”
Molly was quick to punch in the numbers. “Michael. No, I’m not using my mobile. It fell off the side of the cliff where I was hiking. I’d pulled it out to call you and the D.C.I., but I dropped it.”
“Molly, are you all right? You sound upset,” Michael said.
“I’m fine, really. It’s just… I’m at the police station…to report a dead body.”
Cast of Characters
Michael and Molly Graham—The young couple have come to Blackpool for a simpler life… Only, things in the small town are anything but simple.
D.C.I. Paddington—The stolid inspector has a laid-back approach to investigation—so laid-back that it’s fuelled rumors he’s only in Blackpool to bide his time until retirement.
The Crowes—The members of the Crowe family are reputed to have more secrets than they have money. And they keep both very well.
Dennis Carteret and Percy Lethbridge—The two men are members of the planning board for Blackpool’s harbor renovation—but they hadn’t planned on a conspiracy.
Rosamund Carteret—Dennis’s only child, and his world. The teenager lost her mother when she was very young, and Dennis would do anything to shield her from further suffering.
Francis Weymouth—He says his only ambition is to protect the environment, though he seems awfully cozy with the media. And very antagonistic toward Molly.
Rohan Wallace—The Jamaican émigré came to Blackpool to work, but lately he and Michael have become obsessed with the legend of Charles Crowe’s stolen gypsy gold. Is his interest purely recreational?
Greed, jealousy, betrayal, trickery, murder—secrets are the heart of Blackpool.
Submerged
Jordan Gray
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER ONE
MOLLY GRAHAM CAME TO a shaky stop in front of an old Victorian on Walnut Grove, steeling herself to go inside Blackpool’s police station. Except for the modest sign near the walk, a passerby wouldn’t have thought it anything other than a stately old house with a primrose garden in need of serious weeding. The white paint was peeling in places around the cornices on the second floor.
In contrast, the inside was completely modern, though nothing she would call “state of the art.” There was a drop ceiling in the main room, and fluorescent lights hung from it. The air was filled with the scent of lavender and Lysol, and an underlying acrid pong of cigarette smoke. Not that anyone could smoke in the building, but she knew that a scattering of officers and assistants did so elsewhere, and the odor clung to their clothes.
The assistant at the front desk—the only person Molly spotted this afternoon—was a petite woman who would have been forced into retirement years ago, had she been with a larger city’s police department. She looked at Molly through wire-rimmed trifocals, tucked a few wisps of iron-gray hair behind one ear and waited for Molly to speak.
Molly drew a calming breath. “I need to see Detective Chief Inspector Paddington.”
The woman pushed her glasses up with an index finger. “He’s busy, Mrs. Graham.”
Although Molly didn’t know the woman, she wasn’t surprised the assistant recognized her; Molly had her picture in the newspaper enough times, especially recently. She wished it had more to do with the grants that she had helped to secure for the town, but to Molly and her husband, Michael’s, dismay, their notoriety seemed to stem from a series of local murders and mysteries that they had solved—which brought Molly back to why she was here.
“This is very important.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Please, can you tell him—”
“Is it a life-and-death emergency?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Well, not exactly, but—”
“Then take a seat, flower, and he’ll get to you when he has time.”
Trying to find some composure, Molly brushed her fingers along the edge of the desk. It was walnut, with a heavy lacquer on it, handmade by a craftsman and not mass-produced in some factory like the rest of the desks in the small department. She wondered if it had come with the house when the city bought it for the station.
“How about Sergeant Krebs? I could talk to her.”
“You could if she wasn’t busy, too.” The woman made a huffing sound. “They’re both occupied because of you, Mrs. Graham. They’re in a meeting about tomorrow’s big marina to-do.”
“It’s critical that I speak to someone. You see, I found—”
“I’m sure it is. Everything you do is momentous, isn’t it, Mrs. Graham? But I’m sure this is nothing that can’t wait, eh?”
Molly felt a surge of panic. “How about another officer? I don’t care which one, but—”
The woman shook her head and eased back from her desk. The glasses had slid halfway down her nose, and she pushed them up again. “The D.C.I. will get to you when he has a moment, flower. Or you can return when—”
Molly couldn’t stand it anymore. “Can I use a phone? Please.”
The assistant gestured to a desk overflowing with papers and used foam cups. The tag on it read Sergeant Merle Oates. “You can use that one…if it’s a local call.”
Molly was quick to punch in the numbers. She tapped her fingers on the only empty spot on the desk. “C’mon, c’mon. Iris? Put Michael on.” She drummed faster. “Michael? No, I’m not using my mobile. It fell off the side of the cliff where I was hiking. I’d pulled it out to call you and the D.C.I., but I dropped it.”
“Molly, are you all right? You sound upset,” Michael said.
“I’m fine, really. It’s just…I’m at the police station…to report a dead body.” Molly noticed the old woman quickly pick up her own phone. “I’m going back out there to try to figure out who it is and what happened. I should’ve done that right away, I guess, poked around, but I didn’t want to disturb anything before the police looked it over.”
“What? A body? Molly, slow down—”
“I didn’t get that close, but I think he must have slipped and cracked his head open on a rock. It isn’t an easy hiking trail, you know, even for a young person in good shape. Paddington’s too busy right now to deal with it so I’m going back on my own.”
“No, don’t go by yourself. I’ll meet you there. Where is it?” Michael asked.
Relief flooded over her. “It’s out by Jack Hawkins’s nose. See you soon, love.”
Molly raced out the front door, feet flying down the steps. She slid into her car just as D.C.I. Paddington and Sergeant Krebs ran out a side door.
“Molly!” Paddington waved at her. “Wait, Molly!”
She had the top down on her Mini Cooper, and she twisted in the seat toward him.
“What’s this about reporting a murder?” Paddington demanded.
Gripping the car, he loomed over her. Krebs, half his age and size, stayed a step back and regarded her reflection in the Mini Cooper’s gloss paint.
“A dead body,” Molly corrected. “I was hiking—”
“—out by Hawkins’s nose,” Krebs interrupted. “That’s what Evelyn told us.”
Paddington raised a bushy eyebrow at Krebs.
“Yes, that’s where I was.” Molly started the car. “Follow me, I’ll show you. I believe the man slipped. Like I told Michael, it’s not an easy trail, and it’s not well marked.”
Paddington nodded and turned toward a nearby police cruiser, Krebs not far behind. Molly eased away from the curb, not waiting for Paddington to change his mind and order her to stay away.
She kept the top down, even though it felt a little chilly this late in the afternoon. The car had been a gift from Michael last year, and it gave her comfort as she drove toward the horror she’d discovered earlier.
Molly kept to the speed limit, no easy feat. But she needed to give Paddington and Krebs a chance to catch up. Besides, the dead body wasn’t going anywhere. As Molly headed down Walnut Grove and turned on Main, she noticed a police cruiser pull up behind her; it looked like Krebs was driving—no flashers or siren.
They wound their way to the southern outskirts of Blackpool and onto an access road that ran along the cliffs.
Molly often found excuses to drive this road during the late spring because of the colors—leaves greening and flowers springing up everywhere. That’s why she’d gone hiking this afternoon. It had been too lovely to pass the time indoors. That, and she wanted a distraction to keep her mind off tomorrow’s groundbreaking ceremony for the harbor renovation.
She considered this part of the countryside especially stunning. From here it looked like all of Blackpool was a watercolor painting and the buildings, with their colorful red roofs, seemed to be tumbling down the cobbled streets toward the sea.
After a few more minutes she pulled onto a narrow strip of gravel and waited for the cruiser to stop behind her, trying not to think about what awaited them. She got out and walked toward the edge of the cliff. The sun, just starting to set, turned the waves a glimmering copper down below.
