Stolen
Authors: Jordan Gray
“The bandits obviously robbed the train seventy years ago for the fortune carried aboard it. Very few of those stolen goods have ever shown up, and the gold bullion never did.” He paused.” Some say that treasure has never left Blackpool.
“Maybe, ladies and gentlemen, maybe we'll be the ones to find out what happened to all those valuables seventy years ago. Maybe we'll find out who robbed that train and killed those people so callously.”
The double doors leading into the theater suddenly banged open. A rectangle of fluorescent light from the lobby fell into the room. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“Inspector Paddington!”
“Here.” Paddington heaved himself up and whipped a torch from his equipment belt. He snapped it on and a bright blue-white beam shot out.
The woman in the doorway flinched, shielding her eyes with one hand. The inspector's light revealed the blood spread across her fingers and wrist. “Come quick. There's been a murder.”
Michael and Molly Graham
âThe young couple have come to Blackpool for a simpler lifeâ¦only things in the small town are anything but simple.
Iris Dunstead
âThe elderly housekeeper knows everyone and everything that happens in town. But with so many pokers in the fire, is she in for a bad burn?
DCI Paddington
âThe stolid inspector has a laid-back approach to investigationâso laid-back that it's fueled rumors he's only in Blackpool to bide his time until retirement.
Simon Wineguard
âThe recent behavior of the director of Molly's documentary suggests he could be the subject of an exposé himself.
Synthia Roderick
âWith the nickname of Syn and the lifestyle to support it, her sudden appearance in a small coastal town is very suspiciousâ¦.
Joyce Abernathy
âThe responsible and organized assistant of Simon Wineguard, her motto seems to be “always the assistant, never motto seems to be “always the assistant, never the bride.” It doesn't seem to bother herâ¦or does it?
The Crowes
âThe members of the Crowe family are reputed to have more secrets than they have money. And they keep both very well.
The Sterlings
âAnother wealthy family whose name keeps coming up around the train robbery. The family lost a fortune and a child that day. Seventy years later, justice has yet to be served.
Greed, jealousy, betrayal, trickery, murderâ
Blackpool is a town built on secrets and danger.
A BLACKPOOL MYSTERY
“L
OOKS LIKE EVERYONE IN TOWN
showed up.” Michael Graham peered through the tinted window of his vintage limousine at the crowd gathered in front of the Magic Lantern Theatre. Chinese-style lanterns in bright colors hung over the marquee that announced, “Special Announcement Plus Showing of Peter Pan 2: Return to Neverland.”
“That was the point.” Molly leaned in over her husband's shoulder.
For a moment, Michael grew distracted by her perfume and the heat of her body pressing against his. They'd been married three years, but her sheer physical presence still made a tremendous impact on his senses. He knew that would never change, and he was glad for it. He grinned in spite of himself and kissed the back of her neck.
Molly shivered, as he knew she would, and pulled back. She held up a forefinger in warning. “Don't even think about that.”
Michael laughed, but he let her have her space and returned his attention to the festivities filling downtown Blackpool. His newly adopted town was still fascinating to him and constantly inspired his creative juices. The mixture of old and new strewn throughout the hills and up to the cliffs overlooking the sea enthralled him.
Normally on a Friday night, Blackpool's streets remained relatively desolate. Truly there wasn't much to do in town. Most of the action took place out on the sea, or on
the beaches where the teens met up to drink out of sight of their parents.
But tonight the throng gathered all along the police barricade in front of the movie house, filling the thoroughfare and making traffic all but impossible. A few people slapped the limousine or waved as it passed. Not everyone in Blackpool knew the Grahams, but all of them had heard of them.
And even without the limo they would have stood out. Most Blackpoolers walked or biked as the narrow streets downtown and twisty switchbacks up the hills made driving impractical. Tourists and visitors usually arrived by boat and tied up in the harbor.
But the limo had come with the house they'd purchased when moving to Blackpool, and Irwin Jaegerâthe house-manâhad come with both. They seldom used the car, which often disappointed Irwin.
Tonight the black night was fought off by more streetlights than normal, illuminating the squat stone-and-wood buildings in the town square. The brightness seemed out of place amid warehouses and shops more than a century old.
Still focused on her iPhone, Molly Graham shot Michael a quick glance. “I'm glad to see you're finally back among the living and not off robbing crypts or fighting orcs or goblins.”
Chagrined, Michael set aside his small netbook. Partially drafted monsters filled the tiny screen. A pang of guilt twisted within him. “Sorry, love. Didn't mean to go away on you these past few days right before your event.”
“I can't blame you.” Molly glanced through the window and frowned. “I was distracted by last-minute details.” Her dark auburn hair curled under and swept her bare shoulders. The understated black dress showed off her petite figure
but maintained an air of professionalism. A black onyx set in a silver pendant hung at the hollow of her throat from a fine silver chain.
Michael understood her distraction. His profession as a video and computer game designer demanded unwavering focus, as well. Molly's work in public relations and grant writing consumed her from time to time, as well, especially since she assumed responsibilities on her project for beyond what was required, or what she got credit for. She didn't hold back, and that passion was only one of the reasons he loved her so much.
“Of course you do.”
Molly lifted an arched brow. “You were distracted by mermaids.”
Michael chuckled. “No more than usual. And, in my defense, mermaids can be quite distracting.”
“I've seen the drawings of mermaids your illustrator friend, Keith, sent you. Not exactly Disney, I must say.”
Michael chuckled. “Well, Keith's a naughty boy. And it gets toned down for the market.”
Molly leaned in and kissed him. Her warm lips lingered on his for a moment and tasted like cherries. She drew back and looked directly at him. “The netbook stays in the car when we go inside.”
Michael grimaced. Molly straightened the collar and lapels of his thigh-length black leather jacket. “I need you to be yourself tonight.”
“I'm always myself.”
“True, but tonight I need the emphasis put on the wonderful and adorable self.”
Michael rolled his eyes in mock reproach. “You want arm candy.”
“You can let people know you have a brain.”
“Ah. Thank God for that.”
The limousine rolled a few more feet toward the theater, mired in the crowd. On the other side of the privacy screen, Irwin Jaeger shook his head. He thumbed a button that rolled the glass down and glanced in the rearview mirror.
“My apologies. It appears we won't get any closer tonight despite my best efforts.”
Neatly cut iron-gray hair lay under the chauffeur's cap he'd put on for fun and a bushy mustache covered his upper lip. Thick bifocal lenses made his muddy-brown eyes look larger than normal. The tailored livery fit his thin frame exactly.
“This will be fine, Irwin.” Molly smiled at the old man.
“Very good, ma'am.” With an economy of movement, Irwin put the transmission in Park, got out and came around the car, opening the door with a flourish.
“Thank you, Irwin.” Michael climbed out, then extended a hand to Molly. She reached back into the car for a black wrap. Michael draped it over her shoulders, then guided her toward the crowd in front of the theater.
In the distance, Michael noticed Glower Lighthouse standing tall over Blackpool. Even when fog shrouded it and the light appeared to stab out of nowhere, the place seemed threatening, and seeing it at night chilled Michael. During the day, he experienced nothing out of the ordinary, but when he went to the lighthouse at night, especially with the local group of cave explorers he sometimes accompanied, he definitely felt something unsettling lingering in the timbers and stone. And he didn't believe in ghosts. At least, not much.
Michael smiled as the crowd surrounded Molly and him. It was her night, and he wanted to watch her bask in the
event she'd brought to life. He trailed along a step behind her, referring everyone who had questions to Molly.
Â
C
ONFRONTED BY DOZENS
of people, Molly Graham felt as though she'd stepped into her element. She loved being on stage, loved being the center of attention, and she loved bringing a production to successful fruitionâin this case the filming of a documentary right here in Blackpool. Her senses suddenly seemed sharper, her thoughts clearer, and strength coursed through her. To her, public relations was a kaleidoscope of pure energy.
“Mrs. Graham, you've managed to pull off quite the little event here. Will you give us a hint of anything special you've planned?” Fred Purnell, reporter for the local paper, straightened one of his suspenders over his broad belly and forced his way next to Molly. His thinning hair lay oiled against his scalp and he wore his best shirt.
Molly smiled, conscious of the teen photographer that trailed Fred. The girl had a death grip on her camera. The flash went off and temporarily blinded Molly. She never missed a step as she listened to the dozens of curious voices around her.
“Patience, Mr. Purnell.” Molly plowed through the crowd, and the reporter struggled to keep up.
Purnell grimaced. “Everyone in town wants to know if you've discovered anything more about the robbery.”
“All in due time.”
“C'mon, Molly. Give an aging newspaperman a break. If you'd written a press release, I could have already filed this story for the
Journal.
”
Purnell was a dogged reporter for the newspaper he owned and operated, the
Blackpool Journal,
when news was breaking, but things were often slow in Blackpool. Except for the mystery surrounding Ravenhearst Manor
and poor Emma Ravenhearst. He ran stories concerning the family whenever he could because they often got picked up by larger newspapers.
“What about the robbery? Molly, for God's sake.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Molly spotted Michael a half step behind her. A devilish smile curved his lips at Purnell's remonstrations.
Although she'd looked at her husband countless times, she could never grow tired of it. There was something earthy and magnetic about him, about the smooth way he moved. She had to admit, the leather jacket looked great on him, projecting a raw, rugged image that suited him well. He wore a black turtleneck under it and black slacks. At six feet two inches tall, he kept his black hair shaved almost to the scalp, and his carefully trimmed goatee made him look distinguished.
Michael mouthed the word,
Robbery?
Molly grinned impishly at him.
Everybody loved a mystery. Her uncle Peter, who worked for the Mystery Case Files Agency, an international private investigation firm, had regaled her with stories of crimes and criminals since she was a girl. She'd hung on his every word and loved trying to solve the crimes he'd dangled before her.
Most people had heard rumors about the documentary and knew that it was connected to an infamous robbery. But no one knew all the details. To make things even more exciting, this was a mystery that even she didn't have all the answers to. And, of course, there was the treasure. The lure of it would draw a lot of interest.
The answers would surely follow.