INSPECTOR PADDINGTON GOT OUT of his car. “Am I early?”
“Only a few minutes. We’ve got one other guest coming.” Michael waited on the porch.
“Anyone I know?”
“Professor Algernon Hume-Thorson.”
Algernon was the lead in the recovery of the Seaclipse. The affable professor had proven himself likable, even to Paddington and his grumpy ways.
“Any special reason the professor has been invited out?”
“Molly’s idea.”
Paddington grunted and climbed the steps. He carried a thin nine-by-twelve-inch manila envelope. “Some of the things we’ll be discussing tonight might be better to stay among us.”
“I trust Algernon. He’s the soul of discretion when it comes to anything that isn’t old news.” Michael smiled. “We’ll see.”
“Since you’re early, how about I set you up with a pint? I’m having one in the kitchen.”
“Sure.”
MICHAEL HELD UP A CORKED BOTTLE of beer and a stein. “You’ll want a glass with this.”
“I never drink beer in a glass unless it’s served that way.” Taking the bottle, Paddington squinted at the label.
“Gale’s Prize Old Ale.”
“Never had the pleasure.”
“It’s a pleasure, Inspector. Trust me. It was made by George Gale and Company, Limited, in Hordean, Hampshire. This isn’t a beer that you drink young. It has to be aged at least a few years before you open it up. I’ve put several bottles of this back in the cellar.”
Staring at the bottle doubtfully, Paddington pushed aside the manila envelope he’d brought and put the stein on the table. He took the corkscrew Michael gave him and gently opened the beer. Once it was open, he sniffed speculatively, then looked up. “Smells like rotting wood that’s gone sour.” He sniffed again. “Maybe a hint of vanilla?”
“Maybe.” Michael opened his own beer. “The nose of this particular beer seems to strike people differently.”
Carefully, Paddington filled the stein. The ale rose up the color of mahogany and gave a thin tan head. He took a sip, sloshed it around, then swallowed. “That’s good.”
“Doesn’t take you long to become a believer.”
“I know my ales.”
Nanny Myrie, attired in more casual clothing, entered the kitchen. When he saw her, Inspector Paddington got to his feet.
Michael stood, as well. “Mrs. Myrie, allow me to introduce Inspector Paddington, Blackpool’s top policeman.”
Nanny walked over and offered her hand. “Inspector.”
“Madam.”
“I’m glad you could join us here.”
“With the offer of dinner and an exceptionally fine ale, how could I refuse?”
Nanny smiled. “Would it be possible to shelve conversation about my grandson and those unfortunate circumstances till after dinner?”
Paddington hesitated only a moment. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” Nanny turned her attention to Molly and Iris. “Ladies, what can I do to help you?”
Michael sat and picked up his ale. The beer was a favorite of his. He eyed the manila envelope.
Following Michael’s gaze, Paddington slid the envelope off the table and onto the chair with him. “After dinner. Didn’t you hear?” He smiled.
“Enjoying your little game, Inspector?”
“I think it’s only fair that occasionally the shoe slips onto the other foot.”
“Michael?” Molly called. “Can you put the steaks on now?”
With a last look at the inspector, Michael stood and went to start grilling.
“—AND THERE I WAS, face-to-face with this bloody great white shark, and only a few minutes of air and a panicked marine photojournalist for company.” Algernon Hume-Thorson lounged in his chair at the dinner table with a stein of Gale’s in one hand. He was a natural, professional and polished storyteller, a man who could walk into a drawing room or a bar and slowly draw the attention of everyone in the room.
In his mid-thirties, Algernon didn’t look the way Molly had first imagined him when Arliss Hogan had offered to call him in to look at the shipwreck. She’d pictured a man with a salt-and-pepper beard, glasses and a pipe. Algernon was smooth-shaven, tanned and had bright blue eyes. He wore an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt that could have been featured on an episode of Magnum, P.I., white Dockers pants and sandals. He was completely at ease with who he was.
Algernon was as trim and fit as Michael, and tended to be just as physical on the soccer or rugby field. Molly had watched the professor and her husband compete with a fierceness that bordered on frightening. Yet they accepted each other as equals and never walked off the playing field with unresolved grudges—no matter how bloodied and battered they were.
That physical relationship, so similar to the one that Michael enjoyed with Rohan, was something Molly understood but couldn’t quite grasp. It had something to do with a nuance of masculinity that escaped her.
Even now, Michael hung on the professor’s words, caught up in the tale like a five-year-old. Nanny and Iris listened attentively, certain of the outcome because Algernon sat before them, while Inspector Paddington and Irwin sat patiently awaiting the punch line. Molly loved watching Michael when he acted like this. That irrepressible zest for life and belief in heroes and adventure were the things that had first drawn her to him. Her business was about dreams, as well, but they were more rooted in everyday life than Michael’s.
Algernon sipped his beer, enjoying Michael’s impatience.
Michael couldn’t wait any longer. “So what did you do?”
“I grabbed the photojournalist—Marty, I think his name was—and yanked him back inside the wreck with me.” Algernon put his beer down and leaned forward across the table, focusing entirely on Michael now.
Unconsciously, Michael leaned across the table, too, drawn to the man and his tale. Molly almost laughed but restrained herself because she knew it would break the spell Algernon had so skillfully woven.
“That great white came after us like a lightning bolt. Bam!” He slapped the tabletop with his open palm. “I swear, I’ve never seen anything move so fast in my life. I kept swimming, and I truly expected to only be hauling a piece of Marty along after me for all my troubles. But I’d snatched him out of the jaws of death. Later, he told me that himself.”
“What did the shark do?”
“That ungainly brute swam right through the hole in the side of the ship and went for us. I swam through the ship’s hold and used crates for cover, only to watch irreplaceable artifacts destroyed in a heartbeat. It was hard, I’ll have you know, and I thought how callous it was of me to go inside the ship when I could have just as easily stayed outside.”
“You wouldn’t have escaped.”
“At the time, I didn’t think Marty and I were going to escape, anyway. Better to die outside and leave the site unharmed than to make a mess of things.”
“You didn’t really think that!” In his own way, the inspector had gotten drawn in, as well.
Algernon shifted his attention to Paddington. “Inspector, if you were in a potentially lethal altercation and you had a choice about ruining a crime scene, would you hesitate?”
Paddington drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I see your point, Professor. It is a quandary.”
“The great white.” Michael shifted in his chair.
“Right.” Algernon focused on him. “So we were in the hold, swimming for our very lives, and the sea’s cruelest killer is right at our stern. Escape seemed impossible. I swear, that’s the closest I’ve ever been to death. But I was thinking the whole time. You can’t do what I do and not learn to use everything around you.”
Molly knew Michael’s brain was racing, because this was exactly the kind of scenario that he would dream up for a video game.
“Then I thought of Marty’s camera.” Algernon grinned. “More precisely, I thought of his light—a high-powered high-pressure sodium light.”
Michael smiled then. “Nice.” He sat back in his chair, satisfied with the answer he had come up with on his own.
“What?” Paddington was a little miffed because he’d missed something.
Molly felt the same way.
“Did you flash the shark with the light and scare it away?” she asked. “Not exactly.”
Michael leaned forward again. “Let me see if I’ve got this right.”
Algernon waved acceptance, giving Michael the floor, and took another sip of his ale.
“The camera used a high-pressure sodium bulb. I’m sure Marty had spares.”
“He did indeed.” Algernon grinned and nodded. “Very good, Michael.”
“I don’t understand.” Molly held up a hand. “Some of us didn’t live for science class.”
“Then you missed out on lessons that could one day save your life.” Michael winked at her. “What do you know about sodium, love?”
“Combine it with chloride and you have table salt.” Molly held up a silver saltshaker.
“True. Which is one of the most common forms for sodium, by the way. The Egyptians had something similar called natron—a natural mineral salt containing hydrated sodium carbonate—and used it to embalm mummies. Pure sodium wasn’t successfully separated into an unadulterated state until the early nineteenth century.”
Paddington heaved a sigh. “Mr. Wizard. Don’t know how you put up with him, Mrs. Graham.”
“He does sometimes live in rarified air.”
Michael ignored the comments. “The thing about sodium, and all the other alkali metals on the periodic chart, is that they react with water.”
“React how?”
“They burn. That’s why fire-suppression teams have to deal with metal fires differently than common fires. The addition of water in metal fires will actually make things worse.” Michael turned back to Algernon. “I take it you made things worse for the great white.”
“I pulled my knife, cut the straps on Marty’s equipment bag, knowing he carried spare bulbs for his camera, and waited for the shark to strike. When it did, I pushed the equipment bag into its face. The shark chewed on the bag for a moment, savaging it to the point that I thought my ill-conceived plan wasn’t going to save us. But, finally, the thing bit into one of those bulbs. The bulbs were designed to withstand pressure down a few thousand meters, but they weren’t tested against the bite of a great white. When the beast broke one of the bulbs, it suddenly had a mouthful of fire.” Algernon gestured with his empty stein. “Naturally, the shark turned tail and swam off. Thankfully I never saw it again.”
Michael sat back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “You know, I may steal that scenario. You can’t just tell something like that to a game designer and not have him lift it off you straightaway, mate.”
Algernon laughed good-naturedly. “Feel free. That story has paid for a lot of beer all over the world for me.”
“Speaking of stories, perhaps we could get to this evening’s agenda.” Paddington placed the manila envelope on the table. “If we’re all ready.”
Nanny Myrie sat up straighter. “I think it’s time.”
“Let me get a bottle of the good brandy.” Iris excused herself from the table. Molly started to get up, but the older woman waved her back into her seat.
“If I may, Mrs. Myrie.” Paddington fished out a notepad from inside his jacket. “Of course.”
“Do you know why your grandson came to Blackpool?”
“I do.” Nanny cleared her throat. “My people have carried stories down from the Before Times—”
“Excuse me?”
“From the time before my people were brought from West Africa and delivered to the New World as slaves and chattel. The way some of my ancestors tell it, our forebears were leaders of my people.”
“What people?”
“The Yoruba people. They lived in the lower western Niger area. For long and long, it is said, the Oya Empire guided our people. Our ways spread to many places.”
Algernon nodded. “Historians have traced Yoruba influences to Cuba, Brazil and Haiti. Their practices, some believe, paved the way for Santeria, Voudoun and Candomble.”
“Voodoo?” Paddington tapped his pen irritably. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Myrie, but I don’t want to go filling my reports with mentions of voodoo.”
“Detective Inspector, I never mentioned voodoo. I only said that my people have a long and important history. That is what Rohan was here to save.”
“How?”
“Our people were enslaved by other tribes. My ancestors stood on the slave blocks in Île de Gorée and got sold into servitude. Their possessions were taken from them by their captors and by the European sailors that chained them in the bowels of their ships. The stories my family have handed down talk of some of these objects that were stolen. If you care to search further on the matter, you’ll find that exhaustive studies have been done on the Yoruba people.”
“That’s true, Inspector.” Algernon narrowed his eyes and thought. “There are, in fact, some researchers that believe the Yoruba people might have been the fabled Atlanteans. There’s evidence that the Yoruba sailed the Atlantic and discovered the New World before the Europeans did. They were shipbuilders and traders, and there’s some speculation that part of West Africa sank into the ocean, just like Atlantis did, at around the time those stories started.”
Paddington held up his hands in surrender. “Stop. Let’s go forward a few hundred years.”
“More like a few thousand.”
“All right.” Paddington took a breath and showed restraint. Molly knew it was hard for the man to remain patient under the circumstances. Especially with a body in the Blackpool morgue that he still couldn’t explain. “Let’s get back to the here and now. To just a few nights ago, in fact. Why was your grandson in the Crowes’ house, Mrs. Myrie?”
Iris returned with the brandy and glasses. She poured quietly and passed the drinks around to everyone except Nanny and Irwin, both of whom politely declined.
“Charles Crowe was reputed to be quite a collector. He founded the museum in Blackpool, but rumor has it he kept all the choice pieces for himself. My grandson believed the Crowes still had some of our stolen artifacts. Objects Charles Crowe likely obtained from being part of the slave trade.”