Vanished

Rohan looked over at Willie, curled into a fetal position, beyond all hope and care. “I don’t know how he was hurt, but it was no accident.”

Michael didn’t attempt any first aid—the time was well past that. Willie had probably been stabbed or shot. Whatever it was had happened on the deck of the boat. Willie had staggered to the wheel and collapsed, his lifeblood leaking, pooling, draining away, his lifeblood leaking, pooling, draining away, leaving his eyes sunken, his complexion gray and his breathing as shallow as Blackpool’s beach at high tide.

Or…perhaps Willie had collapsed where he was wounded, and his attacker’s weapon had left the trail of gore.

“What’s that?” Rohan reached into a metal crevice in the boat and pulled out an open pocketknife. “There’s blood on this.”

“Put it down, Rohan. That’s probably the murder weapon.”

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.

Dylan and Naomi Stewart—Michael’s friend Dylan is happy in Blackpool, but his artistic wife feels stifled. What will she do to get out? And what will Dylan do to keep her?

Willie Myners—Every town has its bad apples, and Willie is Blackpool’s.

Trevor Hopewell—The successful CEO sailed into the harbor on a luxury yacht designed to look like a pirate ship—complete with cannons and a Jolly Roger. But his ship is not the only thing that isn’t what it seems.

Martin Dunhill—Hopewell’s second in command is just doing his job. But who is he really working for?

The Crowes—The members of the Crowe family are reputed to have more secrets than they have money. And they keep both very well.

The Coffeys—An old Blackpool family, the current members of the clan are integral members of the community—Margaret and Randall run the grocer’s, Alice rules the historical society and Daisy tends the rumor mill. All vocations that keep them well informed of everything that goes on…maybe too well informed.

Greed, jealousy, betrayal, trickery, murder—secrets are the heart of Blackpool.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

BLACKPOOL’S RED TILE roofs gleamed in the sunshine. Boats dotted the sparkling water of the bay and blooming heather streaked the hills beyond. Even the sinister shape of Ravenhearst Manor, its ruined walls and chimneys like the edge of a serrated knife atop the cliff southeast of town, seemed merely picturesque. What better day for a festival? Michael Graham asked himself.

He wove his way through the people thronging Dockside Avenue and entered what passed for a town square, a cobblestoned rectangle between the old town hall and the longest of the piers—the Magic Lantern Theatre on one side, the seawall bandstand on the other. Murmuring, “I beg your pardon, excuse me, sorry,” he dodged a World War II commando and narrowly avoided bouncing off a cavalier dripping lace. The students in shorts and T-shirts who evaded him seemed positively underdressed.

Beside him, Rohan Wallace’s dreadlocks bounced up and down as he nodded at a Napoleonic officer wearing a hat the size of a schooner under sail. Beside Rohan, their friend Dylan Stewart collided with a woman garbed in a Victorian gown, knocking her parasol to the ground. He mumbled an apology, retrieved the parasol and handed it back.

Michael swallowed the last bite of his Scotch egg and licked the savory bits of crumb and sausage from his fingertips. Last year, he and his wife, Molly, had wandered through Blackpool’s Seafaring Days celebration like children through a toy shop. This year they were participants. Michael had even put together a sort of costume out of an old turtleneck and pea jacket. Molly, on the other hand…

Where was she? He’d last seen her near the stall that was selling strawberries and cream.

Alice Coffey walked by without even a glance his way, her nose high above the cloud of powder-scented perfume emanating from her black clothes. Michael got the message: To some of the locals, he and Molly were still no more than glorified tourists. Newcomers. Outsiders. How long did you have to live in Blackpool, he wondered, and how much did you have to go through to be completely accepted?

Never mind. He and Molly had plenty of friends here. He’d gotten to know native Blackpooler Dylan because of their shared interest in mountain biking, and he’d met Rohan, who was an even more recent arrival, during the terrible events surrounding the theatre murder last spring. That first gruesome murder—the night Molly planned to introduce plans for a documentary on the 1939 Blackpool train robbery—had led to several others that Michael and Molly helped solve. All of Blackpool was both intrigued and appalled, especially when stolen artwork from the train seemed to bear the fingerprints of the Crowe family ancestors.