Chapter 2. The "drowned man"
"A drowned man?!" Greta exclaimed. "Where?"
"On the beach!" Mr Palmer panted. "Not far from Raven Hill Park!"
"It's bad," Greta sighed heavily. "Damn! What an awful day!"
"It's not "bad", Miss Vortek, it's terrible!" Mr Palmer flung up his fat hands.
"It depends on the way you look at it," Greta said sulkily. "For the floater it's terrible, of course, and for his relatives too, if they exist. But for me it's just bad. Because I have to investigate another case with a dead body."
"But he isn't a dead body yet," the old man vigorously shook his head. "He still shows signs of life. Sammie, my son, is there, trying to recover him."
Hearing about Sammie I couldn't help smiling. This childish name completely wasn't associated with huge, fat, middle-aged Samuel Palmer, who ran a chain of shops in the city.
"Let's go, Miss Vortek!" Mr Palmer dashed to the door. "I'll show you."
Greta sighed, but followed Mr Palmer towards the entrance.
"May we go with you?" Nick, Liz and I rushed after her. Greta nodded. After all we had helped the police to investigate a lot of crimes before.
A police car was already waiting for her outside. Liz and I got into the back seat. Mr Palmer kindly offered to drive the others.
###
When we arrived at the coast, the first thing we saw was a big crowd. People there flocked, whispering and pointing. We pushed our way through the crowd and saw a pale man, who was lying still on the sand. His mouth was hanging open. His hair was messy. Samuel Palmer towered above him. The Work Demons, our enemies, also were here.
"What are they doing here?" Liz whispered, looking sideways at them.
"We heard shouts and decided to help," Henshaw grinned.
"There's nothing to help, I'd say," Tom commented grimly, looking at the deadly pale, still man. "The guy is dead. It's obvious."
Right at that moment the "dead guy" let out a faint groan. Samuel started to press down on his chest with redoubled energy. After a couple of minutes the "drowned" man at last opened his eyes.
"Hey, are you okay, mate?" Samuel bent over him. The next moment the "drowned man" sharply raised his hand, in which he had been holding a piece of golden wood and hit his saviour on the head. Samuel howled with pain and surprise, and jumped aside. The "drowned" guy collapsed back on the sand, looking exhausted.
"Dead guy, huh?!" Samuel glared at Tom, rubbing his head. He quickly bent down and grabbed the piece of wood from the man's hands. He had already swung his arm to throw it away, but suddenly stopped.
"What's that?" he stared at the piece of wood.
I came up to him to look at it closely. What I saw made my jaw drop. It was a gold-plated fragment of picture frame.
"It's from that stolen picture!" Richelle screamed.
"Are you sure?" Greta looked at her attentively. "Hey?" she shook the man by the shoulder, "where did you get it?"
"Don't touch me," the man roared. "Don't touch me! Or I'll kill you!"
"Aggressive guy," Samuel shook his head, edging away just in case.
"I'll kill you," the man went on roaring.
"Where did you get this thing?" obviously trying to impress Miss Vortek, Henshaw bravely rushed to the man and grabbed his shirt-collar. But his hoarse voice seemed to recall some unpleasant memories in the man's head, because he fumbled in the sand for a stone and threw it at Bradley.
"Don't come! I'll kill you!" the man began roaring again. "Help me! Anyone! Help me! They're killing me!"
"Yeah, the day's becoming better and better…" Greta drawled, taking a step back.
At that moment we heard a wailing sound of sirens. An ambulance swooped down the street and screeched to a stop on the road. Two guys in white coats leaped out and pushed their way through the crowd towards us.
"So? Where's the floater?" asked one of them.
"Here he is. Roaring," Samuel answered, still keeping as far as possible from the aggressive guy.
"It's a shock," the doctor nodded. "Typical reaction."
He quickly gave the man an injection, then two ambulance men put him on the stretcher, and loaded him into the car. The driver started the engine, and with a roar and jerk, they were off. Greta seemed to be very pleased that she didn't have to investigate a case with a dead body. She took the piece of frame from Samuel and headed for her car.
"Miss Vortek! Miss Vortek! Wait!" Mr Palmer senior shouted after her. "You didn't tell us about the library. What's happened to the painting?"
"It was stolen," Greta replied briefly. "We're looking for the thief."
"Oh. Oh," Mr Palmer sighed heavily. "I liked this picture so much. That little mermaid was so beautiful and… sexy. Miss Vortek, you must find this picture. I want it back!" the old man stamped his foot capriciously.
"We're doing our best," Greta muttered.
"Okay, look," Samuel Palmer said loudly. "I'll pay 3000$ to those who'll find the picture. Including you, Miss Vortek," he added, looking at her meaningfully.
"Great," she grumbled under her nose, turning round and walking towards her car. "Lots of teenagers, poking their noses around and looking everywhere for clues. As if I don't have enough problems without it."
She got into her car and drove away. Mr Palmer and his son also clambered into their car. Samuel began to back out of his parking spot, then drove onto the road and soon they disappeared behind a corner. The crowd slowly started to dwindle away. Henshaw turned to his friends, smirking.
"Come on, guys," he said. "We'd better hurry. Other parts of the picture frame must be somewhere here." They glanced at us, sneering, and started walking up the beach, looking down at the sand and kicking rocks, sticks and other litter.
###
We decided that the Work Demons had a good idea for once, and went in an opposite direction, looking down at the sand, from time to time bending down for a better look at something what seemed interesting. We didn't find another piece of the frame yet, but Tom and Liz had filled their bags with odd stones, shells and other stuff like that.
Nick was chatting endlessly about the reward. "We must find this painting," he said, watching Tom bend down and pick up a disgusting dirty shell, which he happily shoved into his bag. Nick looked away. "We poked our noses in criminal cases without being paid for it. But now we can receive money."
Richelle heavily sighed and muttered something.
"Think about money, Rich," Nick reminded her. "Do you mind?"
"No, not at all," she replied. She was a bit irritated because her high heels were drowning in the sand all the time. "Of course I want to receive a reward," she went on. "But at first we should find this picture. We don't even know from what to start. Plus these Work Demons. They will be in our way, causing troubles for us."
At that moment Tom, who had walked far ahead, ducked behind a big rock and when we came nearer, he leaped out, yelling hideously. Richelle screamed and grabbed Nick's sleeve. Tom laughed.
"Idiot," Richelle shrieked.
"Oh, wow!" Tom disappeared behind the rock again. "Take a look!"
"Have you found another piece of the frame?" Liz rushed to him. The next moment she jumped back, shrieking. "Yuck! It's disgusting! Take that thing away from me!"
"What's there?" Nick asked curiously.
"A fish. Dead," Liz wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"It's not only dead, it's dead and rotten," Tom added importantly.
"Is there any fragment of frame?" Sunny asked him.
Without answering, Tom disappeared behind the rock again. A minute later he clambered back into view.
"There are no frames, nor mermaids, nor shepherds," he commented, brushing sand off his knees. "Only this dead, rotten fish."
"Come on, then" I muttered. "We're wasting time."
Carefully inspecting litter on the sand, we trudged ahead.
"I don't understand what we're doing here," Richelle grumbled, stumbling over rocks and drowning in the sand. "Even if we find this picture frame. So what? What's the point in it?"
"Listen," Liz suggested, ignoring Richelle's nagging. "What if the painting is valuable? Or," she gave a new suggestion, "this nearly drowned guy could know that the painting was valuable and could steal it."
"It's possible!" Nick agreed. "Yes! That was why he held that piece of picture frame in his hands," he stopped abruptly. "Because he stole the picture and decided to break the frame. Think of that. The picture wasn't big. Without the frame he can hide the canvas in every bag."
"As far as I remember, a couple of hours ago you said that this "mermaid" was nothing but rubbish," Tom drawled. "Now you think that a half-drowned guy stole it. And when he got the painting, it made him so happy, that he decided to drown together with this picture," suddenly he burst out laughing.
You're right in it, I thought, looking down at the sand. Why did he hold this piece of picture frame? All of a sudden I noticed something glowing between two rocks. I bent down and picked up another gold-plated piece of picture frame.
"Wow!" the others gasped. They surrounded me, examining the gilded piece of wood. Now, after looking at it closer, we all could say for sure that it was a piece of frame from the stolen picture. Tom shoved the piece of frame into his bag together with the dirty stuff he'd found, and we went further, excitingly discussing our find.
###
We reached the place where the bank curved, and stopped. There was no point in going further. So when Liz suggested going back the way we'd come to check if we missed something, we all agreed. Except for Richelle, of course, who kept muttering to herself.
We returned to the place where the drowned man had been found. The Work Demons were there. They stood at the edge of the water, talking. They looked quite determined to get the upper hand over us this time and receive the reward.
The Demons didn't see us. They were too busy listening to Henshaw, their leader, who was gesturing vigorously, holding something in his hand. Suddenly Tom gasped and nudged me in the ribs, pointing at the thing which Henshaw held. I nodded. It was the third part of the frame. We exchanged anxious glances. It seemed that The Work Demons were, at least, at the same level as we were. Nutter, who obviously had found this piece of frame, was pointing at the sea, talking excitedly.
"Look," Joel Hiltoff said loudly enough for us to hear. "I saw a movie where thieves stole a painting from a museum, wrapped it into a waterproof material and hid it on the bottom of the ocean floor. Maybe that drowned guy was one of the thieves. They knew they needed time to get the painting out of the country, so they broke the frame, indemnified the painting against water and hid it at the bottom of the bay. When the police stop searching everywhere, they will smuggle the painting overseas and sell there. Just imagine how it's easy. They catch a plane with a small roll of painting in their bag. Who would know!"
We exchanged glances again. It was logical. And quite possible. All of a sudden all six of the Work Demons began to hastily take off their clothes.
"What are they doing?" Richelle stared at them, puzzled. Henshaw, Nutter and the others threw their clothes down on the sand and stepped into the cold water.
"I think they're going to look for the stolen painting at the bottom of the sea," Tom grunted, pressing his hands to his mouth and trying hard not to burst into laughter.
Richelle shivered. "I can't watch how they swim in such cold water," she complained.
I could understand her. It was winter. It was quite warm now, but not so warm to swim. The water must be very cold.
"I hope that they won't catch pneumonia," Liz said, anxiously looking at the diving Demons.
"Look, what if they're right?" Tom stopped giggling. Now he looked quite worried. "What if the painting is hidden at the bottom?"
"We'll lose this game then," said Sunny.
"Yeah, but believe me, they won't find anything there," Nick waved his hand.
"How can you be so sure?" Tom turned to him.
"First of all," Nick grinned, "I'm sure that there are no pictures in the water, it's all rubbish. And second of all, even if the picture really is hidden at the bottom of the ocean, the Work Demons will never find it."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because they don't have enough brains to find even what's lying right in front of their noses," Nick raised one eyebrow.
"Come on," Richelle pulled at his sleeve. "I'm tired and I want to eat something."
"Me too," Tom said immediately.
We arranged to meet at four o'clock in the library to ask Miss Crane about the piece of frame which we'd found, and went off in different directions.