Submerged

“Let the real show begin,” Michael said. He stepped away from her and walked over to Barker for a moment.

“Some show,” Molly muttered, wondering what Michael wanted with Barker. “Let it all be over with soon.”

“After this chaos, I’ll happily go back to my mummies on meteors,” Michael said, returning. He patted the pocket that contained the iPhone and grinned at Molly. “After, of course, we visit the shop where Barker buys his chewing tobacco. There’s only one tobacconist in Blackpool, according to him.”

“Good work,” Molly said.

Dennis Carteret climbed up the stairs to stand behind Arliss. Percy Lethbridge, in front of the gathering, spotted Molly and waved, then headed her way, sidestepping Aleister Crowe, who was talking to another reporter.

“Today begins an important chapter for Blackpool,” Arliss began. For such a petite woman, she had a loud, deep voice, and Molly thought she could get along without the microphone. A few people from the town council joined her behind the podium, and Molly wondered if the wood platform would hold them all. “Today we kick off improvements to our storied wharf that will preserve our town’s history for the coming generations.”

Polite applause followed more of her practiced words, and then Arliss stepped back and Carteret took a turn.

“You were all witness to an unfortunate incident a short while ago, when our friend Barnaby Stone—”

“Put on quite a display, he did!” someone in the front hollered. The remark was followed by a round of chuckles.

“Much thought was put into this project,” Carteret continued, raising his voice. “I’m not just a planning board member. I’m one of those businessmen who own property on the wharf. I, too, will be spending some of my own money. In the end, we’ll have buildings that meet Blackpool’s new codes and will stand against time and the sea. This work will prevent our precious buildings from deteriorating and will preserve our town’s past. If we lose our history, we lose part of ourselves, who we are and who we were—good people and notorious scoundrels, heroes and villains, colorful souls all. But more than that, we would lose our heritage.”

The applause was loud and Molly released the breath she’d been holding. Maybe this would be a good day, after all. Everyone but the Draghicis and the few opposing business owners were clapping and cheering.

Lethbridge finally found his way to her. “It’s a good speech,” he pronounced. “Heard him practice it a few days ago.”

“What did you want to talk to me about earlier? Something to do with the marina?”

He hesitated. “It can wait,” he said. “Let’s listen to him.”

Carteret went on about Blackpool being blessed with the grant money Molly had obtained, and mentioned which buildings would be renovated first and the order that the others would follow. He gestured behind him to the water, and described the dredging that had started several days ago and would ultimately deepen the channel. Although he spoke clearly and the microphone carried his voice to the very back of the audience, he was suddenly drowned out by a chorus of voices approaching from the street.

“Say no! Say go!” It was a chant that crashed like a tall wave over Molly. “Say no! Say go!”

She spun around to see a gaggle of T-shirted young men and women, all carrying signs with slogans:

Dredging is Dreadful

They’re Dredging our Graves

Go Green Gladiators

Stop the Digging!

Keep the Water Safe

Dredgers are Murderers Fish Slayers!

Green Gladiators=Blackpool Heroes

“Say no! Say go!”

So much for ending the day on a positive note. She turned to Michael, frustrated. “Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“MAYBE WE CAN ACTUALLY accomplish something good today,” Molly told Michael. “Why don’t we visit that tobacco shop.” She wasn’t one to shrink from conflict, but she knew that arguing with protestors or TV reporters wouldn’t do her or the renovations any good. If anything, her presence might fuel the naysayers.

“Sure, we’ll walk over to the tobacconist, look around—”

“Ask a few questions—” Already Molly was brightening at the thought of doing a little sleuthing to take her mind off the protest at the marina.

“—see what we can find out.”

“Then we’ll drop you at home to your waiting undead, while I come back and face this…”

Garrison Headly shot past them, microphone out, attempting to be the first reporter to interview the protestors. Jennessee Stanwood was fast behind him, with their respective cameramen following.

The air was instantly filled with the murmurs of the townsfolk and tourists. Someone shouted “Bring back Barnaby,” and the constables blew their whistles.

“What a nightmare,” someone grumbled near Molly. “This has become a real dog’s dinner.”

Michael and Molly turned to go, but Garrison Headly was directly in Molly’s path. Michael tried to steer around him, but the protestors pressed in from the street side, and the crowd surged forward from the dock side. Molly and Michael were caught between the two groups and had to inch their way through.

Headly managed to pose for the camera. “This is Garrison Headly with BBC Four, reporting from historic Blackpool, where a ceremony just got underway…and has been interrupted…by a group of environmentalists apparently calling themselves the Green Gladiators. I’m speaking with their leader, Francis Weymouth.”

Molly stopped in her tracks, belatedly realizing the man beside Headly wasn’t just a part of the crowd. The color drained from her face.

“The day can’t get any worse now,” Michael said flatly.

“We’ve tried to reason with the planning board—and with Molly Graham,” Weymouth said, eyes straight at the camera.

“We’ve been against the changes to the docks from the very beginning, and we’ve been consistently ignored.”

Weymouth had outdone himself today, looking trim and reasonably professional with pressed pants and a sport jacket over a bright Green Gladiators T-shirt. In his early thirties, he could pass for someone a decade younger, with sandy hair and intense blue eyes. Molly had to admit he was striking to look at, with his broad shoulders and square jaw, and he was perfect eye candy for the news cameras.

But just because he was attractive didn’t mean she liked him. In fact, he set her teeth on edge. She didn’t trust him, not since she’d first seen him at one of the planning board meetings. She’d learned then that he lived in a shack at the edge of town, calling himself “off the grid,” because he had no need to rely on electricity or other modern conveniences that “stressed the environment.” Though apparently he had no qualms about the convenience of using his motorcycle to get around. He hadn’t been arrested yet for any of his numerous and noisy demonstrations regarding the harbor project, but he had been charged for trespassing on construction sites and damaging equipment to “preserve the balance” of the land.

Molly didn’t doubt that he was an environmentalist, but she suspected he relished the publicity more than any actual change he might accomplish.

“Short-term, dredging will hurt fishing in the area,” Weymouth explained. “Long-term, it will have a dire impact on the lobster population and lobster harvesting. It’s a lose-lose situation,” he added. “Nothing good will come of—”

“There was an environmental assessment done,” Molly countered loudly, drawing the reporters’ attention. Jennessee—appearing out of nowhere—and Headly quickly thrust microphones in front of her, as Michael stepped behind. “Mr. Weymouth’s concerns were all addressed in the multiple assessments we commissioned. Yes, dredging will have a big impact on the ecosystem of Blackpool’s harbor, that’s why it wasn’t entered into lightly. But the impact will be favorable.”

“How so?” Headly and Jennessee said practically in unison.

Molly pulled in a breath. “A deeper harbor can accommodate larger boats, which is beneficial for our fishing and tourism industries. Plus, the silt that has accumulated on the ocean floor carries traces of contaminants like PCBs and heavy metals that are harmful to aquatic life. Ridding the harbor of them will be a boon to the ecosystem and healthier for the residents of the town. We wouldn’t have been awarded such a large green grant if the project caused harm.”

“Liar!” a protester shouted.

“They can make their bloody studies say whatever they bloody well want!” chimed in another.