The Ghoul of Christmas Past

getting a loan for his business, wasn’t he?’
Her statement jogged Michael’s memory. ‘Yes, that’s right. He said they lacked vision, just like everyone else and they would all see the truth soon enough. He is listed as a shareholder …’ Staring down at the page, his jaw dropped open. ‘That’s the man that went missing earlier this week,’ he blurted.
Mary asked, ‘Who is?’
She got the page waved in her face in response. ‘The same guy. The same guy we saw in the bank shouting at the manager last week is the one who was kidnapped.’
‘You don’t know he was kidnapped,’ Mary argued.
Michael didn’t bother to argue, mostly because his wife was right, but also because he was reading down the page. ‘It says he has a hundred shares in the firm. It’s the same people running the museum and the theme park.’
Mary reminded him, ‘No one is running the theme park now. It closed.’
A hundred shares. Was that a lot? Michael knew little of such things, but it didn’t sound like a lot. He flicked to the next page, finding Mason Sabre and then Jason Pendergrass, discovering that both men had several hundred shares each. Checking more pages, he found there were a total of five shareholders, and four had a sizeable portion of the firm in their grasp. Ronald Norton, the missing man who needed a loan, had only a fraction. Michael skewed his lips to one side as he thought about it, but concluded, ‘These things must all be connected.’
Engaging her sweet voice, the one which said he better dare not take another step, she said, ‘I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be looking into any of this silly Dickens stuff. We don’t have time, and that’s your son’s job not yours.’
‘But …’
‘And he wouldn’t investigate it unless he had a client,’ she added when he tried to speak.
‘But what about …’
‘And you would only embarrass yourself and get arrested if you were to poke your nose where it isn’t wanted. You’re not as young as you used to be, Michael.’ She managed to make her last comment sound loving.
‘Hold on a second.’
‘So that’s it settled then,’ she concluded. ‘Jolly good. Let’s get home and pack and then we can have a nice cup of tea. It will be time to get ready for the show soon.’
Michael waited for her to finish, and once he was sure she no longer expected a response from him, he launched his salvo. ‘I may not be young, dear, but my brain works perfectly well and there is something happening that no one is dealing with. I need to visit Frank. If there is something going on, he’ll know about it. Tempest often says he goes to him to get the inside scoop on the weird things around here.’
Mary screwed up her face. ‘Frank? That horrible little man in the comic book shop?’
‘Yes, Mary. I’ll tell you what. If Frank says there is nothing happening at the Dickens Museum or that there’s nothing odd about the theft or the missing shareholder,’ he rifled through the pages again to find the one who was missing. ‘This fella, Ronald Norton, then I’ll drop it all and won’t mention it again.’
Mary cut her eyes across the car, sensing a trap. ‘And if he says there is something screwy? I’ve met him, Michael. I have the impression that he thinks everything is screwy. Didn’t you tell me he was in that Kent League of Demonologists?’
‘If he says there is a pack of vampires behind it all, then I’ll call Tempest and I’m sure he’ll be glad of the case. He can take it on because, you know, I’m so decrepit.’ He mimed gumming with no teeth and being hunched and geriatric.
Wondering if it might be the only way to shut him up, she sighed. ‘Fine. But if the three-bird roast I just bought for New Year’s defrosts while you are mucking about, there’s going to be trouble.’

The Dickens Museum. Saturday, December 24th 1202hrs
They chose to park behind Tempest’s office where they expected there to be several empty parking spaces. They were not disappointed. The office was locked as they expected it to be, and when they made their way through the pedestrian gap in the wall to reach Rochester High Street, they found the office lights off.
Mary asked, ‘Why do you seem surprised that no one is working? Why would they be?’
‘I don’t,’ Michael replied, frowning at the office’s dark interior. ‘Tempest isn’t answering his phone, and that usually means he’s off doing something.’
‘He only got out of hospital yesterday,’ Mary pointed out. Michael raised an eyebrow, his expression clear. ‘Okay,’ she conceded with a sigh, ‘I suppose that wouldn’t make much difference where Tempest is concerned.’
‘No.’ Michael crooked his arm and offered it to his wife. She slipped her hand into his elbow and let him steer her. However, her feet stopped the moment he started moving.
‘You’re going the wrong way, aren’t you?’ she questioned. ‘I thought the place we want is on North Gate?’ She referenced the road not the ancient structure which both bore the same name.
‘I thought we might stop for a Christmas Eve sherry,’ he announced, tugging her along. For good measure he bent his head to nibble at her neck playfully.
Mary swatted him away. ‘Get off me, you old pirate. We’re in public for heaven’s sake. Behave.’ The sherry sounded good though, and a nice change of pace to running from one task to the next which is how Christmas always seemed to be. ‘Where shall we go? It’s been so long since we stopped for a drink on the High Street.’
Her observation saddened Michael a little but he made a mental promise to make up for it when he turned her to the left. ‘Oh, look, dear. The Dickens