Murder on the Coast: The Gemstone Murders

Breakfast

J.T. could not sleep. Rain tapped on the window panes as he tossed and turned through the night, desperate for rest. The wind whistled through the shingles on the roof. His stomach audibly moaned. In the distance, a door slammed. Sighing, J.T. fought his way out from under the tangled sheets.

Quietly, the boy tip-toed down the stairs to the kitchen. Maybe, he thought, a spot of tea would help.

He stumbled in the dark over the last few steps and promptly froze. It did not sound like anyone heard. He made his way down the hall, pushed open the kitchen door, and was certainly surprised to find Henry already standing by a boiling kettle.

"Hey. What are you doing up?" J.T. walked to the pantry to grab a generic mug off the shelf. It might have just been hiss tired mind, but Henry's hair looked a little wet. As if he just had a shower.

"Can't sleep. You?" Henry poured the hot water into their cups, one at a time.

"Same."

Outside, the wind began to pick up, throwing raindrops against the house like a wave crashing against the shore.

"Sounds like our tea isn't the only thing brewing." Henry offered a small smile to his friend.

J.T. nodded. "Yeah, I can't ever sleep through storms. They always make me anxious. Makes me feel alone, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

They made their way over to the dining table. They sat in silence, drinking their night-time tea, grateful for each other's presence. Henry grabbed a deck of cards and dealt out two hands. They were prepared to stay up until drowsiness would take them back to bed, because staying awake with friends is always more enjoyable than waiting for sleep whilst alone.

Unfortunately, nights always seem the longest the darker they are, and right now, the sky was as black as obsidian.

***

The next day, Anita Jackson found Henry and J.T. asleep at the kitchen table. A half finished game of speed lay in front of them. After much thought on whether to wake her son's friends or not, she decided to leave them be, and she began soundlessly preparing a full English breakfast for the children.

Thomas made his way down the stairs.

"Everyone's already up before me?" Thomas's remark roused the two tired teenagers. They rubbed the sleep from their eyes and breathed in the mixed smells of coffee and bacon rashers, as they're heads began to clear from the natural fog induced by sleep.

Breakfast was on the menu.

Although Mrs. Jackson was, by far, not the best cook in the world, every meal she made tasted exquisite. It seemed that, in her specific case, love was a special ingredient. Not overwhelmingly delicious, but extremely satisfying. The conversation livened the room as the kids exchanged inside jokes no one else would understand.

"Do you need more eggs? More toast? How about you Tommy, do you want some more beans?"

"I'll have some more coffee, Mrs. J, if you don't mind." J.T. remarked.

"Of course, dear."

Soon after their hearty meal, the 16 year-old-boys planned to head into town. Then, they would find their way to the beach for a relaxing day in the sun.

Fortunately for the boys, uniforms were no longer required. They took full advantage of this fact. Having changed into more personalized outfits, the teens felt more themselves.

J.T. sported grey swim trunks with a white and orange patterned collared shirt. Not the most stylish outfit, but he made it work.

Thomas had on baggy blue jeans and a loose 80s style T-shirt, the orange and blue lines of which perfectly accentuated his flaming orange locks. A thin black necklace was added to the mix to tie it all together.

Henry wore an oversized woollen jumper, a white collar poking through at the neck line. A ukulele bag slung across his back like a quiver.

"I want you boys to be careful. All this stuff in the news has got me nervous. You know how busy it gets in the summer," Mrs. Jackson frowned at the prospective of the boys heading out.

"Mum, we can take care of ourselves. I grew up on the coast since I was five. Alright? We'll see you soon." Thomas walked through the doorway, followed closely by Henry and J.T.

They passed through the gate and meandered up the incline of the narrow walkway. Blackberry bushes and stinging nettle lined the way, reaching out towards all passer-by from the cracked cobblestone wall. Henry's worn white sneakers padded along the overgrown concrete path as he asked, "Where are we going, Tommy?"

"Hey, don't start that. It's bad enough my mum calls me that." Jackson retorted. "I think we'll just walk around the town. See some shops. General stuff you do on the coast. Probably get some fish and chips."

J.T. joined in. "Oh, how about we get some ice cream too? I hear it tastes better by the ocean."

"Sure. Why not."

The boys climbed a set of precipitous wooden stairs to the main road of St. Ives. Suddenly, Henry Foxtrot came to a halt at the top of the steps as realization hit him. A smile crossed his face. Directly in front of him stood a red telephone box. A poster daintily sat in one of the many squares of glass along the booth.

"What if went on a ghost tour?"