A Wrinkle in Thyme

by Sarah Fox

  No one answered when I knocked on the front door, so I headed around back, where I had more luck. The door stood open and Frankie was on the porch, sweeping it clean with a broom.

  I wasn’t surprised to see him there. He worked for his family’s moving company, but he always seemed to be at the museum lately. I knew Jane appreciated his help, but I didn’t think she took as much notice of him as he hoped she would.

  He paused his sweeping as I climbed the steps.

  “Is Jane here?” I asked after saying hello.

  “Upstairs, the last I saw her.”

  “Thanks.”

  He resumed sweeping as I entered the museum.

  Aside from the swishing of Frankie’s broom, I couldn’t hear a sound inside the Victorian. I called out Jane’s name, in case she’d come downstairs. I received no response, but a floorboard creaked above my head.

  Instead of heading upstairs right away, I took the time to peek into both front rooms. The news I’d heard at The Flip Side was accurate. The museum’s artifacts were now on display, ready for visitors. One room showcased old photographs of Wildwood Cove, Native American baskets, and information about the area’s maritime history. The other room displayed clothing from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as well as old household items like a wood-burning cookstove, early clothes irons, and an old gramophone. There was plenty more to see, but I figured I’d browse the exhibits more closely another time.

  I ran my hand along the polished banister as I took the stairs to the second floor. Everything was spick and span and gorgeous. The renovations had breathed new life into the old house, and yet I could almost feel the history of the place in the air. It made for a perfect atmosphere for a museum.

  “Jane?” I called out as I reached the top of the stairway.

  She poked her head out of a room to my right. “Hi, Marley. Come on in.”

  I stepped into the room, which had a large table in the middle, and shelves lining the wall. Although the shelves weren’t completely full, they held several boxes. Jane grabbed one of them and shifted it over to the table.

  “I took a quick peek at the front rooms downstairs,” I said. “Everything looks great. Up here too.” As much as I disliked Dean, he’d made the original hardwood floors look as good as new.

  Jane smiled at the compliment. “Thanks. It wouldn’t have happened without all the help of the volunteers, including you.”

  “I’m glad I was able to help.” I held out one of the paper bags I’d carried over from The Flip Side. “I brought you a couple of sticky buns from the pancake house.”

  Jane opened the bag and took a quick look inside as she thanked me. “They look delicious.” She sniffed the contents. “And they smell even better. I’ve heard great things about The Flip Side’s sticky rolls.” She set the bag aside. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No, I just dropped by to see how things looked. I don’t want to get in the way.”

  “You’re not in the way.” She removed the lid from the box on the table. “I’m taking advantage of the fact that we now have room to sort through some of the donations we’ve received over the past couple of years.”

  I stepped closer, my ever-present curiosity perking up. “What’s in this one?”

  “Looks like documents, mostly.” She pulled on a pair of cotton gloves and carefully lifted out a sheaf of papers. “These look like old receipts of some sort.” She set those aside and reached into the box again, this time producing a small leather-bound volume. She gently opened the cover and turned the first few pages. “A journal. That could be interesting.”

  “Whose journal?” I asked, peering at the faded, spidery handwriting. I couldn’t read any of it from my vantage point.

  Jane returned to the front page, where she found a name. “Douglas Maxwell. That makes sense. This box was donated by his daughter, Dolly Maxwell.” She carefully flipped through some of the pages again. “The entries date back to the 1930s.”

  “Sounds like it could be fascinating,” I said.

  “It very well could be, although you never can tell until you actually read such things. I once got excited about an old journal, only to discover that the author had just noted down what he ate each day. And he didn’t exactly have a varied diet.”

  I hoped that wouldn’t be the case with Douglas Maxwell’s journal, even though I probably wouldn’t have a chance to read it.

  I peeked into the box as Jane set the journal on the table. I spotted a small roll of papers tied with a ribbon. The ribbon had likely once been white with red polka dots, but the white parts had yellowed with age.

  “Do you think those might be letters?” I pointed to the roll of papers, not wanting to touch anything without gloves.

  “They might be.”

  Jane untied the ribbon, and it slithered away, falling to the table. Carefully, she unrolled the papers. I held my breath, hoping they wouldn’t crumble to pieces. We both breathed a sigh of relief once they were lying intact on the tabletop. Jane had to hold them down to keep them from rolling up again, but aside from a few creases and small tears, the papers appeared to be in relatively good condition.

  My first guess appeared to be right. The handwriting of the letters was faded, but not so much as to make it illegible. I could tell right away that the letters had been penned by someone other than Douglas Maxwell, the owner of the journal. The handwriting was markedly different, loopier, and less of a spidery scrawl.

  “What’ve you got there?”

  Jane and I both jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice. He stood in the doorway, focused on Jane.

  “Some documents donated by a local family,” Jane replied.

  “Need any help with them?” Frankie sounded hopeful.

  “No, thank you.” Jane smiled at him. “I’m fine here, and you’ve done so much already.”

  He returned her smile. “Call me anytime you need another pair of hands around here.”

  Jane thanked him, and he disappeared down the hall. A few seconds later, I heard him descending the stairs, his footsteps getting quieter and quieter until they faded away. I was more certain than ever that he had a crush on Jane. It was clear from the way he looked at her. I didn’t know if she was aware of his feelings or not, but I sensed that she viewed him as nothing more than a helpful volunteer.

  We turned our attention back to the letters.

  Jane set the top pages aside and carefully looked through the others. “There are several letters here. No obvious indication of whom they were written to. They’re all addressed to ‘my beloved.’”

  I leaned in for a closer look at the first letter’s top page as Jane smoothed it out again. It was dated 1907.

  “They’re more than a hundred years old,” I said, excitement stirring.

  I loved getting a glimpse into the lives of people from the past. I wondered if Jane would let me read the letters.

  She studied them intently and then sifted through the papers until she found the end of the first letter, which appeared to be three pages long.

  “Does it say whom it’s from?” I asked.

  “There’s no name, but…” Jane froze, staring hard at the yellowed sheet of paper in her hands.

  “What is it?” I moved closer so I could see over her shoulder.

  To my disappointment, there was no name signed at the end of the letter. Instead, there was simply a J with a diamond drawn around it.

  A glance at Jane’s face made me wonder if my disappointment was premature. A light of excitement shone in her eyes.

  “Do you know what that means?” I asked, pointing to the J without touching the paper.

  Instead of answering, Jane sifted through the other papers. All of the letters were signed in the same way.

  “Jane?” I prodded, the suspense becoming too much for me to take.
/>
  She set down the papers and raised her gaze to meet mine. A smile broke out across her face.

  “This is incredible!” She looked ready to jump with joy. I’d never seen her so excited.

  “What’s incredible?” I asked, quelling my growing impatience. “I’m still in the dark here.”

  “It’s the Jack of Diamonds,” she said, her whole face shining with excitement now.

  “That’s a person?” I still didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “You don’t know about the Jack of Diamonds? He’s only one of the peninsula’s most notorious figures from the past.”

  “I didn’t grow up here,” I said. “I don’t know a whole lot about the town’s history.”

  Before I’d finished speaking, she was waving off my words as if anxious to explain. “The Jack of Diamonds was a thief. He plagued the Olympic Peninsula in the early twentieth century. He broke into the homes of the rich and middle-class, stealing jewelry and other small but valuable items. It’s estimated that he stole thousands of dollars’ worth of goods. These days that would translate to tens of thousands. Maybe even hundreds of thousands.”

  She paused for a breath, still smiling. “His real name was Jack O’Malley, but not a whole lot is known about him. He was shot and killed in 1908. It’s thought that he might have come to the Pacific Northwest from Colorado, but no one knows for sure. Anyway, he got his nickname from the calling card he left whenever he committed a robbery.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “A Jack of Diamonds playing card.”

  “Exactly.” She beamed at the letters lying on the table.

  “And you really think these letters could be from him?” I asked.

  “It’s very possible. This was his stomping ground, and it’s unlikely anyone back then would have pretended to be him. He was one of the most wanted men around.” She went back to studying the letters. “I wish I knew the name of his beloved.”

  “Maybe there’s a clue in the letters,” I suggested.

  “Let’s hope so.” She checked her phone.

  I noticed that the lock screen displayed cover art from one of Pride and Prejudice’s many editions. I’d heard that Jane was a huge Austen fan. Apparently, so was her mother, which was how Jane got her name.

  She set her phone aside and carefully stacked the letters back together. “We’ll have to flatten these out, but that will have to wait.” She tied the ribbon around them loosely.

  “You’re putting them away?” I couldn’t keep the surprise and disappointment out of my voice. I really wanted to know more about Jack O’Malley and the letters. Whom he’d written to was a bit of a mystery, and I hated leaving mysteries unsolved.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to,” Jane said. “I can’t wait to read them. But I’ve got an appointment. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”

  I followed her as she left the room, the letters still held reverently in her gloved hands. “Are you leaving them here at the museum?”

  “Absolutely,” she said on her way down the stairs. “I don’t want to risk any damage to them by taking them with me. I’ll lock them in my office for safekeeping.”

  I stayed on her heels as she entered her office and unlocked the top drawer of her desk, setting the letters inside.

  “When will you be back to read them?” I asked. “And can I be here? I’d love to know what’s in the letters and who the recipient was.” A thought struck me. “If Dolly Maxwell donated the letters, isn’t it likely they were written to someone in her family?”

  “Probably. If the recipient isn’t named anywhere in the letters, it shouldn’t be hard to come up with a list of possibilities. And, of course, I’ll start by asking Dolly about the letters. Hopefully, she’ll know something about them.” She shut and locked the drawer. “I’m not sure exactly when I’ll be back to read them, but I could certainly let you know what I find out when I do.”

  It wasn’t hard to read between the lines of what she’d said. She was willing to tell me what she found, but reading the letters was something she wanted to do on her own.

  I had no choice but to stifle my disappointment and wait until she was ready to share.

  * * * *

  “At least she’s willing to let you know what she finds out,” Brett said to me that evening.

  We walked hand-in-hand along the streets of Wildwood Cove, enjoying the perfect evening weather. Bentley trotted along beside us, Brett holding his leash.

  “I hope she doesn’t change her mind,” I said.

  Brett squeezed my hand. “I doubt she’d be able to keep the information all to herself even if she wanted to. People around here love stories about the Jack of Diamonds. Once word gets out that the letters exist, everyone’s going to want to know what’s in them. And they belong to the museum, not Jane. She might be in charge of them at the moment, but she doesn’t own them.”

  We stopped at a street corner to wait for a car to pass by.

  “You’re right,” I said as we crossed the road. “I guess I just have to be patient.”

  I didn’t miss Brett’s quiet rumble of laughter. “Not exactly your strong point. Not with mysteries, anyway.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. I knew as well as he did how true that was.

  “I don’t have much choice in this case.” I stepped up onto the sidewalk. “At least I have plenty to keep me busy in the meantime. I won’t have much chance to think about the letters and what might be in them.”

  “How are the help-wanted ads coming along?” Brett asked.

  “They aren’t. Not yet. But I really need to work on them soon.”

  “Tourist season will be in full swing before we know it.”

  “It’s right around the corner,” I agreed. “And Sienna will be leaving for college in no time. I’ll make sure I get the ads written up by the end of the week. That way, they can go in next week’s paper.”

  Brett slowed his steps. “Maybe we should have gone in a different direction.” His words held a note of gentle teasing.

  The museum was up ahead of us, at the end of the street.

  “It might be hard for you to keep the letters off your mind if we walk right past the place where they’re stored,” he said.

  “Too late. Although really, they weren’t yet off my mind,” I admitted, “so there’s no real change.”

  “But even if there’s a light on inside, we’ll keep walking?” He was still teasing. He knew how hard it would be for me to resist knocking on the door to see if Jane was reading the letters.

  “We’ll keep on walking, even if there’s a light on,” I promised.

  I was determined not to be a pest. As long as Jane didn’t hold out on me too long.

  As we drew closer to the museum, I noted the dark windows. At least that meant I wouldn’t even be tempted to knock on the door. That made it easier to keep my promise.

  Bentley, however, wasn’t interested in walking straight past the museum. He stopped at the base of a tree, sniffing around, intensely focused on whatever scent he’d found.

  We paused, giving him a chance to enjoy his sniffing. Brett tugged on the leash a moment later. Bentley snuffled at the tree again and then reluctantly tore himself away.

  We’d taken two steps along the sidewalk when he stopped again.

  “What’s up, buddy?” Brett asked.

  Bentley stood frozen on the sidewalk, his body tense, his gaze fixed on the shadowy space between the museum and the neighboring house.

  “Come on, Bentley,” I called, letting go of Brett’s hand as I continued along the sidewalk.

  I glanced back, but Bentley hadn’t moved. Brett tugged on the leash again. Bentley resisted and let out a low growl, still fixated on the shadows next to the museum.

  A chill skittered through me. Bentley rarely growled. Brett and I followed his
fixed gaze. Murky shadows filled the museum’s narrow side yard. It wasn’t yet completely dark out, but daylight was fading fast.

  “Do you see anything?” I asked Brett.

  “No.” He took a step along the sidewalk. “Come on, Bentley.”

  I grabbed Brett’s arm. “Hold on.” Something moved in the shadows. “Someone’s there.” I took hold of Brett’s hand and tugged him toward the museum.

  Bentley surged forward with us.

  “Marley, wait.” Brett drew us both to a halt.

  I knew charging into the shadows wasn’t the smartest idea, but I didn’t plan to go all the way there.

  “Jane?” I called out from where we stood on the front lawn.

  The shadowy figure froze.

  “Jane?” I said again, even though I knew it wasn’t her. The person was too tall, but I was hoping to flush out whomever it was.

  It worked. A second later, the figure stepped forward, out of the shadows.

  “Dean?” I said with surprise as I recognized the man. “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved lazily from me to Brett and then back again.

  “I’ve been working here,” he said finally. “Remember?”

  Brett glanced at the darkened windows of the museum. “After hours?”

  Dean smirked. “I lost something earlier today. I came by to look for it.”

  I was glad I wasn’t alone with him. His whole demeanor made me uneasy, but that wasn’t unusual.

  “Did you find it?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said.

  “Want some help?” Brett offered, but his voice wasn’t as friendly as usual.

  Dean shrugged. “I’ll try again tomorrow.” His gaze lingered on me. “Maybe I’ll see you then.”

  I suppressed a shudder as he sauntered off down the street.

  “I don’t like that guy,” Brett said in a low voice, watching him go.

  “You’re not the only one.”

  Just like earlier in the day, Dean had made my skin crawl.