The Case of the Troubled Tycoon: A Gilded Age Historical Cozy Mystery (Shipwreck Point Mysteries Book 5)

by Elise M Stone

  He was about to take her hand again when she broke into a run and careered down the beach, escaping his attempt. Tossing his shoes up on the sand, he pumped his arms to catch up with her, laughing along with her. As soon as he was able, he captured her in his arms, circling them around her waist, and pulled her toward him.

  Her laughter faded as she turned to face him, but the smile remained. Embracing him, she rested her head on his shoulder. He responded by touching his chin to the top of it. “You’re the most amazing woman I have ever met. Your intelligence, your wit, your kindness, your zest for life. There’s no one who could ever compare to you. I love you, Elisabeth.” The words were out before he realized he’d intended to say them. And then he knew those words were true.

  She lifted her head, pulled back from him a few inches, and searched his face.

  With more conviction, he repeated, “I love you, Elisabeth.”

  CHAPTER 38

  A few days later, Titus had barely opened his eyes when there was a knock on his chamber door. Knowing only Hathaway would dare disturb him, he called out, “Come in.”

  His manservant opened the door and stepped inside. He bore a small brass tray with a folded piece of paper on it. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Strong, but there’s a boy waiting for an answer to this note.”

  “I was just about to get up anyway,” Titus answered. “Bring it here.”

  There were just three words on the piece of paper:

  Let’s go fishing.

  Only one person would have sent him those exact words.

  “Do you have a pencil?” he asked, then looked up to see Hathaway’s response. The man already held one out for him to take. “Of course you do.”

  He scribbled

  I’ll be there within the hour

  on the bottom of the note and folded it again before dropping it on the tray. “Tell Martha just coffee and toast this morning.”

  The phrase was a code between him and old Joe Kelley, grandfather to Tim, and a fisherman by trade. Sometimes it entailed a message from the police officer that he couldn’t communicate directly to Titus without putting his job in jeopardy. Sometimes it was something Joe himself had discovered. Regardless of its source, when the old fisherman wanted to convey sensitive information to the lawyer privately, the two of them went out to sea, far from prying eyes and ears.

  After the conclusion of the trial, Titus had given Elisabeth the rest of the week off, as he himself had expected to enjoy a few days without the worry of finding new business because of his now flush bank account. There was something to be said for defending the rich.

  But Joe Kelley’s issue was certain to be regarding one of the poorer residents of Whitby, whose legal fees were paid from a Distressed Sailors Fund set up specifically for that purpose. Kelley claimed the members of the Fisherman’s Association contributed the money, but Titus suspected a different source.

  When the lawyer arrived at the dock, he found Joe sitting on the deck of the sloop Arvilla, smoking his pipe. “About time you got here,” the old man groused.

  Titus pulled out his pocket watch. “I’m fifteen minutes early.”

  “Aye, but the sun’s been up for two hours already.”

  Titus ignored the sailor’s grumpiness, knowing it was his usual demeanor, and had little to do with what he truly felt.

  “Cast off the lines before you come aboard, will you?”

  Resigned to his role as crew whenever he sailed with Joe, Titus did as he was told, then climbed over the rail to join Kelley on board. After many fishing trips with the old fisherman, he knew the man could expertly maneuver the boat away from the dock without his help. His next task would be to raise the mainsail to catch the wind once they were in open water.

  It had been a long time since Titus had joined Kelley on a fishing trip. Last fall as he remembered. Not hardened to the winter winds, storms, and combers, he’d stayed on shore for the past few months. It felt good to feel the salt air blowing in his face. He breathed deeply and prepared to enjoy the ride.

  “Where are we headed?” he asked.

  “Out past the Point and into the ocean,” Kelley said. “Seems to me it’s a good day for stripers.”

  While Titus liked striped bass as much as the next man who lived close to the sea, he was leery of what that meant. It seemed to him the farther out they went, the more serious the topic of the conversation.

  Navigating the choppy water surrounding the rocky coast of Shipwreck Point kept the two men busy for a while. Titus marveled at the fact that Joe Kelley often made these trips alone, although he usually took along a mate when he was fishing to sell to the restaurants and grocery, or had paying customers when he took out a charter. He was impatient to find out what the old fisherman had to say, but he knew from experience he would say it in his own time.

  At last Kelley said, “Drop the anchor, will ye?”

  Titus did as he was told, then went below to fetch the ice chest and his fishing pole. Kelley had already lugged the bait bucket and his pole on deck while his passenger had handled the anchor.

  Once they’d baited their lines, and the two men were sitting side-by-side on the bench that girdled the cabin, Joe filled his pipe and cupped a match in his hands. He lit it on one try, which always amazed the lawyer. Titus studied the weathered face, each wrinkle seeming to tell a tale of his years at sea, the full beard whitened by a rough life lived hard. The man may not have had a degree from Harvard, but Titus had learned that he was filled with wisdom.

  At long last, the old fisherman spoke. “So you’re proud of yourself, now, are you?”

  There was only one thing he could be referring to. “I am,” Titus said honestly. “I ensured that an innocent man didn’t go to jail—or worse.”

  “Humph.” He removed the pipe from his mouth and pointed at the lawyer with the stem. “I thought you came to Whitby to get away from those rich folks. More than that, I thought we had an agreement.

  “You’d protect the common people of Shipwreck Point, and I’d guarantee you made a living wage from it. Is this your way of saying I don’t pay you enough?”

  “Not at all,” Titus said. “I wouldn’t dream of asking more from people who have so little.” He paused for effect. “I also wouldn’t dream of turning down an innocent man because his pockets hold more money than any of ours.”

  He knew what he had to say.

  “Joe, it’s not a matter of rich or poor to me. Or a matter of small town or big city either. It’s a matter of character, a matter of justice. Rich or poor, if an innocent man or woman needs a champion to defend them, I’ll be there to step into the breach.”

  He reflected for a moment on the doubts he’d had in regard to defending a wealthy business tycoon again, a man who had gone so far as to confess to the crime, another moment on what he’d just said, and realized what he’d said was the truth. And that he was willing to face the consequences of saying it, even if he lost a staunch companion. “If my defense of a rich client means I’ll no longer have your financial support, so be it. If we can no longer spend a pleasant day on the water together, I’m willing to pay that price. In the end, a man is accountable not to other men, but to himself and his God.”

  Kelley was quiet for such a long time, Titus feared he’d lost his good friend, a man who had advised him like a father, forever. At last the old fisherman said, “You’re the first lawyer with a conscience I’ve ever met. It’s a rare thing in a man.”

  Titus dared to breathe again. “I know it all too well.”

  “I’m proud to know you, Titus Strong.”

  “And I, you, Joseph Kelley.”

  The sun was setting as Titus and Joe Kelley pulled into the dock at the marina. Although sun and windburned, he’d enjoyed a good day, catching six striped bass and renewing his friendship with the old fisherman. He’d donated all but one of the fish to Kelley’s restaurant sales. Hopefully, his cook, Martha, would bake that one for supper tonight.

  As he wearily made
his way down the length of the marina dock, he was dumbstruck at the sight of an enormous yacht moored at the last slip. Actually, it was the last three or four slips, since the boat was, at a minimum, one-hundred feet long. He could see three crewmen lowering her sails and a familiar figure locking the wheel in place.

  “Arthur!” he called out.

  The bicycle tycoon looked up from his task. His face broke out into a wide grin at the sight of the lawyer. “Titus!”

  He scurried over the deck, and in a surprisingly agile fashion for a man of his age, scrambled down the ladder that hung over the side to the dock. “You look like you’ve been fishing.”

  “I have.” He held up the fish by the hook in its mouth. “First time this year.”

  “Do you have your own boat, then?”

  Titus shook his head. “No. Even if I could afford one, I haven’t got the time to keep it up. I go out with a local fisherman when I have a chance. I pretend to help him sail, but in truth he doesn’t need me for that.”

  “What kind of boat?” The tycoon scrutinized him as he waited for the answer.

  “A sloop. The Arvilla she’s called.” He pointed toward Joe Kelley’s sailboat.

  “She’s of a decent size.”

  Titus laughed. “Decent, yes, but nothing compared to your yacht.”

  “Still, sails are sails and sheets are sheets,” Muir said.

  “What are you getting at?” Titus asked, because it was clear he was getting at something.

  “How would you like to crew on the Valiant?”

  “Me?” he said incredulously.

  “I’ve lost a member of my team. He got a better offer from one of my competitors, which leaves me short a man. The regatta is in a couple of weeks. Plenty of time for someone with experience to learn the ropes—or the sheets, as it were.”

  Titus thought it over, remembering the yacht race at Newport last year. He hadn’t been interested in it at first, but found himself caught up in the event’s excitement. How much more exciting would it be to be a part of it? His blood raced as he contemplated the idea. “I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Elisabeth nibbled on her lower lip as she shaded her eyes with her hand and peered out over Whitby Bay.

  “It should be soon now,” Owen Campbell said.

  She knew he was trying to reassure her. The racing yachts had left the marina early this morning on a course that took them out to Graves Ledge, around the whistling buoy and up to Marblehead, then south again through the Harbor Islands before returning to dock in Whitby. They’d have to cross the shipping lane into Boston during the final stretch, a risky move in her opinion, but Titus had assured her all vessels had been warned to watch out for the sailboats this afternoon.

  Her relationship with him had been cordial since he’d declared his love for her, but not much more than that. Fearing further disappointment, she’d replied, “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” Perhaps it had been a mistake not to respond in kind, but she couldn’t utter words she wasn’t sure she felt. Yet she did care for him, and now she was worried.

  “It’s just that they’ve been out of sight for hours now,” she said.

  Agnes Yates, who had threaded her arm through Campbell’s, gave her a smile. “From what I hear, Arthur Muir is an excellent captain.”

  “Titus says so, too.” But she was still concerned.

  People were returning to the dock in anticipation of the finish of the race and the declaration of the winner. Hundreds of spectators had arrived on the early ferry, cheered at the start of the race, then wandered through the streets of Whitby, admiring the houses and hotels festooned with bunting and signs wishing the competitors good luck.

  Mid-morning, there had been a shorter race of smaller boats, which had been won by one of the local fisherman, making the residents proud and happy. There had been some grumbling at the lack of local favorites in the main race, but few of the year-round inhabitants of Shipwreck Point could afford the hundred-foot yachts.

  Annie and Hathaway joined the small group waiting for the return of the large sailboats. The sparkle in their eyes when they looked at one another caused a tightening in her chest. Elisabeth closed her eyes for a moment as she wondered why some couples formed such a strong bond in so short a time. She’d known Titus for almost a year, and here she was, still uncertain about their relationship.

  Elisabeth pushed those thoughts out of her mind. She was genuinely happy for Annie. The girl had experienced enough hardship in her life. She deserved her good fortune. “Did you enjoy your luncheon?”

  “Oh, yes, miss,” Annie said. “Although for a time, I thought it might be supper, the line to get into Jake’s was so long.”

  “Jake’s? I thought that burned down.”

  “As soon as the snow melted, the landlord started construction of a new building to replace the one the fire destroyed,” Hathaway said. “He knew he’d recoup the cost in rent in no time, especially since the replacement is almost twice as big as the old facility, with, I’m sure, twice the payment.”

  “There they are!” someone called out.

  Elisabeth quickly turned her attention to the bay, where she could detect several white specks near the horizon. The crowd pressed forward, as if another few inches would make a difference when the racing yachts were still so far out. The colored pennants that fluttered from the top of the mast and identified each team were too small to see at this distance, and that was one of the few differences between them. Someone jostled her arm, and she turned to scold the inconsiderate lout. A gasp escaped her lips.

  “Duncan?”

  “Miss Wade.” The young man beamed at her. “May I present my wife?” He nodded to the beautiful blonde-haired girl who clutched his arm. She was dressed in a pretty pink traveling dress with black velvet trim and glowing as much as her husband.

  “Melissa.”

  “You’ve gotten married, then,” Owen said.

  “We have,” she said shyly. “It’s what we always wanted, and we made our escape to Cape Cod while we could. We were afraid Chief Morgan would arrest Duncan for the murder of my father.”

  “But he didn’t murder your father,” Elisabeth said.

  “We knew that,” Duncan said, “but there was no guarantee the police would believe us. And shall I say my alibi would not have reflected well on the young lady.”

  Melissa blushed, but her eyes met Elisabeth’s boldly. Of course, now that they were married, most people would overlook transgressions of the sort the new husband hinted at, although she imagined there’d still be scandal and whispers for months to come, especially since the girl should have been observing a year of mourning.

  “What does your mother think?” Elisabeth asked.

  The new Mrs. Muir shyly looked away. “We haven’t told her yet. When we heard that Mr. Strong had identified my father’s murderer, we knew it was safe to return. And then there was the regatta. Duncan wanted so badly to crew on Valiant today, but we learned of it far too late.”

  “Perhaps it’s just as well,” the new husband said. “Instead we’re here to cheer him into port. We hope that afterwards he’ll accompany us when we share our news with Mrs. Chapman.”

  Owen arched an eyebrow at her, and she gave the slightest nod of her head to him. People in love had a hard time perceiving that others might not be as euphoric over the situation as the lovers themselves.

  The crowd erupted in a loud cheer, and Elisabeth turned her attention back to the race, where it looked like Franz Dietrich’s yacht Pegasus had just pulled ahead of the Valiant. The local people were already celebrating the coming victory, but there was yet a ways to go to the end of the race.

  Elisabeth strained to see the two sloops anchored near Hog Island which demarcated the finish line. It was a good distance from the dock. It wouldn’t be wise to have such large sailboats flying in to shore at speed, crashing into the pier and probably injuring dozens of onlookers. Officials at each end watched through binoc
ulars to determine which vessel crossed the invisible line first.

  A moan went up from the Whitby crowd as Valiant once again pulled ahead of the Pegasus. The Perseverance, owned by Paul Brueghel, was hard on their heels. It was the Boston spectators’ turn to cheer, as two of their boats were in the running for the prize of four hundred dollars in gold, a princely sum whose amount had impressed even the snobbish entrants from the New York Yacht Club.

  The lead seesawed back and forth, and Elisabeth cheered and moaned along with the Valiant’s fortunes. In the end, Arthur Muir and his crew maneuvered the cutter expertly to cross the finish line first, and Elisabeth yelled and pumped her fist in the air, forgetting her proper behavior as a lady. She wasn’t the only one.

  Almost immediately, the leading yachts pulled into the wind to slow their progress, and adjusted their sails, dumping wind from the mainsail, and furling the yankee as they prepared to pull into the dock.

  It took nearly half an hour as the boats carefully made their way through the traffic closer to shore. To Elisabeth, it seemed like an eternity. The cheering mostly died out, but picked up again as the yachts docked in their slips. She pressed forward along with Owen and Agnes, her eyes searching the deck of the Valiant for Titus. She spied Arthur Muir at the helm, puffed up and proud at the thought of receiving the cup—and the prize money—during the dinner this evening, but there was no sign of the man she most wished to see.

  “Up there, miss,” Annie’s voice came from beside her. Her eyes followed the direction in which her maid was pointing.

  Titus had climbed into the rigging, a broad smile wreathing his face, and his arm waving wildly at his friends on the dock. The proper lawyer had turned into a sailor, shedding his coat and tie, his sleeves rolled up and the buttons on his white shirt undone halfway down his chest, allowing the material to billow in the breeze. Her heart swelled at the sight of him as he scampered down. And in that moment, she knew that she did love him, both the proper defense attorney, and the boyish rogue smiling at her from the yacht.