Tidepool

by Nicole Willson

  “Quentin!”

  Sorrow and Charlie shared a glance and then ran down the hallway in search of Mrs. Oliver.

  They reached the parlor and froze. Sorrow slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Once again, the back of her neck went ice cold and clammy, and her vision went fuzzy gray around the edges.

  Quentin’s body slumped backwards in a wooden chair. His white face lolled towards them, and his mouth hung open. A deep red gash bisected his neck, and rivers of blood spilled down from the appalling throat wound and stained his white shirt and the rug. A straight razor dangled from his right hand.

  “Sally, don’t look at him,” Charlie murmured, turning quite pale. He put an arm around Sorrow and started to steer her out of the room.

  “Oh, honestly, Quentin,” Mrs. Oliver said, sounding furious. “Stop being foolish and clean yourself up. Look at how you’re upsetting our guests.”

  “I don’t think he can hear you,” Sorrow said, wondering if the poor woman had been driven mad by the sight of her dead brother.

  Mrs. Oliver spun around and fixed Sorrow with a very intense glare.

  “I assure you both that Quentin is perfectly fine. I’m afraid that he has a very morbid sense of humor. Morbid and most inappropriate. I believe it came from reading too many of the works of Mr. Poe as a child.”

  “Mrs. Oliver,” Charlie started, “I really don’t think he’s just—”

  The widow turned that intense look on Charlie, stopping his speech at once.

  “The dining room is to your right. Please be seated in there. Quentin and I will join you shortly, right after he cleans himself up and stops being childish.”

  Sorrow nearly laughed at the bizarre request. The dining room? Did this madwoman seriously believe anyone would be capable of eating after witnessing such a horrific scene? Was everyone in this town completely insane?

  “Charlie, let’s leave,” she whispered, trying to fight the urge to collapse on the nearest sofa. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “I don’t know, Sally,” he replied, his eyes dark and grim.

  “What don’t you know? This is awful. The man’s dead and that woman has obviously snapped. We should go get some help.”

  “Why don’t we wait a bit? In case she needs us to help her. You know, with … with the scene.”

  “With the scene? What on earth can we do about any of this?”

  They had moved to the dining room, and Charlie steered Sorrow to one of the high-backed oak chairs placed by the table. She wanted to protest, but her legs felt weak and shaky, and she reluctantly sat. The last thing she wanted to do was lose consciousness in this house.

  She glanced around the room, trying to distract herself from the creeping dizziness. A large cabinet displaying several pieces of fine china and silver sat against one wall. A chandelier hung above them; Sorrow spotted cobwebs hanging between the dangling crystals. Another painting of the same man from the portrait in the front hall hung in a prominent spot close to the table. The fellow looked equally unpleasant in this picture, Sorrow concluded, wondering who he was. His clothing and hairstyle looked far too outmoded for him to be the late Mr. Oliver.

  Charlie sat beside her, clutching one of her hands. His own hand felt quite cold and clammy, and she tightened her grip. A person moved around in the kitchen, accompanied by the sounds of cutlery striking plates. Ada Oliver scolded someone in too low of a voice for Sorrow to hear the words. Was someone else in the house too? Did she perhaps have a servant? Surely she would.

  Mrs. Oliver swept into the room. Someone else was definitely in the kitchen, because Sorrow could still hear the sounds of food being prepared.

  “All right, then. Lunch will be served very soon.”

  “But your brother—” Sorrow said, her voice faint.

  “My brother is pulling himself together, Miss Hamilton. I apologize again that you had to see something so unpleasant.” With that, Mrs. Oliver seated herself at the head of the table.

  Sorrow closed her eyes and drew a slow breath, trying not to panic.

  That does it. If I have to run back to Baltimore on foot, I am doing it today, whether that useless little marshal gets around to us or not. This entire town is full of mad people. It can’t be safe here.

  “Sally? You need something?” Charlie murmured. He squeezed her hand under the table.

  “Perhaps a small glass of wine while we wait. Yes?” Mrs. Oliver didn’t wait for a reply; she rose again and moved to a sideboard. Sorrow watched with an odd detachment as Mrs. Oliver poured red wine from a decanter and carried it over to them in crystal glasses.

  “I am sorry that you have not had a more pleasant experience of Tidepool,” she said.

  Charlie let out a nervous bark of a laugh and made no move to touch his wine; he still clutched Sorrow’s hand under the table. Against her better judgment, Sorrow sipped at her drink. Perhaps it would help her to stop shaking.

  “Mrs. Oliver,” Charlie started, “are you quite sure you don’t want us to go for help?”

  “For help? Whatever for?” Mrs. Oliver said.

  Charlie changed his tone so that he sounded as if he were addressing a very stubborn child.

  “Well, your brother … he looked like he was in a bad way back there. Prank or no prank, maybe he needs someone to come look at him.”

  The floorboards creaked as someone approached the dining room.

  Charlie’s mouth dropped open and Sorrow thought she would faint after all as Quentin entered the room, bearing a silver platter of food.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE UNCOMFORTABLE LUNCHEON

  A white bandage wound around Quentin’s neck, and he looked even paler than usual as he placed the platter of meats and bread in front of everyone. He wouldn’t meet Sorrow’s eyes.

  “Quentin? You’re… are you all right?” she asked him.

  “As I already told you, Miss Hamilton, Quentin is perfectly fine. He enjoys staging these morbid little scenes to startle me.” Mrs. Oliver sounded impatient, as if she walked in on her brother staging suicide attempts every day and couldn’t understand why anyone else might find it disturbing.

  I wasn’t asking you, Sorrow thought.

  “I say. That’s a strange hobby, fellow.” Charlie let out another shaky laugh as he addressed Quentin. He hadn’t yet released Sorrow’s hand.

  Quentin, without even looking back at them, disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I fear he has always been a very troubled individual.” Mrs. Oliver lowered her tone as if she were sharing a confidence with them. “Our mother died when he was quite young, and he has been my constant companion ever since. He would be unable to function in the world without me.”

  He doesn’t seem to be functioning all that well with you, either, Sorrow thought. She was much bolder with Mrs. Oliver when the woman couldn’t hear what she was thinking.

  Quentin brought out plates of sliced apples. Sorrow couldn’t imagine eating a single thing at the moment; she took another mouthful of wine instead, willing it to still her pounding heart.

  “Now, Mr. Sherman,” Mrs. Oliver continued. “I would like to hear more about what you and your firm wish to do in Tidepool.”

  As Charlie took a deep breath, Sorrow noticed he hadn’t touched the food in front of him either. Neither had Mrs. Oliver. And Quentin now sat at the far end of the table, staring down at his trembling hands. What on earth was happening here?

  “Well, it’s like I said when we talked before, ma’am. We put in a few new shops and restaurants here. And a hotel, bigger than Cooper’s Inn. Nicer too, but please don’t tell the Coopers I said that.” He grinned. “Expand that boardwalk a bit so there’s more room for visitors to take in the water view. There’s plenty of open space here, and you need attractions. Things that will give people a reason to want to return over and over.”

  Charlie’s voice grew steadier as he warmed up to his pitch. “And then we start getting the word out to people with a bit of
money that if they’re looking for a nice little beach vacation spot, they should forget about the usual spots like Atlantic City or Ocean City and try Tidepool.”

  “But you said you thought Tidepool could be as big as Ocean City.”

  “Sure it could, but not at first. We start slowly. Convince people that those other places are getting too big and busy and Tidepool’s where the people in the know, the truly fashionable set, head to when they need to get away.”

  Quentin began to cough. Sorrow glanced at him long enough to see that a deep red bloodstain bloomed in the center of the white bandage around his neck. It grew wider as he coughed. She took another large sip of her wine as something occurred to her.

  “Where’s your daughter, Mrs. Oliver?” she said, feeling the wine going to her head.

  Mrs. Oliver looked at her rather sharply as Quentin’s coughing grew louder.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Quentin mentioned you had a daughter. Where is she?”

  “Quentin, really. Go get yourself something to drink and do not return until you’ve stopped that awful hacking,” Mrs. Oliver snapped at her brother. She scowled at him until he left the room.

  “I’m afraid Lucy is not feeling well today, Miss Hamilton. She’s resting.”

  A crash from the kitchen nearly made Sorrow knock her wine across the ivory lace tablecloth. Mrs. Oliver slammed a hand on the table and turned towards the noise.

  “Quentin. What on earth are you doing in there?”

  There was no response. Sorrow wondered if he had staged another “prank.”

  “Please do excuse me for a moment. I apologize. Again.” Mrs. Oliver rose to her feet. The cold fury in her eyes made Sorrow’s dizziness return. She didn’t ever want that woman looking at her like that.

  “That’s quite all right,” Charlie said. Mrs. Oliver exited the dining room; the very air around her felt angry and displaced.

  “Sally, what do you say we get out of here?” Charlie whispered. “I’ve no idea what’s happening, but I don’t think we’re getting anything from her, and that brother of hers is putting me off my feed.”

  “Charlie, I want to ask her about Hal. Balt said he saw them leave the inn together while he was here.”

  Charlie sighed. “All right. But after that, we go. This has been a waste of time.”

  Mrs. Oliver spoke in a low, angry voice in the kitchen, and Quentin’s subdued voice answered her. The woman finally returned to the dining room.

  “I am very sorry about the interruption. My brother can be quite clumsy at times.”

  “Mrs. Oliver? Balt Cooper told me he saw my brother leave his tavern with you one night.” Sorrow knew she had blurted all that out rather inartfully, but she wanted to get it out before yet another thing distracted them.

  Mrs. Oliver looked at her with an expression Sorrow couldn’t read.

  “Your brother was quite interested in speaking to me about property development here, Miss Hamilton. You people from Baltimore do seem terribly keen on that.”

  “Did he say anything about where he was going when he left here?” Sorrow asked. “Did he mention anything about stopping anywhere else?”

  Quentin appeared behind Mrs. Oliver as Sorrow spoke. He said nothing, but he watched Sorrow with his sad, downturned eyes. Mrs. Oliver shot a glance at him over her shoulder before continuing.

  “He mentioned no plans, Miss Hamilton, but I believe he would have had to stop in Ocean City on the way back to Baltimore, yes? I assume you thought to look there?”

  “As I told Mr. Cooper, he might have chosen to spend some extra time there, but he would never have done it without sending word about where he was. Tidepool is the last place where there’s any record of him.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Oliver tented her fingers under her chin. “I’m afraid that I have no information that will help you, Miss Hamilton. I hadn’t heard that he was missing until you arrived here.”

  “This is an awfully small place for someone to just disappear, isn’t it?” Charlie asked.

  Mrs. Oliver spread her hands out.

  “Tidepool is indeed small, but the Atlantic Ocean is vast.”

  “And that means… what?” Sorrow asked, feeling her pulse quicken.

  “I don’t like to suggest that he might have met with misfortune there, but such sad things are not unheard of. He had imbibed a good bit of alcohol when I last saw him as he was leaving Cooper’s. If he chose to take a walk by the water in that state…”

  Sorrow fought off another bout of dizziness at Mrs. Oliver’s words. She would know, would have to know, if Henry was dead. They had been so connected throughout her life that it was impossible for her to think that anything so catastrophic could happen to him without her being aware of it, sensing something.

  A heavy silence descended over the room. Finally, Charlie broke it.

  “Well, Mrs. Oliver, we thank you very much for the lunch.” Which was rather funny, Sorrow thought, because as far as she could tell, nobody had eaten a bite. “But we need to get back to Cooper’s Inn. That marshal might be looking for us. Or Sorrow’s father. I’d rather face the marshal, personally.” He flashed one of his wide, winning smiles at Mrs. Oliver, who did not return it.

  “Mr. Sherman, I doubt very much the marshal will speak to you today. There’s no need to hurry back to Cooper’s.”

  “That’s gracious of you, but I’m not feeling well,” Sorrow said. “I need to return to my room and have a rest.”

  She could tell by the look on Mrs. Oliver’s face that she didn’t believe Sorrow, but Sorrow didn’t care. If the woman was going to offer no help about Henry and tell absurd tales about him falling drunkenly in the ocean, Sorrow had no interest in remaining here.

  “Sorry to rush, but perhaps we will meet up again at Cooper’s tonight.” Charlie offered Mrs. Oliver another unreturned smile.

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Oliver said, sounding cold now. She walked them to the foyer, and after making abrupt goodbyes, closed the door somewhat loudly behind them.

  Sorrow stood on the pavement outside the Oliver house, her mind spinning.

  The stables. They were only a block and a half from here.

  “Good Lord almighty,” Charlie muttered as he stood beside her. “If that wasn’t one of the strangest lunches I’ve ever had. Sally? You all right?”

  Sorrow turned without a word and hurried in the direction of the stables.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Charlie’s footsteps quickened as he hustled to keep up with her.

  “I’m getting the buggy and I’m leaving.”

  “What? Right now? But your things are still back in the inn.”

  “I have things in Baltimore.” Sorrow’s heart pounded in her ears as she walked. “I’d probably never get the stink of Tidepool out of what I brought with me anyhow.”

  “But the marshal—”

  “Is a useless idiot. He can’t keep us here. We’ve done nothing wrong and we’ve been charged with no crime. Let him come to Baltimore if he wishes to pursue this.”

  The stables came into view and Sorrow’s heart soared. At last, she was going to get out of Tidepool.

  “Are you coming with me?” she asked Charlie.

  Several expressions crossed his face in quick succession before he said “Sure. Of course I am.”

  But when they reached the stables, Sorrow’s hopes of escape were dashed. Again.

  “Sorry, miss.” The same older black man who she’d spoken to about Henry when she arrived in Tidepool shook his head when she asked for her buggy. “Marshal Lewis doesn’t want you going anywhere.”

  Frustration pounded in Sorrow’s head. “What do you mean?”

  The man shrugged; his deep brown eyes studied the stable floor. “He came by this morning. Told us not to let you go.”

  “But that’s an outrage!” Charlie said. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “He can’t possibly keep us here,” Sorrow said.

  “Maybe he can’t,”
said the stable hand. “But I still can’t help you.”

  Sorrow gripped her coin purse.

  “I’ll pay double your boarding fee. Triple. Just give us a buggy and a horse and say you never saw us.”

  “Sally…” Charlie sounded dubious.

  “No, miss,” the man said. He still couldn’t meet her eyes, and now he kept his face partially turned away from her. “Not worth my job to do that.”

  I’ll steal the horse and buggy, Sorrow thought wildly. What are they going to do about it? How could they really stop me?

  “Sally? This isn’t going to get us anywhere. Maybe we should leave.” Charlie put a hand on Sorrow’s shoulder.

  “They can’t just keep us here. They can’t.” The stable hand had completely turned his back on her by now.

  “Let’s go back to the inn and talk about this. Maybe the marshal has time to see us today, and that’ll be the end of all this.”

  The smell of manure mingled with the dead-fish reek of Tidepool seemed like further insult as Sorrow stalked out of the stables.

  “I’ll walk,” she said. “I’ll just walk out of this hole. By the time they realize I’m gone, it’ll be too late to catch me.”

  “Sally, come on.” Charlie tugged at her arm. “Where do you think you’re going to go?”

  She shook his hand off. “Away from here.”

  “There’s nothing but trees, grass, and sand from here until Ocean City. Where do you think you’re going to eat? Rest? And it won’t take the marshal long to catch you if he’s on horseback and you’re on foot. And that’s assuming someone else doesn’t get you. You can’t know who might be out there.”

  She knew he was right, but she couldn’t let go of the idea of freedom, of putting this horrible place and its horrible people behind her.

  “Look, Sally, it’s been a trying day. Might as well go back to the inn and try to get a bit of rest. We can think about what to do from there.” He started to guide her back towards Cooper’s.

  Feeling defeated, she followed him.