Tidepool

by Nicole Willson

  Charlie shrugged. “Could be.”

  The front door of the inn banged open, and Naomi’s voice rose from the entry way. Sorrow couldn’t make out the individual words, but Naomi sounded quite angry even as she was clearly making an effort not to be overheard by the detectives. Mrs. Oliver replied in a tone too low for Sorrow to hear.

  Whatever Naomi said out there apparently had no effect on Mrs. Oliver, because a moment later, she appeared in the tavern’s entrance. As she walked to Sorrow’s table, Naomi followed her, wearing an expression of pure murderous rage.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sherman. And Miss Hamilton,” Mrs. Oliver said, as if her last interaction with Sorrow had been perfectly friendly. “Have you invited more friends from Baltimore to join us?”

  Sorrow couldn’t bring herself to talk to the woman.

  “Mrs. Oliver,” Charlie said, sounding as if he were trying to keep a stammer out of his voice, “this is Mr. Burnett and Mr. Warner.”

  “Greetings, gentlemen,” Mrs. Oliver said. “Are you more work colleagues of Mr. Sherman’s?”

  “No, ma’am,” Burnett said. “We just met this morning, actually. Miss Hamilton’s father hired us to come down here and find out why his children have a way of coming to Tidepool and not coming back.”

  Sorrow studied Mrs. Oliver’s face. If the woman found the presence of two detectives looking for someone she had just recently murdered to be at all troubling, she gave no sign of it. Her pale face remained blankly pleasant.

  Burnett continued. “We were relieved to find Miss Hamilton and Mr. Sherman safe and sound, but we’ve still gotten no word about Henry Hamilton. I don’t suppose you happened to meet up with him while he was here? Tall fellow, strapping, blond?”

  Sorrow wanted nothing more at that moment than to jump up, knock the table over, and scream until her throat was bloody. What had made that damnable woman come here this morning, of all days? Sorrow had never before seen her out of her house before noon.

  “Yes, I did,” Mrs. Oliver said. “Mr. Hamilton was quite interested in developing property here, and I believe he thought I might be interested in contributing to that endeavor.”

  Warner peered up at her with curiosity. “And did he say anything else about where he might be headed after he left this place?”

  “As I’ve told Miss Hamilton, he did not,” Mrs. Oliver said.

  Warner studied her for another minute.

  “Mrs. Oliver, if it’s agreeable with you, I would like to ask you some more questions later on.”

  Mrs. Oliver gave him a gracious nod. “Of course. My house is the large one up at the top of the hill leading into town. It is difficult to miss.”

  “That’s your place?” Burnett asked with interest.

  “Yes. Please do feel free to stop by for lunch, if that would suit you.”

  She wouldn’t really do it, would she? Sorrow worried that she was going to be sick right at the table. Would Ada Oliver brazenly kill two detectives, knowing that even more would come here to investigate the climbing number of suspicious disappearances and deaths in Tidepool?

  “Well, I’m not certain what kind of a schedule we will be following here,” Warner said. “But I will most definitely be calling on you. Thank you for the offer.”

  Mrs. Oliver nodded regally at them before going to the tavern entrance.

  “Miss Hamilton, you are looking quite pale,” Warner said, eyeing her intently through his glasses.

  “I am not feeling well,” Sorrow said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. She couldn’t tamp down the memory of Lucy coming for her in the basement. “And I was dearly hoping to recuperate at home.”

  Warner kept watching her.

  “Well, if you could remain in town just a little while longer …”

  Something inside Sorrow snapped. She stood up, resolving that she would simply climb over Burnett’s lap to escape the tavern if she had to.

  “Mr. Warner, I have already remained in Tidepool far longer than I ever would have liked, for reasons that have nothing to do with me or any of my actions here. I have given you all the information I have about Henry. Admittedly, it isn’t much, but it’s what I’ve got. What exactly is going to be accomplished by keeping me here even longer?”

  “Sorrow. Easy there,” Charlie said.

  “Well now, Miss Hamilton,” Burnett said, looking rather shocked at her outburst. “It’s just that we were going to travel back to Baltimore with you. We’re a bit concerned that a young man could disappear off the face of the earth over in these parts. We wanted to be sure the same thing didn’t happen to you.”

  “I got here quite safely,” Sorrow snapped. “I can get myself home safely as well.”

  “Your father asked us to escort you home, Miss Hamilton,” Warner said, sounding cold. “We intend to do that.”

  “Then you better be at the stables this afternoon. I will be there, whether you are or not. I absolutely will not remain here another night.”

  “Miss Hamilton,” Warner said. “Are you afraid of this place?”

  Charlie folded his hands together and pressed them in front of his mouth.

  Sorrow took a deep breath and tried to think of how to answer.

  Why in God’s name did she care so much about trying to conceal the truth of this town? Let the detectives do away with Mrs. Oliver. Let the creatures come out of the ocean, if that was truly what would happen. The people who had done nothing to protect her brother, or the dead man on the beach, or any of the others who had died here, deserved no more consideration for themselves. Did they?

  They did not. But Sorrow wanted to be sure she was safely out of town before the start of whatever terrible things were fated to happen if Mrs. Oliver was stopped from being able to carry out her morbid duty.

  “Yes, Mr. Warner,” she said at last. “I find this place quite distressing. Between the body on the beach, and the fact that my brother’s last known whereabouts were here, I find nothing appealing about Tidepool other than the possibility of getting away from it as soon as possible. And yet circumstances keep intervening to prevent me from taking my leave. Of course I’m afraid.”

  The detectives thought about that for a moment.

  “Well now,” Burnett said finally. “Certainly can’t fault anyone for that.”

  Warner said nothing. He continued staring at Sorrow, a thin line forming between his steely eyebrows.

  Chapter Twenty

  A NOTE FROM HOME

  Sorrow, deeply unnerved by the events of the morning, decided to head out of the inn into the gray and cool morning. She had no idea where to go. The rolling waters of the Atlantic caught her ear, and before long she walked over to a bench on the town’s small boardwalk and stared out at the ocean.

  She tried to banish visions of the skeletons and the paintings of the sea creatures from her head as she watched the tide crashing against the shore. Gulls squabbled on the rocks, fighting over an object she couldn’t see; Sorrow wondered if the ocean had just regurgitated yet another ghastly remnant of one of Mrs. Oliver’s sacrifices. A cold breeze ruffled her dress, and she drew a shaky breath, trying to calm herself.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Burnett walked by himself, heading in the direction of the marshal’s office. He raised his hat slightly to Sorrow as he walked by.

  “Won’t be long now, Miss Hamilton,” he called out. “I’m paying a visit to that marshal and my colleague is heading up to Mrs. Oliver’s. And then we can all go home.”

  “Fine,” Sorrow said. She still bristled at the idea that these men felt free to tell her when she could leave and where she could go when she had done nothing wrong.

  I should just go, she thought. Right now. There’s no possible good reason for me to stay. I have no obligations here just because of what two men I barely know told my father.

  She sat on the bench and continued watching the ocean. A few people showed up to walk along the water line, or fish, or look curiously at Sorrow.

&n
bsp; She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there when she sensed someone else approaching. Charlie hustled up to her, rather anxiously.

  “You all right, Sal- Sorrow?”

  “No, Charlie. I won’t be all right until we are home and Tidepool is a distant and very unpleasant memory.”

  Charlie looked out at the water and then back at her.

  “Sitting by the beach? Aren’t you afraid those creatures are going to come out of the ocean and get you?” He grinned down at her. She didn’t find any of this the slightest bit amusing, and she resumed staring at the water.

  “If you had been in Mrs. Oliver’s house with me yesterday, you wouldn’t be laughing about that.”

  Charlie sighed. “Look, Sorrow. I know this is an odd place, for certain. But you have to admit that the stories these folks are telling us sound far-fetched, and that’s putting it mildly.”

  “I’d invite you to pay a visit to Mrs. Oliver’s cellar if you need further persuasion,” Sorrow replied. “But I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ve already seen enough death here.”

  Charlie clearly didn’t know what to say to that. He opened his mouth slightly, and then closed it and shook his head. He sat down on the bench next to her with a heavy thump.

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you either, Sorrow. Whatever’s really going on in this weird little place, I shall be as relieved as you to be putting it behind us.”

  He sat in silence with her after that. They were both contemplating the water and listening to the soothing sounds of the tide when they heard running footsteps.

  Now what?

  Sorrow sighed and looked to see who was approaching this time.

  Balt Cooper rushed towards them, waving an envelope.

  “Miss Hamilton!” He was completely out of breath as he reached them.

  “Yes? What is it now?” Sorrow said, not trying to hide her annoyance.

  “We just got this. A letter for you. A messenger said he traveled all night to deliver it here.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Sorrow stood and took the letter from Balt’s shaking hand. When she opened the envelope and unfolded the paper, her eye fell instantly to the signature at the bottom.

  “Hal.”

  Sorrow’s knees buckled and she sat down hard on the bench.

  “Sorrow? What is it?” Charlie asked.

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t speak. She could only hope that her hands would stop shaking long enough for her to read the entire letter.

  * * *

  Dearest Sally,

  Imagine my shock when I arrived home late last night and found Father nearly apoplectic. He begged to know where I had been, and he told me that you and Charlie had headed out to Tidepool to find me— because you believed I was missing!

  On my return to Ocean City after leaving Tidepool, I encountered two school friends and we traveled to Delaware to visit another friend who had been taken ill. I sent word home and had no idea you and Father never received it.

  I paid a messenger a special fee to deliver this message to Tidepool rather than rely on the infernal postal service again. Father is still in quite a state, as you can imagine. He said he had even sent detectives after the two of you! What a terrible mess your dunderheaded brother has gotten us all into.

  Please return home as soon as possible.

  Hal.

  Sorrow read the letter, and then read it again.

  “Sorrow?” Charlie asked.

  “It… it’s from Hal.” She handed the paper to Charlie. She noticed Balt craning his neck over Charlie’s shoulder.

  This wasn’t possible. She’d been told that her brother was dead.

  But she desperately, deeply needed it to be true. Had this whole thing truly been a misunderstanding?

  But then why on earth had Mrs. Oliver and Quentin and Balt all told her tales of sea monsters that could slaughter people, including her own brother? Had Quentin lied to her? Had all of them?

  And the thing in Mrs. Oliver’s basement. Lucy. What of that? Was Charlie right that “Lucy” was merely one of Tidepool’s human residents, helping to perpetuate a terrifying myth in order to frighten outsiders away?

  “Is that letter truly from your brother, Miss Hamilton?” Balt asked.

  Charlie stopped reading the letter. He looked utterly furious.

  “It’s his handwriting,” Sorrow said. Henry had always had an odd way of forming the letter “H”—he wrote it with a long tail trailing from the top of the right stroke, like a flag flying from a pole. And the “H”s in the letter had that same peculiar shape.

  Charlie turned to Balt.

  “I suppose all of you think this is really funny, don’t you?” he asked coldly.

  “Sir?” Balt asked, looking surprised.

  “Telling us about creatures in the water. Making poor Sorrow believe her brother was dead.”

  “But Mr. Sherman—”

  “Trying to scare away the outsiders, is that it?” Sorrow had never heard Charlie so angry. His face flushed as he shouted at Balt. “Don’t have enough backbone to just say that no, you don’t want us developing the place?”

  “But we did tell you that, Mr. Sherman.” Balt raised his chin. “Several times, I believe. You and your colleague simply wouldn’t listen.”

  “So you had to concoct these ridiculous stories to try scaring us away? You made us believe someone very dear to both of us was dead.”

  Sorrow stood. “That’s enough, Charlie. I’d say that clearly, our business here is done.”

  “It is indeed. What do you say we head up to Mrs. Oliver’s place and tell Warner and the other fellow to take us the hell out of here?” Charlie’s cheeks were still reddened from anger.

  “I say that’s the best idea you’ve had since you arrived in town.”

  As they walked away, Charlie turned and looked back at Balt.

  “And you needn’t worry about your precious town, Mr. Cooper. I’ve no intention of coming back here, and I’ll be telling my boss he’d be wasting time and money trying to make anything out of this pathetic, stinking little pile of sand. Hal and Sorrow here will back me up on that, I’m sure.”

  Sorrow glanced back to see how Balt was taking Charlie’s torrent of anger. Balt watched them with his red-rimmed eyes but seemed unruffled by it all. He had, after all, been terribly keen on getting them to leave.

  Sorrow’s head spun as they walked up Water Street. She was still trying to get her mind around the idea that everything she had just been through was some kind of sick hoax.

  But then why had Quentin been lurking in the inn last night, if he had no reason to believe that Sorrow was truly in danger? If she hadn’t stolen downstairs she would have never seen him, so he certainly hadn’t been there just to frighten her. And that thought bothered her.

  Perhaps Quentin didn’t know the stories were false. Who knew what people might have been telling him? If this was the kind of story the locals told to all outsiders, perhaps the eccentric fellow had come to believe everything he heard.

  Hal. She so desperately wanted to believe that Henry was at their home in Baltimore and safe with Father.

  “Your poor father. Worried sick over nothing at all. I bet hiring those two fellows wasn’t cheap either.” Charlie still sounded furious, although his voice was now slightly strained from the effort of walking up the hill towards the Oliver mansion.

  “I imagine not. But Father would spare no expense if he thought we were in danger.”

  Did the letter sound like Henry’s manner of writing? It was a bit more formal than she was used to seeing from him. Perhaps he was just moved to stiffer writing than usual because of all the trouble he had inadvertently caused.

  And the letter was indisputably in Henry’s familiar handwriting.

  It simply had to be from him. She and Charlie had indeed been the victims of an unspeakably cruel joke. The yokels in this town were probably sitting in Cooper’s Tavern right now, having a laugh at their e
xpense.

  They reached the top of the hill, and Sorrow felt a flare of both anger and fear as she stared at Mrs. Oliver’s large, forbidding house. Even in daytime, the place felt as if it were shrouded in night. The heavy clouds hanging in the sky overhead contributed to the threatening aura.

  She remembered being locked in the basement with Lucy, and a renewed sense of unease came over her.

  What, or who, was Lucy, then? A friend Mrs. Oliver had enlisted to help scare the outsiders out of town?

  That had to be it.

  Then why did she still have a cold pit forming in her stomach as she looked at that house?

  No matter. Whatever the truth of this place was, it was time for them all to go. She marched up to the front step, seized the vile gargoyle knocker, and rapped on the door.

  “Mrs. Oliver? Hello?”

  No response. Sorrow didn’t bother to knock again; she threw the door open.

  “Sorrow!” Charlie said. “I’m angry too, but walking right into a place uninvited…”

  “Detective Warner? Mrs. Oliver? Quentin?” Sorrow ignored Charlie, and her shouts echoed off the walls.

  “Smells awful in here.” Charlie grimaced and waved a hand in front of his face. Indeed, the rotting fish stench that characterized Tidepool hung especially heavy in the air this morning.

  Mr. Simeon Oliver stared down from his portrait on the wall with his usual cold, haughty expression, as if he strongly disapproved of these people who’d barged into his home to accost his descendants.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” She refused to believe nobody was home. It wasn’t as if there was much to do in Tidepool. And hadn’t Warner been headed to this place?

  She moved into the hallway. And froze.

  The door to the basement was wide open and a long smear of red trailed along the wooden floor. Crimson handprints defaced the wall. And the odor of dead fish was joined by a smell that reminded Sorrow of the slaughterhouse she had passed once in Baltimore. Her stomach roiled.

  “Oh, Sally,” Charlie breathed.