On the third day, she set up a beach chair, a cooler filled with beer and set her drone free. It was a nice day, nothing crept up on her and she got a couple of great aerial shots.
The cottage also provided comfort. By the middle of the week, she did discover something odd about the cottage. Lining the stone path someone had placed crystals along the way. The crystals weren’t by any means small. They were more like large rocks.
In addition the same crystals had been hidden in the doorframe and window sills. It was only by chance she had caught a glimmer when looking out the window. Finding staurolyte in the jamb was odd. The discovery inspired her to investigate.
Her discovery not only surprised but troubled her. She found black onyx, staurolyte, black obsidian, amethyst and black tourmaline. All held properties of protection. Which made Ro question just who or more importantly what was the former tenants afraid of?
By the end of the week, she came to the conclusion that she needed another trip to the mainland so she could use the internet. She radioed Kirby.
She liked Kirby, the scraggly sailor’s thoughts were simple. He thought about the ocean and how much he enjoyed being able to spend his day near or on it. He loved his wife and her home cooking. She made the best clam chowder. He also thought about hockey and how much he loved the smell of a cool crisp morning and the aroma of fresh brewed coffee.
Kirby was an uncomplicated, happy soul. For someone with Ro’s gift he was the perfect companion. How could you not like a guy who loved his wife, loved his job and only thought about how lucky he was?
Not long after she radioed, Kirby arrived and she was chugging her way across the bay. Tired of having the librarian watch her every move, she asked Kirby if he knew of a good hot spot that wasn’t a Starbucks.
He recommended a coffee shop where she could access free Wi-Fi and have a good cup of coffee. Ro was excited to spend a little time on the mainland. Hopefully the trip would bring her a little piece of mind. She had decided to contact one of the few people she knew, who might know the answers to her questions. First she needed to send some of her work to Miss Westbrook. She had produced some decent work. There was a number of pictures that were useless, thanks to misty horned unknown faces. There were a couple that were interesting as well. In those she could see a figure standing by the plane. A few more showed the same figure standing on the cliffs.
After settling in a booth, she broke out her laptop and noise canceling headphones.
“Shawn, glad I caught you,” she greeted her friend on the screen.
“Faith said you called the other day,” Shawn happily commented. “So, why do I merit a video chat?”
“I’m on this island, just north of Portland. Maine.” She quickly added. “I’ve been coming across some weird stuff.”
“Weird stuff is drawn to you,” Shawn sighed. “I know what it is like. Have you spoken to the residents on the island?”
“I’m all alone,” Ro couldn’t help beaming. “Dream job right? I had to catch a ferry so I could get in touch with you.”
“What’s going on?”
“How much time do you have?”
“Not, a lot. I’m catching a flight to Chicago tonight and of course I still have a list of crap to do. I kind of got sidetracked. We hopped a flight to Vegas the other day.”
“Don’t tell me you kids got hitched? It’s about time.”
“No, Faith’s sister and fiancée eloped. Tell me what has you so troubled?”
Ro went into detail about the sounds, crystals, strange images and the general uneasy feeling she was experiencing.
“Oh, and I think there was a blackberry wreath on the front door. Hard to tell since whatever is hanging there has been there for a very long time. The only reason it caught my attention was because I have one hanging on my front door.”
“Could you tell if there was salt spread across the threshold and windowsills?”
“Can’t tell if it is salt or just plain old dust. There’s also a lot of sage and rosemary growing wild. I grow those herbs, not just for cooking.”
“I know, it’s because they are deterrents for evil. The crystals are interesting,” Shawn innocently commented. “Tourmaline can be found in Maine. It’s just that black tourmaline isn’t usually the type found. You’re more likely to find pinks or minty green. Black obsidian is a volcanic glass and staurolyte is primarily found in Madagascar. Sounds like a former resident went to a great deal of trouble trying keep something at bay. Or they were just into crystals and such. Send me the pictures you said you can’t use because of oddities. It will give me something to do on my flight.”
“I will email them right away.”
“And try to chat with the locals,” she strongly suggested. “Folklore often has a little truth mixed in. How long are you staying there?”
“I’m leaving soon. The place is getting to be a little intense for me. I’m off to Arcadia National Park in a few days.”
Ro emailed Shawn the moment she signed off. The youngster who had been waiting on her approached with a pot of coffee. Ro held back a snicker when she caught the woman thinking about whether or not Ro was going to tip her or not.
“Are you staying in town or did you come up from Portland?” The woman who according to her name tag, was Meg.
“I’m staying out on the island.” Ro innocently quipped.
“Which one?” Meg brightly asked.
“Muraille.”
Ro didn’t need a special gift to see that the girl was spooked. “Really? All by yourself?”
“Yes,” she slowly replied. “Big place. Have you ever been out there?”
“No one goes out there,” Meg gulped. “Well, almost no one. Every once in a while someone will, you know go out there on a dare. There’s some serious bad vibes surrounding that place. You couldn’t pay me to set foot on the island.”
“Meg,” Kirby brightly greeted her. Once again his head filled with nothing but happy thoughts. “How are you getting along, Miss Graskey?”
“Good, Meg and I were just discussing the island.”
“Creepy place,” Meg gulped once again. “Get you a coffee Kirby?”
“And a cruller. You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”
“Not at all, Kirby. I’m almost finished.”
She finished her work and paid for their treats. She leaned back enjoying the fact that since it was the early afternoon, the place was quiet.
“Kirby, what do you know about the island?”
“Well,” he sighed leaning back as he stroked his beard. “My family has been running the ferry back and forth, for well over a century. Up until the early forties, that and fishing was all the family did. The Muraille’s had hired my family to shuttle them to and from and take of business at the Marina.”
“What happened in the forties?”
“Miss Temperance, gave the family everything. The boats, the boathouses, the docks and the marina. Signed over the whole lock stock and barrel. Plus, bought the family a couple more boats.”
“She just signed it over?”
“Yup. All she asked for is that we would always be available to bring authorized folks to and from the island. That’s the kind of lady she was. My grandpa said she was a class act. Good people. My Uncle Ray, says the same thing.”
“Do you know anything about the airplane in the barn?”
“That would be hers,” he kind of chuckled. “She liked to fly. Not during the war, gas rationing and all. Uncle Ray said she was quite the adventurer. He said that when Miss Temperance was alive the island was a real nice place.”
“What happened? From what I’ve been hearing, people seem a little afraid of the place.”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess it was when Conklin went nuts.” And killed his entire family.’ She distinctly heard him thinking.
“Went nuts? That’s being polite.” Meg snorted. “He slaughtered his wife and kids. Folks in town blamed the evil spirits on the island. Some o
f them rowed across and burned the main house down. Word has it, the place is cursed. Native American spirits come back to reclaim the island.”
“When was this?”
“Long time ago,” Meg eagerly supplied. “The seventies.” Kirby laughed at her assessment.
“I doubt the spirits would have waited that long,” Kirby sniffed. “A lot of folks here in town worked for the Muraille family. The family use to let them use the property when they weren’t there. Miss Ella has been just as generous. Well, until Conklin did what he did. After that the place just kind of sat there.”
“Until now.” Ro pointed out. “They’re building that school.”
“Ah, Miss Ella bent over backwards to get that approved.”
“Did people stir up a fuss because they are afraid of the evil spirits?” Ro carefully inquired.
“No,” he snorted again. “The only thing they were afraid of is that it would screw with the fishing. She and the College had to prove that their studies wouldn’t affect the sea life. Between over fishing and government interference, it’s been hard enough for folks to support their families. Just getting back on track.”
“Evil spirits be damned, just don’t mess with the lobster traps.” Ro laughed.
“Yup,” he nodded. “Nothing better than a Maine lobster.”
“I can’t argue with that,” she sincerely responded. “Kirby, what’s going on with the goats?”
“Goats?”
“Yeah, the goats on the island. I keep hearing them but I never see them. Are there a lot of them?”
“There aren’t any goats on the island, Miss never have been.”
Chapter 7
Central Park West, NYC
The following day
Ella leaned back and took a sip of coffee before looking over her shoulder. “Stavros, why are you hovering?”
“Was I?”
“Which one of my nieces?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gwen or Katherine?” She pressed drumming her fingers on the table. “You only hover like this when one of them tells you that they are worried about me.”
“Both.” He shyly confessed.
“That’s sweet, knock it off.”
“Ella,” he tentatively began.
“Stavros, I know they worry and would like nothing more than for me to live forever,” She cut him off. “Just because I’m reviewing my will doesn’t mean I’m checking out in the morning. To be blunt you are never too young to put your affairs in order. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had to organize my estate. Sadly, most of the people I left my belongings to have died. It does complicate things. Most of the sculptures and paintings will be left to various museums. The hardest part is naming my successor and what to do with this building. I sold off my other properties decades ago.”
“What about Daniel?”
“He’s older than I am. Wouldn’t make sense. At least he is going to help me with going through the clutter. In the meantime, my coffee is getting cold. When you speak to the girls, tell them I am fine.”
“I will.”
“Not, so glum,” she chided him. “You’re a trained healthcare professional. In your honest opinion how is my health?”
“Amazing.”
“And my mental faculties?”
“Your memory is better than mine.”
“Which should concern me,” she jested. “Tell them that and explain that if they wish to do something for me, they need to decide which one of them is going to run the foundation. While you’re at it ask them, if they’d like to live in a slightly used penthouse?”
“Ella, you are by far the best client I have ever had.”
“I know,” she boasted. “Now, fresh coffee would be lovely.”
Muraille Island
The same day
The sun was setting by the time Ro decided to wrap up. She entered her house, set her equipment aside and headed to the bathroom. It took a while for the water in the shower to heat up giving her time to brush her teeth. Feeling a chill she looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her breathing seized when she saw a woman standing behind her. The woman’s dark eyes were firmly focused on her.
‘It’s not safe here!’ The figured eerily cautioned before vanishing.
Ro was shaking as she stood there afraid to turn around. Finally, she braced herself and turned. Overwhelmed with relief she released a terse breath, upon discovering that she was alone. She looked around a few times, just to reassure herself that she was indeed alone. She shut off the water.
“No way am I getting naked now.”
Chapter 8
New York City
April, 4 1938
Ella felt miserable as she packed up the last of the artwork from the charity event. The event was a smashing success. At the end of the evening, Ella congratulated herself on a job well done. Heavens knows, Alfred would never compliment her. The sullen mood she was experiencing had to do with, being assigned to clean up while Alfred rushed off to a business meeting.
Alfred added to her distress, by informing her that she was expected to oversee the return of all of the items that had been on display. Which meant she needed to be at the arts foundation when the truck was unloaded.
The last thing she wanted to endure was crossing paths with that woman again. She prayed that being a socialite, Temperance Muraille was probably still in bed. Not being one to take chances, she tried to get out of the personal appearance.
Christopher Harley called the museum immediately, informing her that he was sending a car. Thus, eliminating the excuse of being stuck on the subway. Just as the last sculpture was loaded onto the truck, Alfred stormed up to her.
“You conniving bitch!” He screamed wagging his finger in her face. Stunned by his vulgar outburst she shrank back.
“Hey, Buddy back off,” the driver of the truck cautioned.
“Stay out of it!” Alfred shouted. “You stabbed me in the back.” He accused her.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” She protested.
“My friend asked you to back off,” a swarthy looking man in a chauffer’s uniform barked.
“I don’t know where you’re from, Buddy,” The truck driver stepped up to him in a menacing manor. “But where I’m from we don’t talk to a lady like that.”
“Me neither.” The chauffer chimed in.
Alfred spun around practically frothing at the mouth, until he realized he was trapped between two rather large men. With a gulp he made a hasty exit.
“Miss Westbrook? I am Wallace. I’ve been instructed to drive you to Miss Muraille’s office.”
“Of course you have.” Temperance Muraille’s presumption once again angered her. Knowing that there was little if anything she could say or do about the situation she followed after the man who had come to her rescue.
She stumbled slightly when he opened the door to the sleek black car. It was the type of automobile she had only seen in the movies. She looked around when he opened the back door for her. She looked around wishing someone she knew was there to see her climbing into such a luxurious automobile.
Upon arrival of the opulent building she once again wished for an audience. There she was climbing out of a fancy automobile which was idling in front of a glorious building conveniently located on 59th street. She felt shabby as she entered the building. For a brief moment she felt certain that there must have been a mistake.
Christopher was there to greet her. His disarming smile offered reassurance that she was expected.
“This way,” he gently guided her away from the main elevators and past the front desk. He nodded to the primly dressed staff that seemed to be keeping a keen eye on things.
In the back they were greeted at a separate elevator and a smartly dressed operator who tipped his cap when they arrived.
“The office.” Christopher politely informed him.
“Very good, Mr. Harley.”
The ride seemed to go
on forever. Ella watched the hand on the floor marker moved higher and higher. Finally, the doors chimed open on the twentieth floor.
“We will be ringing for you at lunch time, Roger.” Once again his tone was cordial.
“A return, to the lobby, Mr. Harley?”
“No, we will be heading upstairs.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“Can I ask what this is all about or would that be considered rude?” She finally demanded.
“Welcome to the Muraille family art foundation.” Christopher announced opening the glass doors.
Ella looked around it was elegant, once again something out of a movie with a few desks and offices lining the hallway. The only thing that troubled her was that there seemed to be very little activity going on. Two very young men approached each with a couple of clipboards and a nervous demeanor.
Christopher introduced them as Myron and Frank. They weren’t as young as she had assumed, the interns as it turned were around her age. Granted she was also on the young side. She had just seen more of life than most young women her age should have.
Christopher handed her a clipboard before informing her that they were heading back downstairs to the SSA floor. There they would check in the artwork that had been on loan to the Colbert. As each item was checked in it was to be sorted and marked for its next destination.
Ella understood why she was needed to assist with checking in the shipment. Until it was completed, the Colbert was responsible for its condition and whereabouts of more than a million dollars’ worth of artwork. Having her be a part of the sorting wasn’t in her humble opinion responsibility.
“SSA?” She questioned once they were in the freight elevator.
“Secured storage area,” Christopher gleefully responded.
“It’s the thirteenth floor,” Frank or it might have been Myron whispered.
“There is no thirteenth floor,” Christopher wryly corrected him. “In all of Manhattan there isn’t a thirteenth floor.”
“Why is that?” One of the lads questioned as the elevator came to a stop.
Muraille Island Page 5
