Gossip in the Garden

by Kathi Daley

  “Maybe he was after something specific,” I said.

  “Specific?” she asked. “What specifically might he have been after?”

  “I really don’t know,” I admitted. “But maybe he was after an item for a reason other than selling it.”

  “Then why take a whole duffle bag full of items if he was only after a single artifact?” Nadine asked.

  “Maybe Patrick had a reason for not wanting you to know what he was really after, so he took items he didn’t need as a decoy,” I suggested.

  Nadine frowned. “What do you mean? Decoy?”

  I answered. “Let’s say he was after a specific item. For the purpose of this conversation, let’s say he was after a knife. He knew that if he only stole the knife, you’d be able to figure out what he was going to do with it, so in addition to the knife, he took a bunch of other stuff. Not the really good stuff, because he actually did care about the museum, but not the junk either since that might have been obvious.”

  “Is there something on the list of missing items that stands out as having more value than any of the other items taken?” Colt asked.

  She looked down at the list. “No. Not really.”

  “Assuming for the purpose of this conversation that Patrick really was after a single item, if you had to guess which item he was after, what would you guess?” I asked.

  She wrinkled her brow and looked at the list again. “It’s hard to say. All the items taken would have some level of value to a collector, but nothing stands out as having more value than anything else. Unless, of course, we define value as something other than monetary value.”

  “What do you mean?” Colt asked.

  She walked over to a glass case and took out an unremarkable-looking spear. “Take this spear, for example. It really isn’t anything spectacular to look at, but there is a legend associated with the spear that tells of a great battle and the warrior who wielded the spear to save his village. To most folks, the story is nothing more than that, a story. It’s heroic and romantic, but until recently, the spear had been in the museum for more than fifty years, and no one had paid much attention to it. Then six years ago, a woman came in, claiming that the spear had magical powers. She claimed that there was a modern-day warrior, who was destined to wield the spear to save others, and that the reward for this selfless act would be eternal life. Of course, most people didn’t believe a thing this woman had to say, but she did write a book about the spear and some other magical relics that were dormant in the world, waiting to be reactivated once a person worthy of the relic appeared. The book wasn’t super popular, but it did have a cult following, and for the next several years after the book came out, we actually had to remove the spear from the display and lock it in a vault to protect it from those who wanted to test the legend and try for immortality.”

  “So we might be looking for a relic that isn’t necessarily flashy, but has a value attached that perhaps only a few would even know about,” I said.

  “Exactly.” Nadine walked across the room. “The last time I was here, this case held a cracked bowl.”

  “I saw that,” I said. “It is one of the few things I noticed Patrick set aside. I’m sure he didn’t put it in his duffel bag.”

  “Well, it seems to be missing now.” She slid her glasses onto her nose and looked at her notes. “I suppose he might have come back for it, or maybe he slipped the bowl into his bag when you weren’t watching.”

  I supposed that was possible, but it seemed unlikely. “Why would he want the bowl?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She frowned. “The bowl wasn’t much to look at, and we certainly have similar items in better repair, but Patrick did tell me a story about a bowl that looked a lot like the one that is missing that he called the Harvest Bowl.”

  “Harvest Bowl?” Colt asked.

  “Based on what Patrick told me, the Harvest Bowl was utilized by the natives that lived on this land before it was colonized as part of a ceremony to welcome the spring and the new harvest. The bowl was supposed to produce abundant quantities of whatever was placed within it during the ceremony.”

  “So if you put grain in the bowl, you’d have an abundant crop, and if you placed water in the bowl, you’d have plenty of fresh water?” I asked.

  “Basically, but I really don’t know if any of this is true. The story of the Harvest Bowl is one Patrick told me on a rainy afternoon, but to be honest, I’d never even heard of the Harvest Bowl until Patrick told me the story. At the time, I did agree that it would be cool if it was real. I even told Patrick that I was tempted to drop in a few large bills and see if they multiplied, but Patrick reminded me the bowl could only be used in conjunction with the ceremony, which was lost with the native people who performed it many generations ago.”

  “So the bowl would be worthless now,” Colt said.

  “Basically, I guess unless you happened to know the details relating to the native ceremony, which, as far as I can tell, was lost centuries ago.”

  “Anything else that would fall into the category of unspectacular but valuable based on a legend or story?” Colt asked.

  She walked around the room, looking at various display cases and then consulting her list. “It appears one of the items taken was a leather-bound diary,” Nadine replied. “The diary was donated to the museum by the estate of a man named Adam Bidwell when he died. It is believed by some to have been penned by a man named Ademar Delgado. Ademar was a sea captain who lived in the late sixteenth century, and is probably most famous in this area for having sunk his ship off the coast of modern-day Maine.”

  “Why would sinking his ship make him famous?” I asked.

  “Historically, the ship has been associated with a legend which is really just a story I have no way of confirming, but basically, the legend tells us that while Ademar’s ship was disguised as an ordinary cargo ship headed for the Spanish colonies located along the coast of modern-day Florida, the ship was actually carrying gold. Some believe the diary is the key to finding the gold, which many suspect did not go down with the ship, but was offloaded and hidden right here in Maine before the ship ultimately went down.”

  “Wait. If Ademar penned this diary and his ship went down, how did the diary end up in this museum?” I asked.

  “That’s where the story gets interesting. Logic would dictate that if the ship went down, the diary would have gone down with the ship, but the fact that the diary turned up centuries later has led some scholars to believe that Ademar intentionally sank his ship after offloading his crew and cargo.”

  “So Ademar has this valuable cargo headed to Florida and decides that rather than deliver it, he’ll keep it for himself, so he lands along the coast of Maine, offloads his crew along with the gold, then sinks the ship, so everyone will believe that either he met with a storm or perhaps had been attacked by pirates?” I asked.

  “Basically, that is the legend. Keep in mind that Maine hadn’t been colonized yet. It would have been easy to land along the coast, offload the cargo, and then sink the ship out at sea.”

  “Was the ship ever found?” Colt asked.

  “Not as far as I know,” Nadine answered.

  “Okay, I get why a ship carrying gold might be a target for greedy men, but why is the diary so valuable?” Colt asked.

  “As I mentioned, there are those who believe Ademar left clues as to where he hid the treasure within the diary.” She glanced back down at the list she held in her hand. “I know it seems as if there would be a lot of people who would be after the diary, but the truth of the matter is that very few people even know about the treasure or the legend. The diary itself has never been authenticated. When Adam Bidwell died, the family recognized the diary as being old, so they donated it to the museum, but they had no idea where Adam got it in the first place. There are references in the diary that would suggest it had been written by Ademar, but there is nothing conclusive that would allow us to state unequivocally that the diary is legitimate.
And if there are clues to the location of the treasure, they’re well hidden. In the seven years the diary has been with us, there have been several historians who’ve requested to look at it. So far, as far as I can tell, no one has been able to verify that the diary is what some suspect it may be.”

  “Would Patrick have been able to look at the diary if he had wanted to?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Yes, I suppose he could have. The volunteers are alone here during their shift, and every volunteer has access to the display cases. If Patrick had been interested in the diary, he could have read it or even copied it when he was here, and no one would have even known about it.”

  “So it makes no sense to steal it for his personal use,” I said.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “So, he either stole it to sell or he stole it because he was forced to or the diary isn’t the item he was actually after even if that particular theory is true,” Colt said.

  “Basically,” Nadine agreed.

  “Is there anything else on the list he might have been after, assuming he actually was after a single item?” Colt asked.

  She paused and looked down at the list. “There is one item of value. A knife with rubies and emeralds on the handle. It would fetch a pretty penny on the black market.”

  “I remember that knife, but Patrick told me that the gems were fakes.”

  “No. The gems were real. Did you see Patrick take it?”

  “I did, but only after he looked at it closely. He told me the gems had been real at one point, but that someone must have changed them out for fakes.”

  “If that was true, then why would he want it?” Nadine asked.

  I supposed she had a point. “You think he lied to me about the gems being fakes.”

  “It seems likely.”

  “But why? Why even point it out, only to lie about it. I wasn’t here to observe him working. I was here to ask about the Chadwick family. If the gems were real and Patrick planned to steal them, why would he make a point of discussing the knife in the first place?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. If you ask me, none of this makes any sense.” She turned her attention to Colt. “Do you have a plan to recover the objects that were stolen if they aren’t in his home or car?”

  “Not as of this minute, but we’re working on it,” Colt said. “I’ll need a copy of the list to take with me. If you think of anything, anything at all that might help me track down your artifacts, please call me.”

  “I will. And I hope you find whoever killed Patrick. I can’t explain why he took items from the museum, but I’ve known him for a long time, and he was a good man.”

  After Colt and I left, we headed back to his office.

  “So, what do you think?” I asked. “Do you think Patrick was just after items he knew he could turn into cash, or do you think he was after something specific like the diary or the Harvest Bowl?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. There is so much about this whole thing that doesn’t make sense. I keep going around and around about the fact that this man invited you to come in and talk to him while he was loading up his duffle bag. He didn’t need to do that. He could just as easily have told you that the museum was closed and sent you on your way. If the man really was trying to steal artifacts, it makes no sense for him to load up that duffle bag in front of you.”

  “It is true that if I hadn’t seen him load the duffle bag, then he might never have been linked to the stolen items. They aren’t in his car or his house. Really, my statement that I saw him do what he did is the only link you have between Patrick and the missing artifacts. Do you think figuring out which artifact he was really after will help us track down the killer?’

  “Not necessarily. We really have no way of knowing which artifact he was after or if he was even after a single item. I suppose if his goal was to fence the stuff that could be a lead. I’ll check with pawn shops in the area to see if any of the items were sold. I’ll also check with my FBI buddy to see if he knows of anyone who would fence items such as those Patrick took. It does seem that whatever he did with the items he took, he did it right away. If he was going to fence the items, he must have already had someone lined up. News of a deal such as that might get around.”

  After we returned to Colt’s office, he called the phone number we’d found on the notepad next to Patrick’s bed. The call went directly to a message which informed us that the voicemail for the number we were calling had not been set up yet. Colt planned to try to trace the number, but we both suspected it would go to an unregistered burner cell.

  “We have the address,” I pointed out.

  Colt glanced at the address on the page. “It doesn’t appear to be local.” He typed the address into a program on his computer. “It looks like the address is located in an industrial area between here and Portland.”

  I looked at the pin on the map that had been displayed on his computer screen. “It wouldn’t take all that long to make the drive. Less than an hour.”

  He printed the map and then added the address to the GPS program on his phone. “Yeah, given the situation, it might be worth it. Do you want to come along?”

  “I do. Just let me call Georgia and let her know that I’ll be later than I planned.”

  Once I made my call, we headed out to Colt’s truck. Georgia was making pot roast for dinner, which was one of Colt’s favorites. I wanted to ask him to come by for dinner after we returned from our errand, but I knew he had the kids, and it seemed as if they’d settled into a routine that left little room for anyone other than the three of them. I supposed I understood that. Colt’s sister had left him as guardian of his niece and nephew, and I knew he felt a lot of guilt over his decision to let them be raised by their grandparents even though that really did seem to be the best option. Still, when the kids were with him, he tended to focus all his attention on them, which left little room in his life for anything other than work and the kids.

  “How have things been going this summer?” I asked. “With the kids and all.”

  “Fine, although I think they’re bored. They’re too polite to say anything, but I can see it in their expressions. It was okay at the beginning of the summer when I had time off. We went to Disney World, and then we spent a week at Virginia Beach. We hung out and had a wonderful time, but now that I’m back to work, they really have nothing to do all day. They like the sitter okay, but they don’t have any friends.”

  “Aren’t there any kids in your neighborhood?”

  “Not really, at least none nearby who are close to their ages. It’s easier to make friends when you go to school, so since they live with my parents during the school year, all their friends live near my parents’ home. When they come to Holiday Bay, and it’s just us, during those times I have to work, they’re pretty much left at loose ends.”

  “You can bring them out to the inn. Annabelle is there, and Hannah has been around almost every day. Christy and Haley are there as well, so there are kids to play with. They’re all girls, so I’m not sure how much fun your nephew would have, but at least your niece would have someone to hang out with.”

  “Maybe. I appreciate the offer, but I spoke to my mom last night, and she said that now that they are back from their RV trip, they really miss the kids. They’ve been here for five weeks, so I might take them home for a few weeks. I’ll miss them, but I think they’ll be happier, and we still have our camping trip at the end of August to look forward to. Once we get back from camping, it will be time for them to go back to school, so perhaps breaking up the summer a bit will be better for all of us. I’ll talk to the kids this evening and then call you later and let you know what I decide. The two of us haven’t had a chance to spend any time together since the kids have been here. If I do take them home, maybe we can go out this weekend. Just the two of us.”

  I smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

  The address we were led to turned out to be a bar, which was open but deserted at th
is time of day. I followed Colt as he made his way to the bar, where he approached the bartender.

  “Can I help you?” the bartender asked.

  After introducing himself, Colt pulled up a photo of Patrick on his phone. It appeared to have been the one provided of all the volunteers on the museum’s website. “Have you seen this man?”

  The bartender looked at the photo. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. He was in at the beginning of the week. Monday, I think. Around four-thirty. Maybe five.”

  “Has he been in before?”

  The bartender shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen him before. The only reason I even remember him is because he left a fifty dollar tip on a ten-dollar tab.”

  “Was he alone?” Colt asked.

  “He came in alone, but then a man came in and joined him. They chatted for a while, and then both men left.”

  “The man who joined him,” Colt asked. “Had you ever seen him before?”

  “No. He didn’t look like the sort to come into a place like this, so I sort of doubt he’ll be by again.”

  I glanced at Colt, who was frowning. “What do you mean that he didn’t look like the sort to come into a place like this?”

  “The guy looked like a Fed if you want to know the truth. Clean-shaven, short hair, wearing a suit. Not really the sort of fellow that makes a habit of visiting a bar in an industrial area.”

  “Did he mention his name?” Colt asked.

  “Nope. He just ordered a glass of water in a clean glass in his snooty English accent, then ignored me the rest of the time he was here. The guy he was with, the one in the photo, seemed embarrassed when the guy specified that he wanted a clean glass. I suspect the comment was the reason behind my big tip.”

  “You said the guy looked like a Fed. Any reason to suspect he might be, other than his attire?” Colt asked.

  “No. Not really. Fed is just what came to mind when he walked in. I suppose he might have been some sort of businessman or academic. Like I said, he was the real snooty sort.”

  “Do you know what the men discussed?” Colt asked.