Gossip in the Garden

by Kathi Daley

  “They all agreed that a diary belonging to Ademar Delgado had never been on display at the museum, nor was a bowl known as the Harvest Bowl. The only conclusion I can come to at this point is that Nadine was lying about the diary and the bowl. I really have no idea why she’d do that unless the additional items were a ruse to throw us off, but I do believe that if the diary had actually been on display at the museum, someone other than Nadine would remember it.”

  “If Nadine lied about the diary and the Harvest Bowl, maybe she lied about other things as well,” I pointed out.

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure, but I do know things have been off since the beginning. When I was talking to Patrick at the museum, he didn’t seem to be exhibiting any sort of guilt. He was open and chatty, and there wasn’t a thing that was said or done that would lead me to believe he was in the process of carrying out a crime.”

  “If he wasn’t stealing the relics, what was he doing?” Colt asked.

  “Maybe Nadine really had asked him to move the items he took. Maybe she lied about it after the fact in order to protect herself.”

  “Okay,” Colt said. “Then if Nadine had asked Patrick to move the items in the duffle bag, why put them in the secret room at the Chadwick house? Why not take them to a storage closet as you suspected he was going to?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I do know that something isn’t adding up, and before I simply accept the fact that Patrick was a thief out for personal gain, I’m going to explore other options, including an option where someone other than Patrick ends up as the bad guy. He is, after all, the one who died. Maybe this whole crazy series of events is related to something we don’t even know about.”

  “Maybe,” Colt admitted. “I’ll keep digging.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “What are you up to today?”

  “I was about to call Willa Baker when you called. Georgia and I talked about it, and we think that she might know something about Rena. It’s a longshot, but at this point, we’ve sort of hit a dead end. If she’s available, we’ll probably go by and talk to her in person.”

  “Call me after you speak to her. I really thought we’d have figured out who this woman is and where she belongs by now. The fact that we haven’t has really started to concern me.”

  Chapter 14

  Willa Baker lived in a modest house about a mile from Holiday Bay’s downtown area. Georgia and I first met her when we were researching a packet of letters we found while refurbishing the library. Willa had lived in Holiday Bay since she was a child, and now that I really stopped to think about it, I realized she would have been close to the same age as Catherine during the summers she spent in Maine. Not that the two would have necessarily known each other. Catherine lived the majority of the year in Boston and only summered at the home near Bar Harbor, which was far enough down the coast that the two might never have run into each other. But if a grand party had been held when Willa and Catherine were both around sixteen, then it seemed possible to me that they might have attended the same event, and perhaps Willa would have something to add to the story I was beginning to construct outlining the events of that life-changing year for the Chadwick family.

  I’d called to let Willa know to expect Georgia and me, which is probably why she opened the front door and greeted us before we even rang the bell. She showed us to her living room and suggested we have a seat on the sofa. After offering us a cold drink, she asked us what sort of information we were after today.

  “We’re actually here to talk to you about a party that may have been held here in Holiday Bay during the summer of or around the summer of nineteen fifty,” I explained.

  “During or around?” she asked.

  “We aren’t certain of the exact date. In fact, we’re only going off hearsay that a party such as the one we are speaking of was even ever held in the area.”

  “The party we’re asking about would have been a large party that would have attracted young men and women with an upper-class upbringing,” Georgia added.

  Willa nodded her head. “There was a party such as the one you mentioned. I remember I was a teenager, although I can’t remember exactly when it was held. I think nineteen fifty is about right, however. It was held right here in Holiday Bay. In fact, it was held at the resort which used to occupy the piece of land where you now have your inn.”

  “So Jasper and Joslyn hosted this party?” I clarified.

  She nodded. “That’s right. I remember it was a warm evening in late August or perhaps early September. It was so long ago that I don’t really remember the exact date. What I do I remember is that they strung lights all around the pool and patio area, and every tree on the property was strung with lights as well. It truly was a magical evening.”

  “So you attended the party,” Georgia verified.

  “Not as a guest, of course. I was far from being upper class, but Joslyn was looking to impress, so she hired locals to take care of the guests. I guess I was around fifteen or sixteen that summer, so Joslyn hired me to help serve drinks and appetizers, and help with whatever else a guest might need. It was like a fairytale. Definitely one of the most memorable nights of my life.”

  “It sounds lovely.” I could imagine exactly how lovely it must have looked on that long ago night.

  A look of longing crossed Willa’s face. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have been there. No expense was spared. I remember everything about that night. The music, the food, the spectacular dresses that probably cost more than my papa paid for our rent in a month.”

  “Do you remember Catherine Chadwick being there?” Georgia asked.

  “Sure,” Willa answered. “I remember her. I’d never met her in person before that night, but, of course, I’d heard of her exceptional beauty and wild ways.”

  Okay, now we were getting somewhere. “Lonnie Parker is renovating the Chadwick house now that Baron Chadwick has inherited it,” I said. “While boxing up the books in the library, I found some handwritten journals I believe were penned by Catherine during the summers she stayed at the summer house.”

  Willa’s eyes lit up. “Are they as scandalous as I’ve been led to understand the author of those journals might have been?”

  “There are some very juicy passages,” I admitted. “Anyway, the main thing I want to ask about is the night of the party. Do you remember seeing Catherine? Do you remember if anything unusual happened?”

  “You must be referring to the plot that Catherine had to sneak away with Sebastian.”

  “That sounds like a good place to start,” I encouraged. “What do you know?”

  Willa sat forward on the sofa. She rested one hand in her lap and used the other to tuck a lock of her snowy white hair up into her bun. “You have to understand that Catherine came from great wealth, and with great wealth comes expectation and duty.”

  I glanced at Georgia, who looked to be totally into the story, but also looked oddly sad. I’d have to ask her about that later.

  “Based on what I’d heard,” Willa continued, “Catherine’s father was a rigid and strict man, who knew what he expected of his wife and children. He was also the sort to make sure that what he expected from his family was exactly what he got from them. The problem, as I see it, was the wife and children came to the summer house for three months out of the year, but Conway Chadwick rarely, if ever, chose to come along. Once they were out from under Conway’s thumb, Olivia and her children tended to turn their backs on what they should have been doing in favor of following the desires of their hearts.”

  “We heard that Olivia had been having an affair with a man named Will,” Georgia said.

  “Rumor was that Olivia spent her summers sleeping with a variety of men from around the area,” Willa shared. “And when it came to lovers, she was an equal opportunity sort of gal who was just as likely to sleep with the gardener as a proper upper-class gentleman that might come calling.”

  �
�Conway must have known what was going on,” I said.

  “I’m sure he did,” Willa answered. “But apparently, he didn’t care. It seemed as if Olivia’s behavior while in Maine truly was one of ‘what happens at the summer house, stays at the summer house,’ sort of deals if you know what I mean.”

  Boy, did I.

  “Go on,” Georgia encouraged. “Olivia was a tramp who would sleep with anyone. What about Catherine?”

  “Catherine had eyes for only one man, an employee of her father’s named Sebastian. It seems that during the summers when the family came north, Conway assigned Sebastian to take care of the gardening and heavy work at the summer house. Catherine and Sebastian started off as friends when they were younger, but as they matured, their friendship turned to passion. Of course, as many epic love stories are written, their love was not to be. Based on what I was told, Catherine found out that her father planned to ship Sebastian out once the summer had ended, and deep in her heart, she knew she’d never see him again. There was talk at one point about her running away with him, but Catherine wasn’t stupid. She knew if she ran away, her father would find them and probably kill Sebastian, so instead of making a break from her family, she came up with a plan to spend one epic night with the man she vowed to always love.”

  “So I take it this plan was to be executed on the night of the party?” Georgia asked.

  “It was. I suspect that Catherine needed to wait until she was free of her handlers before she could make her move.”

  “Handlers?” I asked.

  “The men and women her father paid to keep an eye on things. Anyway,” Willa continued, “Catherine had met a man named Michael, who worked at a local bakery. Michael’s job was to deliver fresh bread and other baked goods to the Chadwick house twice a week. I know this because Michael and I were friends. In fact, at the time, we lived very near each other and would chat often.” Willa took a deep breath and then continued. “Michael was a charismatic guy, who would stop and talk to all his customers when making his deliveries, and as the years went by, Michael and Catherine became friends of sorts. It was during one of those deliveries that Michael told me that he’d found Catherine crying. He somehow managed to coax the reason for her tears out of her, and by the end of their talk, he’d promised to help Catherine execute her plan. Michael lived in the area full-time and was familiar with both the resort and the local landscape, so he came up with a plan to sneak Catherine away from the party and up to a room he would book at the resort, where Sebastian would be waiting for her.”

  “What did she tell her mother?” I asked. “Surely, she was expected home at the end of the evening.”

  “I’m really not sure, but I don’t think the mother was the problem. Once Conway found out about Catherine’s friendship with Sebastian, he assigned her an escort who was with her anytime she left the house. I guess it was this escort she needed to get past. I seem to remember that this escort had even shown up at the party to keep an eye on things.”

  “So, did it work?” Georgia asked. “Did Catherine get her night with Sebastian?”

  “According to Michael, she did, however, her night of bliss did not come without a price. The very next day, Catherine’s father had two of his men pick Sebastian up and take him away. As far as I know, Catherine never saw him again.”

  “There is a woman at the inn named Rena,” Georgia said. “She seems to be confused and is having trouble remembering who she is and where she’s from. She keeps saying that she is waiting for Michael. You don’t think Rena’s Michael and Catherine’s Michael are the same man, do you?”

  “If Rena is waiting for Michael, I don’t see how they could be the same person. The Michael who helped Catherine died decades ago in a house fire.”

  I glanced at Georgia.

  “The Michael Rena is waiting for lived in a house on Vine Street. A house that no longer exists due to a fire,” Georgia said.

  “Michael lived on Vine Street,” Willa confirmed. “I suppose if this Rena is confused, she might not remember that Michael died. Is she old enough to have been around when Michael was a young man with a plan to help the damsel in distress he’d stumbled across?”

  “Actually, she seems to be. She’s never shared her exact age, but she seems to be well into her eighties.”

  “I was sixteen in nineteen fifty. I’m eighty-six, so if Rena is around that age, I guess she might have been here back then. Did she ever tell you her last name?”

  “No,” I answered. “We’ve asked, but she either doesn’t remember or isn’t saying.”

  “And she’s never shared where she lives?”

  “No. It seems as if she can’t remember,” Georgia shared.

  “You don’t think Rena is Catherine, do you?” I asked as all the little pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

  “Why would you think that?” Willa asked.

  “Georgia overheard Rena talking to someone who wasn’t there while sitting on a bench in the garden. She was telling this person that Michael was going to help her sneak whomever she was talking to into a party so that they could be together.” I looked at Georgia. “I suppose Rena could be a nickname for Catherine.”

  Chapter 15

  I decided to call Lacy and ask if she’d ever had the opportunity to bring up the subject of Catherine with Baron. She reported that she hadn’t. I explained the situation with the woman staying at the inn, and she agreed to call him to see what, if anything, he might know about his aunt. Lacy reminded me that in the past, Baron had mentioned that he actually knew very little about his father’s family since he hadn’t been exposed to them after his father died, and his mother had moved them away from Boston and the family business, but we both agreed it couldn’t hurt to ask. I also called Colt and asked him if he could try to trace Catherine Chadwick. I knew she’d lived with her father for a while after her mother died, and Sebastian had been sent away, but Patrick had told me that she’d eventually ended up in an institution. If she’d been admitted somewhere, it seems a record of some sort must exist.

  The other option we had was to talk to Rena and see if we could use what we knew to jog her memory. If Rena was Catherine, it seemed apparent that she’d suffered a lot of loss and tragedy in her life. Would trying to nudge aside the barrier in her mind that was keeping her from actually remembering, end up doing her harm?

  Of course, if Rena was Catherine, there were a lot of questions that needed to be addressed, beginning with how a woman in her late eighties had managed to leave the institution where she’d lived out her life and make the trip from wherever that institution might be located to Holiday Bay, Maine.

  “This story just keeps getting crazier and crazier,” I said as Georgia and I drove back toward the inn.

  “It really does. Part of me thinks that Catherine and Rena’s stories fit too well for them not to be the same person, while the other part of me figures that Catherine making her way back to the place she shared her one night with Sebastian after all these years is pretty darn unlikely.”

  “I have to agree with that. Not only do we have the question of how she made the journey to consider, but we also have the question of why now? It’s been seventy years. It seems that if Catherine wanted to return to the scene of her single night of passion, she would have done so long before now.”

  “I wonder if the death of her father triggered something,” Georgia said.

  “I suppose that could be the case. Conway lived to be a hundred and one and died less than a year ago. I suppose that his death could have triggered something that led to Catherine making the trip to Maine this summer. Still, it seems odd to me that a woman of her age would make the trip alone, and it really seems odd that no one is looking for her.”

  “Maybe Conway continued to control every aspect of his daughter’s life right up until he died,” Georgia said. “Maybe once he died, she had a bit of freedom to make her own decisions, and maybe she decided to use that freedom to take a trip down memory lan
e. I know it seems as if she’s confused at this point, but maybe she didn’t start the journey that way. Maybe she used some of her inheritance to pay someone to bring her back to the place she was happy if only for a moment in time.”

  “I guess it could have happened that way.” I glanced at my phone. “Hopefully, Baron will know what happened to Catherine. If he doesn’t know, it seems that as her only living relative, he could find out.”

  Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long to get at least some of the answers to our questions. Lacy called to let us know that Baron didn’t know offhand what had happened to Catherine, but he would find out. A few hours later, Baron called Lacy to report that he’d spoken to his grandfather’s attorney, who reported that Conway had kept a tight rein on Catherine after her night with Sebastian, denying her even the most simple of freedoms. Initially, he’d kept her at home under lock and key, but he’d eventually decided to use his wealth to have her institutionalized. When Catherine was thirty-two, she managed to escape from the institution, and, as far as Conway’s attorney knew, no one had seen her since. It was assumed at this point that she was dead.

  “So she found a way out from under her father’s thumb and used it,” Georgia said. “I wonder where she went. If Rena is Catherine, I wonder where she’s been all this time.”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds like if we are ever going to get our answers, we’re going to need to get them from her.”

  When Georgia and I returned to the inn, we found Rena sitting in the garden, watching Jeremy and Mylie work now that the rain had cleared at least temporarily. She seemed content even though the landscape was wet and muddy from the morning moisture.

  “Afternoon, Rena,” Georgia said, sitting on a bench near her. “It’s turned out to be a nice sunny afternoon, but it’s still damp. Are you warm enough?”