X Marks the Scot

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Beamer,” Liss said, and felt her lips twist into a faint smile. “Benny Beamer.”

  “Funny name for a woman.”

  “It’s short for something. She told me, but I’ve forgotten. I do remember that she said she bought the trunk for the ledgers. She was doing research.”

  “Writing a book?”

  “I don’t remember that, either. I do remember thinking what dull reading they’d be.”

  Sherri wrote Benny’s name in her notebook, adding a question mark after it.

  “I feel a little guilty calling official attention to a perfectly innocent person,” Liss said.

  “I’m not going to arrest her. I just want to find out if she saw anything.”

  “Well, while you’re at it, ask her if she found anything in those papers that might relate to our mysterious map.”

  Sherri duly added another reminder to herself. Then she pressed on, asking questions about everything that happened in Nova Scotia and making copious notes. By the time they came back to Moosetookalook and the two instances of intruders who might or might not exist, Liss felt as wrung out as a used dishrag.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Sherri said, “but as I pointed out last night, the only thing tying all these things together is you.”

  “Me,” Liss agreed, “and maybe the map.”

  Sherri sighed, stood up, and stretched. She tossed notebook and pen onto her desk and went to stare out the window that overlooked the parking lot in back of the municipal building. Liss watched her warily.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” she asked.

  “And third and fourth,” Sherri admitted. “But don’t worry. I’ll check into the people at the auction and I’ll follow up with the RCMP. If we’re really lucky, the Mounties will find a match for the fingerprints they took at the motel in Antigonish.”

  “Better yet, maybe Sergeant Childs will call you back to say that the real killer has been caught.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice!”

  Liss heaved herself out of the chair and was about to head back to the Emporium when there was a brisk knock at the door and Margaret Boyd sailed into the office without waiting for an invitation.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said as went straight to Sherri’s desk, cleared a space, and unrolled a large sheet of paper, anchoring the corners with a stapler, a paperweight, a coffee mug, and a pencil cup. “I thought you should both see this right away. It’s the Chadwick family tree.”

  Liss stared at the names and dates connected by lines. There were a lot more of them than there had been.

  Sherri came up to stand beside her. “What am I looking at?”

  “This is the Grant line,” Margaret said, pointing to the right side of the chart. “Liss was right. They lived in Yarmouth, Maine.” Next her finger moved to the far left. “These are the Chadwicks.”

  Liss was quick to catch on, especially when she realized that the two lines met in the middle with the marriage of Edgar Chadwick and Euphemia Grant. Only one line extended down from their names: their daughter, Alison. Margaret had recorded her marriage to Emmett O’Hare and the dates of their deaths. They’d had no children.

  “If you look over here,” Margaret continued, indicating the Chadwick side of the chart, “you’ll see that the Canadian line also died out, and much earlier than the American one.”

  “What’s this line with the question mark?” Liss asked.

  “The younger son went West and was never heard from again.” Margaret said. “His father, Norman Chadwick, had three children, a daughter and two sons. The daughter, Daisy, never married. The elder son, Albert, married but had no children. They were still living when Edgar Chadwick was running rum during Prohibition, but if we’re to believe our friend from the Chadwick Historical and Genealogical Society, there was never any hint locally that Norman or Albert were in on the scheme. They appear to have lived in genteel respectability, doing good works and leaving their property to the town that was named after their ancestor, Eli Chadwick, who founded the place shortly after the American Revolution.”

  “What about the Grants?” Liss asked. “Could the map have come from that side of the family, the way the portrait itself must have?”

  “Euphemia was the last of her particular line. She brought money into the marriage, maybe even enough to allow her husband to go straight. It was his father, you see, who was the smuggler. I checked the local newspapers here in Carrabassett County as well as reading those articles Cindy copied for us. Like their Canadian counterparts, Edgar and Euphemia Chadwick are mentioned almost exclusively in connection with social events, good works, and civic organizations.”

  Margaret spoke with so much enthusiasm about her research that Liss couldn’t help but be impressed. When she said so, Margaret grinned.

  “Someday soon, I’m going to share with you my discoveries about the migration of English colonists from Massachusetts to Canada before the Revolutionary War and the return of many of them to the newly formed United States when the Maritimes failed to become the fourteenth state. Did you know that one of our own MacCrimmon ancestors appears to have crossed paths with a Nova Scotia Chadwick back in Colonial days?”

  “I had no idea.” And even less interest. Liss felt certain the map she’d found wasn’t that old.

  It was Sherri who stepped in to firmly steer the conversation back to the present. “This is helpful,” she told Margaret. “You’ve eliminated certain possibilities. Now both of you need to leave so I can do my thing.”

  “I’m going back to the library,” Margaret said, rolling up the genealogical chart and departing at warp speed. She was more her old self than Liss had seen in months.

  “And I’ll head back to work.” Liss’s voice held considerably less enthusiasm. “I’m expecting a busy afternoon. One of the regional Scottish clan societies is holding their annual conference at The Spruces.”

  Members would start arriving soon for events, workshops, and panels that would run straight through the next two days, up until the business meeting on Sunday evening. Since no one attended every offering, Liss hoped at least some of the attendees would take the time to come into town—a ten-minute drive—and visit the only shop in the state that specialized in Scottish imports and Scottish-themed gift items.

  Poor timing, she thought as she left the municipal building and crossed the town square. If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d much rather be spending the time roaming the old Chadwick property to see if she could match the landmarks there to those on the map.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, Saturday, Liss was at work when the phone rang.

  “I tracked down the auctioneer,” Sherri said. “Your dark-haired man is named Aaron Lucas, but I haven’t made contact with him yet. The real question mark is Benny Beamer.”

  “How so?” Leaning on the counter, Liss watched in amusement as Beth held one outfit against herself, then another, trying to decide which to wear for the day.

  “She listed an address in South Portland with the auction house, but it turned out to be a condo that belongs to someone else. They weren’t available but the manager had never heard of her. Do you remember anything else from your conversation with her? Any clue to where she might be living?”

  “Sorry, no. We didn’t talk that long.”

  Curious, Liss thought when they disconnected, but she didn’t have time to solve any new mysteries. Customers had begun to trickle in. By noontime, when there must have been a break in activities at the conference, the trickle turned into a flood. It wasn’t until around four in the afternoon that the steady stream dried up.

  Liss flopped down in one of the comfortable armchairs in the shop’s “cozy corner” and put her feet up on the coffee table. The area had been designed as a waiting area for impatient spouses, as well as a place to browse through the Scottish-themed books shelved nearby. “Come and take a load off, Beth,” she called as she leaned her head back again
st the upholstery and closed her eyes.

  Days like this were great for the bottom line, but they were also exhausting. She almost groaned aloud when she heard the bell over the door jingle to signal that yet another customer had come in.

  “Good afternoon,” she heard Beth say to the new arrival. “Welcome to Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium.”

  A voice that seemed vaguely familiar answered her, asking if the proprietor was in.

  With a sigh, Liss got to her feet, but her tiredness disappeared when she saw who had come in. “Ms. Beamer! What a coincidence. I was hoping for another chance to talk to you.”

  “Really? What about?”

  “Come and sit down and I’ll tell you all about it. Coffee? Tea?”

  A few minutes later, Liss had Benny settled in the cozy corner with steaming mugs of coffee and a plate overflowing with chocolate chip cookies freshly baked that morning by Patsy of Patsy’s Coffee House. Benny helped herself to the biggest one and bit into it. An expression of sheer bliss came over her face.

  Deciding that no good purpose could be served by being coy, Liss plunged right in. “I’ve had some peculiar things happen to me since we met at the auction. The police are investigating. The chief has been attempting to locate anyone I spoke with there to ask what they remember seeing at the time. According to her, the manager at the address you gave the auction company has never heard of you.”

  “That’s easy to explain.” Benny reached for another cookie. Once again, she wore a blouse with long, loose sleeves. The butter-yellow color brought out the blond of her curls. “I was only there a short time. I’m a professional house sitter. I was living there, watering the plants and taking care of the pets for the owners while they were on vacation. No one else in the building had any need to know my name or their neighbors’ business.”

  “House sitting. Huh.” As an explanation, it made sense, and Liss didn’t find it all that hard to imagine not having a permanent address. When she’d been on the road with the dance company she’d spent years without any permanent abode. “Where are you now? Are you currently working for someone in this area?”

  Benny grinned. “I’ve been staying at The Spruces since just before the auction. I decided it was time to treat myself to a vacation.” She took a sip of the coffee, meeting Liss’s eyes over the rim. “So, how can I help you?”

  “I have two questions. First, had you already left by the time I was loading the portrait I bought into my friend’s car?”

  “Probably.” She managed an apologetic look. “Sorry I took off without thanking you for your help, but this nice young man offered to carry the trunk and I was anxious to get it back to my room and start going through the contents.”

  “No problem. What did you find?”

  “Decades worth of ledgers.” Benny’s eyes twinkled. “A gold mine!”

  “You said you were doing research for a book.”

  “An article. I’m what’s known as an independent scholar. The house sitting keeps a roof over my head and gives me the freedom to move around as needed. I also take the occasional job as an adjunct instructor.”

  “I don’t think I know what that means,” Liss admitted.

  “Part-time and poorly paid. Lots of colleges and universities use them. Saves them money. Even the house sitting is a better deal and living in South Portland was great. I could do research at the Glickman Library at USM as well as at the Portland Public Library.”

  As she launched into a more detailed explanation of what she was working on, Liss tried to focus. Almost at once, she felt her eyes begin to glaze over. Margaret, she thought, would appreciate hearing about Benny’s work much more than she did. Still, the subject gave her an opening to ask her second question.

  “So,” she broke in when Benny paused for breath, “you bought the trunk for the ledgers, but surely there were other papers in the trunk, as well—letters, perhaps?”

  Benny gave an airy wave. “I’m only interested in the ledgers.”

  Liss took a sip of coffee to allow time to gather her thoughts. How much should she tell Benny? She might have something Liss wanted, but it was doubtful she’d share without an explanation. Liss had heard about the pressure in academic circles to “publish or perish,” and she’d read more than one murder mystery in which a college professor was prepared to kill to protect a work-in-progress. Independent scholars must be even more anxious to produce original work. One or two articles in prestigious journals could put Benny on the fast track to full-time employment by a college or university . . . if the fact that she looked and sounded younger than the average student didn’t count against her.

  She cleared her throat. “About the auction. Afterward, my friend and I dropped that portrait I bought.”

  “Oh, no!” Benny’s hazel eyes widened. “Was it badly damaged?”

  “Only the frame. The thing is, there was something hidden behind the canvas. A map. Ever since I found it, I’ve been trying to determine what location is shown on it. To help out, my aunt has been digging into Chadwick family history.”

  Ten minutes later, Liss had hit the genealogical high points, repeated the local gossip about smuggling during Prohibition, and produced a printout of the map for Benny to study.

  “The most likely location for these landmarks is on the Chadwick property here in Moosetookalook.”

  Benny giggled. “Oooh—treasure! I love it!”

  “It’s not likely to amount to anything, but I plan to keep investigating. It occurred to me that since there were papers as well as ledgers in that trunk you bought, some of them might mention the map. Would you be willing to let me take a look at them?”

  At once, Benny’s amusement vanished. Suddenly, she looked less like a moppet and more like a young woman with a mission. “I can’t risk losing valuable information that might have a bearing on my research.”

  “I understand that. Perhaps, then, you could keep an eye out for anything that might relate to this map.”

  While Benny considered, she snagged the one remaining cookie. “Sure. Why not?” she said after she’d swallowed the last crumb. “I’ll let you know.” Tucking the copy of the map into her shoulder bag, she stood. “Anything else you need from me?”

  Liss shook her head. She found Benny’s lack of curiosity remarkable. The other woman had never once asked what peculiar things had prompted the police to check into the address she’d listed in South Portland. Most people would also have wondered if the cops still wanted to talk to her. Benny was halfway to the door before Liss called her back.

  “Wait a minute. If you didn’t know anyone was looking for you, why did you come to the Emporium and ask for me?”

  The dimple appeared when Benny smiled. “You were so nice to me at the auction that I thought you might like to have lunch with me sometime. I’ll be in town a while longer. I still have to check into several local sources of information.”

  After Benny left, Liss flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and locked up. Only when she turned to face the sales counter did she remember she was not alone in the shop.

  Beth sat on the high wooden stool next to the cash register, elbows resting on the countertop and chin resting on her fists. Her impish grin told Liss she’d overheard the entire conversation between her boss and Benny Beamer.

  “No smart remarks about treasure hunts,” Liss warned her.

  Beth jerked her head in the direction Benny had gone. “I can’t imagine her as a college instructor. She looks about thirteen.”

  “I just hope appearances are deceiving and she’s the serious scholar she claims to be. Right now I’m short on clues. I can go out to the Chadwick mansion, but without a starting point I don’t see how I can match any landmarks to the map.”

  “May I see it?” Beth asked.

  Liss produced another copy. She’d made plenty of printouts.

  After studying it for a few minutes, Beth said, “You need to get hold of something to compare this to.”

  “Pete Cam
pbell is working on finding a topographical map of the area.”

  Beth shook her head. “Old maps. From back when the Chadwick house was built. Architect’s drawings would be even better. The really good ones show trees and—”

  Liss’s whoop of delight startled her young friend and nearly caused Beth to tumble off the stool. Thanks to the preparation that had gone into turning the Chadwick mansion into a haunted house all those years ago, she knew exactly where to lay hands on a set of building plans.

  * * *

  The sun was still up when Liss and Dan finished supper.

  “The Sox played this afternoon, right?” she asked her baseball-loving husband as they cleared the table.

  “Won seven to three.”

  “So you’re free for the evening?”

  He sent her a suspicious look. “What did you have in mind?”

  Liss produced a large roll of yellowed paper, the edges flaking with age. She’d stopped at the town office on her way home and had been lucky enough to find one of the town’s selectmen, Pete Campbell’s mother, catching up on some paperwork on the weekend. When Liss had explained her errand, Thea had been willing to let her borrow what she needed from the records room.

  “I thought I returned those.”

  “You did. I checked them out again.”

  “Sherri had it right. You’re obsessed with that treasure map.”

  Dan said the words lightly, but she gave him a sharp look. She took it as a good sign that he was smiling. Her determination to find answers was a sign of commitment to a goal. Surely that was a good quality.

  Fifteen minutes later, Dan signaled for the turn onto Raglan Road. Once they were on the winding drive that led up to the mansion, Liss’s anticipation quickened. All her senses were on alert. She was positive that with the help of the sketch that showed the grounds as well as the house she’d be able to spot the markers on the map. She only needed one to start with. The others landmarks would follow.

  When Dan’s truck rounded the last twist in the driveway, he abruptly hit the brakes. “Well, hell!”

  “Oh, dear,” Liss murmured.