by Anna Schmidt
“I thought Reverend Diggs agreed with half the congregation that you should not be involved in this.”
“Not at all. He’s just concerned, as are the others.”
“And Oliver?”
Nola frowned. “That was unfortunate. Reverend Diggs had suggested he be the one to bring up the matter with Oliver but then when I saw him just now…”
“I take it he was not exactly delighted with the idea.”
“He’ll come around. I told him about the piece for violin and I could see that he was intrigued in spite of himself.”
“And what about Mrs. Gillenwater?”
Nola blinked up at him. “What about her?”
From the moment Harry heard about the notes, it had amazed him that Nola had not once shown alarm. “You don’t have to fill in for Ellie, Nola. I’ve just sent for the musicians I hired. They’ll be here in plenty of time to put the final touches on the show.”
“And until then?” Nola asked. “Besides, I want to do this. It’s my opportunity to repay the company for everything they did for me.”
Harry frowned. The truth was that the company needed all the rehearsal time he could give them. “There will be some rules,” he said sternly.
Nola bristled. “I am perfectly capable—”
“Play by my rules, Nola, or the deal’s off.”
“Really, Starbuck, you are sometimes so full of yourself that you are quite impossible.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Very well, but you’re being ridiculous.”
Harry grinned. “Humor me.”
“What rules?”
“We’ll go over that later at rehearsal. I want to be sure that everyone—including Oliver and Minnie—are straight on how things will go until we find the person behind those notes.”
Chapter Fifteen
Harry’s rules were ironclad. Nola was not to ever be out alone after dark. He insisted that one or more of them would see her home, and more often than not he found a reason for that escort to be him. He even insisted on checking the entire property inside and out before leaving. Then he would stand on the front porch until he heard the click of the front door lock and her murmured “Good night, Harry.”
After a few days, Nola was relieved that once again things seemed to have settled into a routine. Even the Franks seemed to have come around, especially once everyone in the cast raved about Oliver’s violin rendition of Ellie’s ballad.
“That’s perfect, Oliver,” Harry had told the choir director. And the entire cast had backed up his praise with their applause. Oliver had actually blushed and the disapproving expression that had seemed permanently engraved on Minnie’s face for weeks now had softened just a bit.
But one night as Harry walked Nola home after leaving the rest of the actors at the turnoff to the cottages, she was having trouble concentrating on his lighthearted banter. And when he went about his usual tour of the downstairs rooms, she followed him, lingering in the doorway and watching as he checked each lock.
“You all right?” he asked.
She tried a smile but failed. “Yes…No.”
“The notes have stopped, right?”
She wrestled with a possible lie and settled on the truth. “They had,” she admitted. “Until this morning.”
He held out his hand and she fished through her purse and produced the familiar blue envelope, then looked away while he pulled out the single sheet and read the note.
Nola Burns, you have been warned;
That man Starbuck, you must scorn.
Heed these words or pay the price;
Your life’s too precious to sacrifice.
A friend
“Nola, this is a direct threat. When and how did you receive this?”
“Judy found it when she came to work this morning.”
“Where?”
Nola swallowed and her lower lip began to quiver. “It was…She found it…” She felt the color drain from her cheeks. He took hold of her arm, clearly afraid that she might faint.
“Where?” he insisted.
“On the kitchen table.”
The culprit had gotten inside?
“Come on,” Harry said, heading back outside.
“Where are we going?”
“To the police. Enough is enough, Nola. This person has broken into your home—been in your kitchen.” Not ten yards from where you lay sleeping.
As ’Sconset’s sole officer of the law, Osgood Daniels’s usual duties were little more than helping a tourist with directions. But once he’d heard Nola’s story, the young policeman drew up a chair. His questions were so probing that they raised real concerns in Nola’s mind. She began to consider the notes as the potential threats they were.
“Who might have something to gain by frightening you, Miss Nola?” Osgood asked.
“No one.”
“Perhaps the perpetrator wants to see you close up shop? Even leave the island altogether?”
Nola tried a laugh but the laughter stuck in her throat.
“In short, who are your enemies?”
“Enemies?” she replied. “In ’Sconset?”
Osgood leaned forward sympathetically. “Not necessarily. Perhaps this is coming from outside the community. Is there a vendor or supplier perhaps that you’ve locked horns with over time?”
She assured him that while she expected exceptional service, she could think of no one that she had ever dealt with who might resort to tactics such as sending threatening notes. “Anyway, how would someone off island be so knowledgeable about the people I choose to befriend?”
“Gossip is like a wildfire, Miss Nola. Doesn’t discriminate between those in the know and those just curious. You take a vendor who calls on you and then goes on down the street to another business and hears folks talking…” He shrugged.
“Nevertheless, I am quite certain that what lies behind the notes has nothing to do with my business dealings, but rather with my association with the theater group. The notes are coming from someone who knows me—someone that I know.”
“What about Mrs. Gillenwater?” Harry asked.
“I seriously doubt that she would have any idea of who might be…”
“Could she be sending the notes?”
The policeman cleared his throat. “Well, now, sir, a woman like that? It seems a bit of a long shot.”
“It is impossible,” Nola corrected. “Rose Gillenwater is always direct and to the point. She has told me more than once her feelings regarding my association with the acting troupe—and with you,” she added.
Harry shrugged. “Exactly why in my view she’s on the list. You have not heeded her advice, Nola. And we all know that she doesn’t like that.”
“It’s not Rose,” Nola insisted. “I refuse to believe such a thing.”
She turned back to the officer. “Now, Osgood, I hope you understand that if it gets out that I’ve involved the authorities, my customers could become alarmed. It’s imperative that you go about your investigation quietly and without fanfare.”
“I understand, miss. I’ll be discreet.”
Later that evening he stopped by to make a full inspection of the property, especially the kitchen door.
“It’s not the best of locks,” he muttered. “There’s no sign of tampering but frankly anyone could have easily opened the lock without a key.”
Nola assured him that Jonah would change the lock first thing the following morning.
“Might want to change all the locks while he’s at it. Now don’t you worry, Miss Nola, I’ll be around but your customers won’t even notice.”
And true to his word Officer Daniels kept his distance from the tearoom during business hours although Nola had seen him watching patrons come and go and making notes with a stubby pencil in a dog-eared notepad he carried in his pocket. To her relief Nola also noticed that the policeman had increased the number of occasions he found to walk past her place, especially in the evenings. But when she heard f
ootsteps on the front porch later, near midnight, Nola couldn’t help herself. She was scared.
“Who’s there?” she cried out.
“It’s just me,” Ellie Chambliss answered. “And Lancelot. Can we come in?”
“Of course.” Nola ran to open the door and was surprised to see Ellie hauling the familiar large damask pillow where Lancelot slept along with a small suitcase. “What’s happened?”
“We’ve come to stay the night,” Ellie replied. “Hopefully you haven’t rented out my old room?”
“Of course not, but, Ellie…”
“Now, we won’t take no for an answer, will we, Lancelot? We’ve missed you and I could never make a proper cup of tea and…” She stopped and gave Nola an apologetic smile. “Harry told me about the notes.”
Nola relieved Ellie of the suitcase and pulled her into the foyer so they could close the door. “Bless you,” she murmured, fighting the knot of tears in her throat.
“Are you kidding?” Ellie exclaimed in a voice that was a little too bright. “This place over that damp little cottage? No contest. Right, Lancelot?”
The dog gave a yap of approval and leaped from Ellie’s arms to Nola’s. He started licking Nola’s face and she laughed. “You two get settled. I’ll make us some tea.”
As Ellie continued to nurse her sprained wrist, Nola continued attending rehearsals even after the professional musicians arrived. Although they had the music well in hand by the second night, the truth was that she was happy for the diversion. Even though there had been no further notes, Nola found herself looking at every vendor and delivery person, every neighbor or acquaintance she passed on the street as a potential suspect. Could Ian McAllister have sent the notes, she wondered as he bagged up her purchases. And if so, for what possible reason?
With Ellie once more living at Nola’s it seemed natural that the entire cast would walk with Ellie and Nola to the tearoom before heading on down the lane to their cottages. Nola would invite them all inside and pull out leftovers for them to devour. It did not escape her notice that during these nightly sessions, Harry continued to move from room to room checking locks and windows.
“It’s the city in us,” the countess said one evening as she and Ellie sat with Nola in the parlor while the others cleaned up the kitchen and Harry checked outside to make sure no one was lurking about. “We tend to see villains even in picturesque ’Sconset.”
“You know about the notes?” Nola asked.
Olga nodded. “Alistair—Mr. Gillenwater—mentioned it in passing. He’s quite concerned.”
“Olga, about Mr. Gillenwater…”
The actress straightened and her expression hardened. “That is none of anyone’s business.”
“I’m afraid it is. Mrs. Gillenwater is my friend—as are you. I’d hate to think that there was any basis for Rose’s concerns.”
Olga sighed dramatically. “It has always amazed me how you Americans find it so difficult to believe that a man and a woman might form a friendship without the usual romantic entanglements. Alistair—yes, Alistair—and I have found that we have common interests. Did you realize his ancestors on his mother’s side were Russian?”
“No.”
“Well, they are and he has always thought of traveling there—taking his precious Rose there.”
“And how does that concern you?”
“It doesn’t,” Olga sighed. “It began with a simple comment I made to him before the clambake. He mentioned his heritage and desire to travel there in casual conversation. I said that I had a friend in Boston who specializes in tours to Russia. He asked me to write down the name and contact information since he was leaving for Boston that very afternoon. I did so and that is the end of the story.”
“But Rose said that their sons…”
Olga waved her hand as if flicking away an annoying fly. “They saw their father take the information and then they saw him take my hands in an expression of gratitude. That is what they saw. What they think they saw, and obviously reported to their mother, I can only imagine.”
“Olga, I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“Well, the gossip surrounding you has been cruel and unwarranted.”
“No more than for you. These notes—the work of cowards.”
Nola sighed. “I just wish we could all stop worrying about this and get back to our normal routines.”
Olga reached over and took her hand. “As do we all, dear Nola. Thank you for refusing to join in judging me without first hearing me out. And thank you for believing me.” She glanced toward the door where the others could be heard moving from room to room performing the nightly security check. “And now perhaps it is I who can help you.”
“How?”
“I wonder, Nola,” she said, lowering her voice. “Have you considered that perhaps Mr. Starbuck is someone who is clever enough to plot such a drama?”
“You mean his operetta? Well, of course, he’s clever enough, Countess. Even you have had to admit that it’s the most innovative…”
Again the glance toward the door and now Olga was almost whispering. “Not the play, Nola—these threats.” She stood up quickly as the others crowded into the room.
“Ten o’clock and all is cleaned up in the kitchen,” Jasper announced as everyone entered the parlor.
“Thank you all,” Nola said. “Now go home. You need your rest. The opening is only a week away.” She shepherded them all toward the front hall.
Billy kissed her cheek and whispered, “Sleep well, Miss Nola.” Then the others took their turn kissing her lightly on the cheek and following Olga out to the porch. Only Harry and Ellie remained.
“I wonder, Ellie, would you give me a moment with Nola?” Harry said.
“Of course.” Ellie leaned in and kissed Nola’s cheek. “I’ll be upstairs,” she said.
When they were alone, Harry smiled down at Nola. “Everyone is looking out for you, Nola,” he said. “You have won them over heart and mind.”
And you? Nola thought as Olga’s preposterous question rang in her ears. But instead of saying anything she led the way into the parlor. “You don’t have to keep checking the house every night, Harry. The locksmith checked everything when he was here.”
“Do you think I’m the one sending the notes, Nola?”
She was astounded at the question and yet, she could not deny that it had crossed her mind. “Not really. No.”
“The countess has made no secret of her suspicions and I have to admit that I am the most likely culprit.” He smiled wearily. “After all, the entire scenario has a certain dramatic flair.”
“Melodramatic,” she corrected. “Not at all your style.”
“Nevertheless, I have something to show you.”
He cleared his throat and Nola realized he was nervous.
“I had intended this as a show of appreciation for everything you’ve done, Nola. For the company, for the play—and for me. But perhaps it will serve a better purpose and set any doubts you may have about me and my motivations to rest.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“It’s the deed to the acreage just east of the cabaret. I’m going to build the inn there.”
Nola opened the envelope and pulled out the deed.
“It has a lovely setting—nothing like yours, of course. But I was able to acquire all of the land down to the shore so there’s no chance someone will come along and build something to block the view,” Harry said. “Guests will be near enough to the cabaret to bicycle or even walk between the two properties. It will be a kind of a compound with everything any city person could want right at hand.”
Nola continued to stare at the deed, but the truth was her emotions were threatening to overwhelm her.
Harry sat next to her. “Say something, Nola.”
“You did this for me?”
He grinned. “You give me far too much credit, Miss Nola. The truth is that
you convinced me that ’Sconset would lose a great deal of the charm that makes the place so appealing without Miss Nola and her tearoom.” He placed one finger under her chin and urged her to look at him. “Bad for business,” he murmured.
“Oh, Harry, you didn’t have to do this. The letters will stop and things will settle back to normal once we get through the gala. You’ll see.”
“Why, Miss Nola, are you saying you’ve changed your mind about selling this place to me?”
“No, but…”
He leaned in and kissed her temple. “Thought not. You belong here, Nola.”
Where else would she go? Nola thought and saw her future clearly. She—like Rachel Williams—would become something of an icon on the island. Well-known, even beloved. And alone.
“I have business in New York,” Harry said. “I leave tomorrow for the week.”
“But the rehearsals,” Nola protested.
“The play is in good shape. Now that the conductor and musicians I hired are here, he and Ellie can handle rehearsals and I’ll be back in time for the gala.” He pulled the deed and its envelope from her fingers. “Good night, Miss Nola. Sleep well.”
That night Nola begged off her usual tea and talk session with Ellie, protesting that she had let her paperwork pile up and needed to attend to some bills. She could see that Ellie didn’t fully believe her, but the actress did not protest. Sleepless, Nola paced the first-floor rooms of her house.
She had won, she thought. This was her house—her business. And yet it didn’t seem to belong exclusively to her these days. In seasons past she had grown used to her routine—a quiet supper alone or occasionally with a friend like Rachel Williams or Minnie Franks. Time spent making a detailed list of errands and chores for the following day. A few moments of quiet meditation and prayer after her nightly cup of tea. And then to bed.
But this summer had been so very different. These summer nights she often lay awake going over the events of her day—days that more often than not were filled with surprises. Some townsperson she had known all her life who had that day crossed to the other side of the street to keep from passing her and risking a conversation. The always sunny Kowalski girls whose giggles could be irresistible even when Nola didn’t know the cause. Olga, who always maintained her distance, but who often showed surprising wisdom. And Ellie, dear Ellie, who by sharing her own joys and tragedies had gradually enticed Nola to talk about her grief over her lost youth, the parents gone far too soon, and her joy in the accomplishments of her siblings.
