Firefly Beach

by Meira Pentermann

  Beth took a deep breath and sighed. “Mrs. Sharpe arranged a private adoption.” She could not believe that she had used Eleanor’s euphemism for selling a baby.

  “Private adoption?” Wyatt asked.

  Linda looked overwhelmed and confused.

  “She sold Susan to a wealthy couple from New York,” Beth blurted out rapidly, as if the words would hurt less if they all came out at once.

  “What? We were her godparents,” Wyatt said indignantly.

  “I know. I had a rather detailed conversation with Mrs. Sharpe reminding her of that fact. At first she claimed it was something about you and her not getting along. Then it seemed like she was just doing it for the money.”

  Wyatt rose from his chair. “I’m going to call the police.”

  “Wait,” Beth pleaded. “I thought about that. First of all, it is her word against mine at this point. Everyone believed Katherine and Susan left together.”

  “But now you have a crash site, potential evidence.”

  Kenny interjected, “A baby’s bones would have decayed sooner than Katherine’s.”

  Linda grimaced.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “She was one-and-a-half,” Wyatt contested.

  Kenny shrugged. “I’m not sure that makes much of a difference.”

  “Excuse me, forensics team,” Beth said, scowling. “Can I explain my objections?”

  Linda stared at her. Wyatt crossed his arms. Kenny raised one eyebrow.

  “Susan grew up with two people whom she believed were her mom and dad. Does she now know her true history? I don’t know. But I don’t think it is fair for her learn about it from a team of police officers and German Shepherds arriving at her door one random afternoon in summer.”

  Wyatt sighed. “I doubt they’d bring out the dogs, but I kind of see your point.”

  “I would like to try to look for her,” Beth said, realizing that she had almost nothing to go by. Nevertheless, she wanted to bring some comfort to Linda as well as stall Wyatt’s pursuit of justice. “Look how well I did tracking you down.”

  Linda capitulated. “All right. But don’t ask me not to strangle that old woman in her sleep.”

  “You may not have to. By the looks of her, she could go any day.”

  “She should be so lucky.” Linda sneered.

  “Anyway,” Beth said, trying to change the subject. “The police will be asking you for information…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Don’t worry,” Wyatt said. “We’ll hold off discussing Susan for now. But if you don’t find her, I will go to the police. That woman be damned. I don’t care how old she is. She took money for my goddaughter. She will pay for that crime.”

  “Perhaps we ought to ask Susan what she thinks is best when we find her,” Beth said.

  Wyatt seemed unmoved, but he relented.

  Before they left, Linda hugged Beth for a long time. They exchanged a somber goodbye. Beth and Kenny were halfway down the walkway when Linda called after them.

  “Beth.”

  Beth turned. “Yes?”

  “How did you know?”

  Beth looked at Kenny briefly. She pursed her lips and answered. “I had a dream.”

  Linda nodded her head. She seemed to find that answer to her satisfaction. Perhaps all the years of waiting made her open to anything. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Beth nodded. Then she and Kenny climbed into his car and drove away.

  * * * *

  As they turned the corner, Beth cried, “Wait. Would you mind if we visited Mrs. Sharpe?”

  Kenny rolled his eyes. “Why do you want to even acknowledge that wretched woman?”

  “I want to ask her some questions. I want to know what time Katherine left the house.”

  “You think she’s going to remember that after all these years?”

  “She ought to remember if the young lady left around six in the morning or closer to noon, shouldn’t she?”

  “I suppose. But how does that help us?”

  Beth paused for a moment. Us. Kenny had progressed from a reluctant assistant to an active partner in her investigation. She smiled. “The tackle shop was open from one to five on Sundays, and it is south of the accident site. So Katherine must have been on her way home…theoretically. I just want to understand why she was on that road in the afternoon. According to Abigail, no one saw Katherine in Virginia Point after she left. Where did she spend the day if she didn’t spend it with her father?”

  “How do you know she didn’t spend it with her father? The old man lives a very reclusive life. Perhaps they spent a day at his house or on his sailboat. It is possible to take a walk in Virginia Point and not be noticed by the gossip squad, you know.” He said this with an air of one who was well acquainted with that fact, and had done so many times.

  Beth frowned. “I suppose you are right. But I want to see Mrs. Sharpe anyway. Do you mind?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

  He shook his head and resigned. “I’m in,” he said reluctantly.

  * * * *

  They stood on Eleanor Sharpe’s porch for several minutes waiting for someone to answer the door.

  Beth whispered to Kenny. “She was hardly fit to travel. There has to be someone in—”

  Rebecca opened the door, her clothing rumpled and her face red and swollen.

  “I need to speak to Mrs. Sharpe,” Beth said with an air of authority.

  “You can’t,” Rebecca replied, outraged.

  “It will only take—”

  “She’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “You,” she said slowly. “You killed her. I don’t know what you said to her yesterday, but she was all in a fit after you left. She died in her sleep. You killed her!”

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss, but I did not kill Mrs. Sharpe.”

  Kenny tugged at Beth’s elbow.

  Beth continued. “Was it her heart?”

  Rebecca grumbled. “The doctors don’t know yet. You had no business disturbing an eighty-one-year-old, sick woman in her bed.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Kenny tugged at Beth a little more forcefully. “Let’s go,” he whispered harshly in her ear. Then he pulled her back down the walk.

  “Goodbye, ma’am,” he said, nodding to Rebecca.

  “Bitch!” the young woman cried.

  Kenny had to force Beth into the car.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Do you want to be part of another police investigation today?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That woman is standing on the doorstep saying you killed the old lady. How do you think that sounds, huh? They don’t know how she died, and you were one of the last persons to see her alive. Let’s get out of here, now, before we end up spending the night in jail.”

  “Oh. I see your point.”

  “Damn straight,” Kenny mumbled under his breath as he turned onto the main road.

  Beth looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.”

  Kenny was silent for a moment. “It’s all right,” he said. “Do you think she died of guilt?”

  “Either that or her body decided to hold out long enough to release its secret…She didn’t have to tell me, you know.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Maybe she simply didn’t want to take it to the grave.”

  “Perhaps. Let’s just hope the doctor issues her a death certificate that implicates natural causes.”

  “Fair enough,” Beth said, chuckling. “But I have nothing to hide.”

  “Except the fate of Susan Thompson.”

  Beth sighed and looked out the window.

  “Why are you so committed to keeping this a secret? You certainly are not trying to protect Mrs. Sharpe or her son, I hope.”

  “No,” Beth said, thinking it should be obvious. “I’m trying to protect Susan.”

  “How do you know she wants to b
e protected?”

  “I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

  * * * *

  They arrived home around 6:45 p.m. Beth was emotionally exhausted, more so than she could remember being in a long time. She decided to take a long, deserved bath. Quietly, as if someone could see her, she sneaked the ducks into the bathroom and washed them thoroughly in the sink. She carefully painted new white and black eyes on their blank faces. When they dried, she dropped them into the tub. Although dingy and almost colorless, they stared up at her with that comforting, placid expression common in the rubber duck population.

  After her bath, she put the letters and ducks in a drawer with the diary. She took two steps before she stopped, returned to the drawer, and pulled out the last letter. She removed the picture and stared at it for a long time. Then she took the photo downstairs and set it on the coffee table. After rummaging through a box in the garage, she returned with a picture frame that used to hold a photo of Bill and her. She carefully positioned the photo of Katherine and Susan. It looked good inside the old frame. Smiling warmly, she crossed to the mantel and placed it by her mother’s picture.

  Beth found herself suddenly energized, and she went to the studio to study the unfinished portrait of the red-haired girl. It only needed a few more color accents and it would be perfect. She picked up the stunning comb created by Kenny. It looked lovely in her painting. Beth put on her apron, mixed some colors, and began the process of completing the portrait.

  She finished sometime shortly after nine o’clock as the twilight slipped away. When she stepped back to examine her final product, she noticed the firefly floating discreetly in the middle of the room. It gave her a start.

  “Would you please stop that?” she exclaimed. And with the voice of a woman depleted, she said, “It has been a long, long day, Katherine.” She paused, surprised by her own words. Then she stiffened and backed up slowly toward the corner of the room. The light creature seemed to retreat as if sensing Beth’s fear. Beth took a deep breath and stared for a long time before speaking again.

  “Are you Katherine?” she whispered, barely able to make a sound. Her mind stumbled over the possibility that might have already occurred to any other person in her situation, if such a situation even existed. She stood frozen in a state of shock, as if talking to some supernatural ball of light or a character from a Greek myth might be completely normal, while conversing with a ghost was entirely preposterous.

  The firefly swirled several times in random circles. Then it hovered a couple of feet from her face.

  Beth stepped forward, trying to get a closer look, truly examining the beautiful creature of light. She remembered how the firefly had frightened, yet amazed, her when she’d first encountered it.

  The firefly circled Beth’s head and then swirled energetically from one end of the room to the other.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling so lively and cheerful now because you didn’t look so good at the bottom of the hill this afternoon.” Beth laughed awkwardly.

  She stared at the light creature for several minutes. Was this, indeed, the spirit of Katherine Thompson? She was reluctant to accept the idea, because she never believed in God or an afterlife, least of all ghosts. But her other explanations – a muse or an angel – seemed equally as unfathomable. In the course of less than a month, things happened which would forever change how Beth viewed life. It was inevitable. And she could not turn back the clock.

  Suddenly, she experienced an unusual feeling of warmth and peace. It was a spiritual peace. She no longer felt melancholy and alone. She no longer believed that her father and mother were irrevocably erased from existence. She somehow sensed their presence, and she found that comforting.

  Addressing the firefly, she said, “I wish I could ask you what you did that day.”

  The firefly made a slow circle.

  “Did you see your father?”

  The firefly backed up toward the window.

  “I don’t know this language, Katherine,” she said, sighing. “I have to go to bed. I’m exhausted, and I’ve done all I can do for now. We’ll get things straightened out…somehow.”

  The firefly drifted back slowly and slipped quietly through the windowpane.

  Beth yawned and went straight to bed. She slept peacefully through the night. The haunting nightmares had ceased.

  Chapter 23

  Denial

  Beth slept until 9:35 the following morning. She had to shake her head and rub her eyes to remember where she was. The previous forty-eight hours felt more like weeks as she went over the days’ events in her mind.

  She dressed, called Mary, and asked if she could come and speak to her, Lou, and Abigail.

  “Of course, dear,” Mary responded. “We’re just putting on tea. We’ll wait for you.”

  When the four of them were sitting comfortably on the patio with tea and cookies, Beth clarified the purpose of her visit.

  “I have some unsettling news.”

  Mary, Lou, and Abigail exchanged looks of concern.

  “What is it, Beth?” Abigail asked.

  “There was a car crash—”

  “Oh my stars! Who? Where?” Mary cried out.

  “No, no. I’m sorry, Mary,” Beth interjected. “I think it was Katherine, a long time ago. The police are excavating and running tests.”

  “Oh, dear. You gave me a terrible fright,” Mary said, noticeably relieved.

  Abigail tapped her finger against her mug. “The poor girl,” she said at last.

  “How long ago?” Lou asked. “Do you have an idea?”

  Beth chose her words carefully. She did not wish to reveal too much. “Yes, I believe so. She disappeared in 1977.” They looked at her dumbfounded. “I’ve talked with a lot of people over the past couple of days. I found her friend Sarah and her old employer in Bangor—”

  Lou interrupted. “Where was the crash?”

  “On highway 46.”

  “Huh?”

  “By Dedham—”

  “What in heaven’s name was she doing out there?” Mary asked.

  “Taking a drive, I suppose,” Beth replied.

  The room quieted for a moment. Abigail looked far off in the distance as if tapping into old memories. Then she turned to Beth. “Does Rod know?”

  “No. But the police have his name and number. They will probably contact him soon.”

  “I have to go over there,” Abigail said, standing up. “He can’t find out this way.”

  “Oh, Mother, sit down. The old fart is not going to welcome you into his home with the news that his daughter might be dead.”

  “How would you like to find out?” Abigail snapped.

  Beth looked back and forth between Abigail and Mary. She thought the older woman was right. Even if he was unpleasant and rude, Rod should not have to hear it from a stranger. Abigail was doing the proper thing.

  “Go then.” Mary waved her hand at her mother impatiently.

  Abigail turned to Beth. “Beth, how did you learn about all of this?”

  Beth pursed her lips. “I found the crash site.”

  Mary raised her eyebrows. “Really? How?”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  Beth knew that whatever she said to Mary would be on the lips of everyone in town before the sun set. “I just had a weird intuition. There was this place on the road, and I decided to investigate.” She thought it best to leave Kenny out of it. He liked his privacy and stories about Kenny and Beth in the woods were bound to spread like wildfire. “I don’t know, Mary. It just happened.”

  “Looks like we have a psychic in our midst,” Mary said with a look of delicious anticipation. “Perhaps the police can enlist you to solve other old crimes or disappearances.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “I’ve had quite enough with this one, thank you very much.”

  Abigail turned to leave. “I’m going to visit Rod.”

  Beth also stood up. “I really must be goi
ng as well. I am very tired. The last couple of days have been crazy.”

  Mary followed them to the door.

  Beth went home, grabbed a large picnic blanket, and headed for the beach. There she spent the afternoon. Off and on she cried and slept. She did not realize how many tears she had accumulated over the years. But she did not hold them back. She found that letting them flow allowed her to heal. She wished she had discovered that insight ages ago.

  * * * *

  When Abigail arrived, Rod’s house was dark and the curtains were closed, but his car was parked out front. She knocked firmly on the door, waited several minutes, and knocked again. “I know you’re in there, Rod. It’s Abigail. Please answer. It’s very important.” Abigail spent the following ten minutes knocking and shouting until Rod finally opened the door – abruptly and with anger.

  “What do you want, woman?”

  Abigail took a deep breath. “May I come in?”

  “No!”

  “Rod, it’s important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

  “If it’s important, why don’t you get on with it?”

  “I’d really like to come in,” she coaxed.

  “The answer is no. Now be out with it and leave me in peace.”

  Abigail sighed. “I just thought you should hear it from me.”

  “What?” he shouted.

  “The remains of a car crash have been found…an old crash.”

  “So?”

  “The driver did not survive. It uh—”

  “Why would I care?”

  “It may have been Katherine.”

  “She didn’t have a car,” he responded dryly.

  Abigail glanced away awkwardly. “The police are going to run tests. They may come by to talk with you.”

  “Let ‘em come, then.”

  “Do you understand what I am saying?” she asked. Rod’s mannerisms and expression seemed as tight and unfeeling as they had been the moment he opened the door.

  “Yes, you are interrupting me with a bunch of harebrained ideas and theories that have nothing to do with me, my daughter, or my life,” he shouted as he slammed the door.

  Abigail stood on the porch for several minutes in stunned silence. Then she returned to her car and drove away.