by Lea Wait
Shadows on a
Cape Cod Wedding
An Antique Print Mystery
Lea Wait
2013 • Perseverance Press / John Daniel & Company
Palo Alto / McKinleyville, California
This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, companies, institutions, organizations, or incidents is entirely coincidental.
The interior design and the cover design of this book are intended for and limited to the publisher’s first print edition of the book and related marketing display purposes. All other use of those designs without the publisher’s permission is prohibited.
Copyright © 2013 by Lea Wait
All rights reserved
Cover image: Red Dory, © Christopher Seufert Photography, www.CapeCodPhoto.net
Dedicated to my aunt Jane Bennett Smart (1926-2011), one of several people who, together, were my models for Gussie White
and
to my husband, Bob, who believed in my dreams decades before anyone else did, and who hasn’t given up on me yet. It’s impossible to fully return such faith and love with words, so I hope ample supplies of chocolate and Scotch will also be acceptable.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
About the Author
Chapter 1
The Wreck of the “Atlantic”—Cast Up By the Sea. Wood Engraving by Winslow Homer (1836-1910) from Harper’s Weekly, April 26, 1873. Body of drowned woman, lying in surf on rocky shore, being discovered by fisherman. A ship is sinking in the distance. On April 1, 1873, the transatlantic liner RMS Atlantic, whose route was Liverpool to New York City, ran into rocks off the coast of Nova Scotia and sank. Although residents of nearby fishing villages tried to rescue passengers, 535 people were drowned, including all the women and children on board. The Atlantic was owned and operated by the White Star Line, which later owned the Titanic. Winslow Homer, one of America’s most important artists, was still working as an illustrator for Harper’s Weekly in 1873, and this full-page illustration was his tribute to those who’d perished. 9.125 x 13.75 inches. Price: $250.
The body was bloated and discolored, and mercifully half-covered by the rockweed tangled around the sand-encrusted legs and torso. It sprawled on the sand just within the dark high-tide line, a few feet from where breakers of ebbing waters were slowly returning to Cape Cod Bay. Gulls and crabs hadn’t feasted. Much.
“Welcome to Massachusetts,” Maggie Summer thought, and immediately gave herself a mental slap. Whoever this poor man was, he deserved respect. Someone, somewhere, had loved him. Maybe he had a wife and children waiting for him to return home.
She pulled her challis scarf closer against the chill October sea breezes, glanced at the dunes above the boardwalk, and looked up and down the beach. Empty. Bleak.
Her drive from New Jersey had taken less time than she’d estimated. Ten minutes ago she’d thought a quiet beach walk in salt air would relax her while she waited for Gussie to return home. Winslow’s town beach was only a short block from the house Gussie and Jim were having refurbished, where they’d planned to meet. She’d parked in their driveway and headed for the dunes.
But right now being the only person on the beach, or at least the only living one, wasn’t relieving her stress levels.
Maggie pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.
Police on Cape Cod would be prepared for occasional drownings. But she hated that, on top of everything else that had gone wrong, this unfortunate soul had been washed ashore so close to Gussie’s new home days before the wedding.
Only one thing could be worse, Maggie thought, as she waited for the emergency operator to answer. That would be if Gussie or Jim, her husband-to-be, had known him.
“Dan Jeffrey. His daughter called a couple of days ago and said he hadn’t come home,” Winslow Police Chief Ike Irons pronounced as he looked down at the body. “I didn’t worry much. He’s a grown man, known to hoist a few. I figgered he and his cousin Cordelia’d had a spat, and he’d gone for a long walk. Or was visiting someone in Boston for a day or two.” He shook his head. “Poor fellow. Guess I should’ve paid more attention.”
The chief had shown up at about the same time as the ambulance. “Looks drowned to me, but the law says someone official’s got to tell me that,” he said to the driver, as though the situation needed explaining. “He goes to the state medical examiner’s office in Sandwich.” The EMTs half lifted, half rolled the unfortunate Dan Jeffrey into a body bag, lifted the bag onto a stretcher, and wheeled him up the dune and into the back of the waiting ambulance.
Then Irons returned to Maggie. “You’re the one found him, so I guess I’d better get basic information.” He pulled out the black notebook that’s a part of every crime fighter’s equipment. “Name?”
She already had her driver’s license out. “Margaret—Maggie—Summer, from New Jersey. I’m here visiting Augusta White, for her wedding a week from Saturday.”
“So you’re a friend of Gussie’s, eh?” said Chief Irons, glancing at the license, and then looking her over, from her long wind-blown hair to her L.L. Bean jacket and jeans. He made a point of checking out her naked ring finger, so she did the same to his. The fourth finger of his left hand was clearly taken.
The significant ring Will had given Maggie, the Victorian ring whose small Ruby-Emerald-Garnet-Amethyst-Ruby-and-Diamond spelled out the word “regard,” wasn’t on her left hand, but she flashed it anyway. That ring had been given in serious friendship, but had come to mean more than friendship to both Will and Maggie. She never took it off.
Chief Irons glanced up toward the road above the dunes. “I didn’t think they’d moved in yet. Their fancy house’s still under construction, far as I know.”
“Gussie’s going to meet me there.”
He refocused on the purpose of their conversation. “How’d you happen to find Mr. Jeffrey?”
“I came down to the beach to walk. To stretch my legs after my drive from Jersey.”
“Did you touch the body?”
Maggie recoiled slightly, without meaning to. “No. It was obvious he was dead.”
“Right.”
“I called 911. And went up to the road to wait for someone to come.” She hadn’t exactly wanted to hang around with the body, and clearly the tide was going out. The body wasn’t going anywhere.
Chief Irons snapped his notebook shut. “Okay. That’s about it. If I think of anything else to ask, will you be staying with Gussie, or at one of the B and Bs in town?”
“I’l
l be with Gussie until the wedding. At her old house.”
“I’ll be seeing you around, then,” he said, giving Maggie another head-to-toe look. “Nothing much happens in this town I don’t know about. Jim Dryden, Gussie’s intended, and I, we’ve worked together on some cases. He’s a lawyer, you know.”
“I know,” Maggie said. Gussie’d been her best friend for years, and yes, she did know Gussie’s fiancé. The maid of honor tended to be informed about such things.
They walked together back up toward the road. Somehow Maggie didn’t feel in the mood to continue her beach walk.
As they reached the pavement Gussie’s familiar beige van pulled into her wide driveway and parked next to Maggie’s red one.
“You can give your friend the news about her neighbor,” said Chief Irons, as he headed for the black Buick with WINSLOW POLICE CHIEF printed on the side. “I’ve got paperwork to take care of. Welcome to the Cape, Ms. Maggie Summer. Enjoy your stay.”
Chapter 2
In October. Lithograph of painting by Sarah S. Stilwell (Sarah S. Stilwell Weber, who sometimes signed her work “SSS”). Girl in white dress of period (1905) holding a bunch of purple grapes and eating them while standing in front of a vine heavy with ripe grapes. Her eyes are wide, as though she’s been caught in the act. Stilwell (1878-1939) was one of Howard Pyle’s students, and a close friend of his sister, Katherine, for whom she illustrated many poems and stories for children. She also illustrated stories and advertisements for many leading magazines of the early twentieth century. 5.75 x 8.50 inches. Price: $60.
“Maggie! You’re here!” Gussie called out. She waved from the window of her van and then maneuvered her electric scooter from the driver’s side to the wheelchair lift, and pressed the buttons so the lift would deliver her to the ground. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. My dentist’s appointment ran late.”
Maggie hugged her as soon as she was safely on the driveway. “It’s been—what—three months? It seems forever!”
“It is forever,” Gussie agreed. “In July when you were here Jim and I hadn’t even decided to get married. And then this house came up for sale, and we loved it, and we thought it only needed a few modifications to be completely accessible. Of course, we were crazy!”
“I know, I know. You’ve gone completely mad, and I’m thrilled for you!” Maggie said, gesturing at the house and land. “What a location! I haven’t seen the inside of the house, of course, but I did walk around a little. So close to the beach! And it’s not far from the boardwalk, so that makes easy for you to get there, too.”
“Exactly. Unless it’s really low tide and the sand is wet, beaches aren’t great for wheelchairs or scooters. The town built the boardwalk after a hurricane twenty years ago destroyed most of the original one. It makes the beach much easier to navigate for folks like me.”
“And the house is gorgeous! Very different from your old place!”
“Not exactly an apartment above a store, is it?” Gussie smiled. “Or Jim’s Victorian, either. We’ve gone contemporary. Come on! I can hardly wait to show you the inside. Jim’s going to join us any minute, too.” She led the way up the ramp over a yard of broken shells and sea stones. “The outside of the house, both the original house, and the addition we’ve added, is finished, but the inside isn’t quite done, as you’ll see. That’s one of the reasons we’re going a bit crazy.” She opened the door, which Maggie noted had a handle and lock at just the right height for someone in a wheelchair.
“It’s wonderful, Gussie!” Maggie said immediately. “But…you’re planning to live here right after the wedding, right?”
“That’s my Maggie! A woman who grasps the obvious,” laughed Gussie. “Yes; we think it’s going to be perfect. And the plan is for me to move here right before the wedding and Jim to join me as soon as we’re legal. But as you can see, it’s not quite ready yet.” She steered her scooter around the pile of cartons filling most of the entrance to the large living room. On one side was the kitchen; on the other was a large open stone fireplace. Straight ahead a wall of glass windows looked out over Cape Cod Bay. “We opened up three rooms to get this space,” she explained, “and we totally redid the kitchen. It’s the only part of the house that’s completely finished. See?” She zoomed over to demonstrate.
Maggie followed her.
“I worked with the architect on everything,” she said, with pride. “It’s designed not just for someone in a chair, but for me, personally! Every cabinet and shelf the right height. The insides of some of the cabinets have lazy-Susan shelves so I can turn them to get plates or pans in the back. I can reach every burner on the stove, and the oven, too. It’s perfect. Jim doesn’t mind bending over a little if he has to do some cooking, and we had a second microwave installed at his level. For the first time in years I have a kitchen where I can cook safely and comfortably.”
“It’s wonderful, Gussie.” Maggie walked through the wide aisle, peeking into the drawers and checking the shelves in the cabinets. “I love it!”
“Now all we have to do is get the rest of the house finished. And all of our furniture and books and clothes moved in!”
“What still needs to be done?”
“Our master bedroom was finished yesterday, thank goodness. The guest bedroom only needs molding and paint. It’s close. Jim’s office needs more. We’re going to have cabinets built there, and bookcases built in all the rooms, but that won’t happen for another month. The problem is that my old place needs to be emptied in the next couple of days.”
“No office for you?”
“My office is down at my new store.”
Maggie nodded. “Which I can hardly wait to see! And of course, the newlyweds’ bedroom had to be finished first.”
“Naturally!” They grinned at each other. “A glass of wine? The kitchen’s operational now.”
“I’d love a glass,” Maggie said. She watched as Gussie, clearly proud to show off her kitchen, got out three wineglasses (“one for Jim, when he gets here”) and a bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator, and poured them each a glass.
“Luckily, we do have a few chairs here,” said Gussie, handing Maggie her glass, and pointing at a chair near the fireplace. “We’ve been gradually moving in furniture from my apartment and Jim’s house, as we agree on pieces we want to keep. I, of course, come equipped with my own seating.”
“Cheers!” said Maggie, raising her glass. “And best wishes, on your house, and your upcoming nuptials.”
“Thank you for coming. You haven’t heard all the reasons I need you yet,” said Gussie, raising her glass, too. “So take some sips. I don’t want you turning around and changing your mind about being here.”
“There’s something I should tell you, too,” Maggie started to say, when Jim walked in.
Tall and confident, his white hair windblown, he reached down and focused first on his bride-to-be. “Survived another day?” he said quietly.
“I’m happy as a clam,” Gussie replied. “Now that Maggie’s here I’ll have someone on my side. You can cope with the painters and carpenters and with any telephone calls from your mother.”
Jim grinned. “No problem. And I can deal with my mother. I’ve been doing it all my life, I keep telling you. Hi, Maggie. Welcome to our frenetic world. I see you ladies have already opened a bottle of wine, so I’m going to join you.” He poured himself a generous glass. “I’m glad you’re here. This getting married has turned out to be a bit more complicated than we’d thought. We’re beginning to think eloping would have been the best idea.”
“We’ve been considering it, actually,” Gussie threw in, a bit grimly.
“Unfortunately, it’s a bit late for that. If we eloped now my mother would probably murder one or both of us.”
They smiled at each other.
Maggie put down her wineglass. “I hate to interrupt, but before we talk about the wedding I need to tell you what happened this afternoon when I was walking on the beach.”<
br />
“What? Did you find a whale? Or the man of your dreams? If it’s that, we’d better call Will and tell him not to drive down from Maine after all,” Gussie teased.
“No calls to Maine necessary,” said Maggie. “But I did find a man. A dead man.”
Chapter 3
Godey’s Fashions for April, 1873. Hand-colored steel engraving from Godey’s Lady’s Book. Trifold, as usual for large Godey’s fashion plates, so it would fold inside the monthly magazine. Depicts five women and one young girl, all wearing bustled dresses. One, a bride, in white satin dress and transparent veil, so readers could see the dress. Another, in purple mourning attire, with a black cape. The others are wearing elaborate dresses of beige, bright blue, and pale blue. The girl, who’s playing with a rabbit pull-toy, wears a similar dress, with a capelet top and shorter ruffled skirt. Godey’s was published between 1830 and 1898. It included black and white and colored fashion plates, recipes, embroidery patterns, beauty hints, and fiction, essays, and poetry by luminaries like Hawthorne, Emerson, Poe, Longfellow, and Stowe. Sarah Josepha Hale, its editor from 1836 until 1877, advocated for women’s education and child welfare. 11.25 x 9.25 inches. Price: $65.
“What?” Jim put his wineglass down, and Maggie could almost see him wanting to reach for a legal pad and pencil. He was a lawyer.
“Where? What happened?” asked Gussie.
“I found a man’s body on the beach, not far from here.” Maggie pointed out the window toward the beach. “I called 911. Your local police chief, Ike Irons? He said he knew you, Jim.”
Jim and Gussie exchanged looks. “Everyone in Winslow knows Ike Irons. Go on.”
“He came, and so did the ambulance. They confirmed what was obvious. The man was dead. Irons had them take the body to the medical examiner’s office.”
“I thought I saw a police car leaving when I drove up! I was so excited to see you I didn’t think anything of it. What did the man look like? Did Ike say who he might be?” Gussie asked.
“He did, actually. The man’s name was Dan Jeffrey.”
