“Why is that interesting?” Shana asked.
“Because he just sort of disappeared. He’s not even buried in the City Cemetery.”
Shana shrugged. “So he died somewhere else, and they didn’t send him back here.”
“But where did he die, and why didn’t they send him home?”
“Maybe this wasn’t his home.” Shana frowned suddenly and sat up straighter. “You know, one day right after I came the first time, I found about a dozen boxes in the storeroom marked with the name Collier. I called Miss Emma, and she said they’d been there since Mrs. Collier died. She said she’d never had time to open them.”
“How did they get there?”
“She said Mrs. Collier’s great-nephew brought them when he was cleaning out her house.”
“Lewis Collier,” Mary Lynn said. “I remember him. Came down from somewhere in Connecticut or Vermont when Jessie Ruth died. He was her executor.”
“Come to think of it, that was the name of the informant on her death certificate,” Penelope said.
“So maybe he didn’t know the name of her father.”
“Could be. But I know we ought to get into those boxes.”
“Be my guest,” Shana said. “I’d like to get them out of the way.”
“I could use Daddy’s pickup to take them to the old school. That way we could spread out everything as we unpack it.”
“On what?” Mary Lynn asked. “There’s not a stick of furniture in the building.”
“Then we’ll borrow some long tables from the parish hall. Fr. Loeffler won’t mind. There’s always four or five extra whenever we have a dinner anyway. We’ll go by and put those in the truck, too.”
“Wait until Thursday when we have some heat. If we have heat.”
“One of the boxes is labeled pictures, I think,” Shana said, coming out of her thoughts.
“I’ll take that one home with me tonight,” Penelope said, turning to Mary Lynn. “Harry’s book will even have pictures in it. How about that?”
“Book?” Shana asked.
“Harry’s going to get someone to write a town history and have it published,” Mary Lynn said.
“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
Mary Lynn and Penelope exchanged glances. “I’ll tell Harry.”
Shana teared up. “I’m going to need something to do with the rest of the time I’m in Amaryllis. Beats going home to an empty apartment.”
“Get a cat,” Penelope advised. “Abijah’s lots of company, even with Daddy and people coming and going at the B&B,.”
“Somehow a cat just puts the last nail in the coffin,” Shana said. “Admitting that I’ll be an old maid.”
Mary Lynn laughed. “Honey, you’re not anywhere close to that point yet. Get a cat. Tell it your troubles every night, like Penelope does.”
“I don’t tell Abijah squat,” Penelope snapped.
“Because you don’t have squat to tell,” Mary Lynn said. “Get a man.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mary Lynn and I tease each other all the time, but that was a low blow. Get a man. She lucked out with Harry all right, but I learned from my whopper of a mistake with Travis. I’ve lived a dozen years without anything in pants and gotten along just fine. Penelope sighed and punched her pillow. The clock radio read eleven-thirty, and she still hadn’t heard Sam come in.
Who am I kidding? Maybe I don’t need a man, but I sure need what one can give me. If that phone hadn’t gone off last night, I might’ve given in. The old ache consumed her. Travis was a wham-bam-thank you-ma’am sort of lover. At least I got Bradley out of the deal, but I don’t think I enjoyed it very much. What am I doing thinking like this? I know it’s wrong, but…
She sat up, listening. Were those footsteps on the stairs? Sam’s footsteps? The soft rap on her door answered the question. “It’s not locked,” she called.
He stepped inside. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
She heard the laughter in his voice. “No, I’m not. I was worried about you.”
“Thanks.”
He crossed the room and sat down on the end of her bed. “It’s been a long day.”
She sat up and hugged her knees. “Are you hungry?”
“I got something on the way here.”
“You’re tired.”
“Beat.” He lay back across the foot of the bed and folded his hands on top of his broad chest. “I’m beat.”
“Go to bed then.”
“What did you do today, Nell?”
“Had lunch with Shana and Mary Lynn and did the grocery shopping. Oh, and I made another find, or rather, Shana did. When Jessie Ruth Collier died, her nephew took
a dozen boxes to the library. Miss Emma, who was the librarian then, never opened them. I think she was born old and tired. Anyway, Shana mentioned them to Mary Lynn and me, and I picked up the one marked ‘pictures’ after we had lunch.”
“Who’s Jessie Ruth Collier?”
“The niece of Jeremiah Bowden, the town founder.”
“Oh.”
“And she built the library.”
“Oh. Tell me about the house on Sandalwood.”
“The old Barnes place?”
“If that’s the one Marlo Howard moved into.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Can you draw me a floor plan?”
“I think so. When I was in high school, Mrs. Barnes’ niece was a classmate, and her aunt used to let her have parties there.”
“In the morning then. Is there a basement?”
“All the old homes had basements for the furnaces and to store fuel or wood.”
“The B&B has one then.”
“Right, but the furnace hasn’t been used since I had central heat and air installed.”
“Do you mind me asking where you get the money to do everything you do?”
“I mind, but I’ll tell you. Travis insisted on giving me a divorce settlement, and it’s well-invested.”
“Conscience money.”
“I suppose.”
“Did you love him, Nell?”
“I thought I did.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Maybe the night Bradley was born when he never showed up at the hospital, then came in the next morning with lipstick on his shirt.”
“But you don’t regret your son.”
“He was the only good thing to come out of my marriage, even if I nearly died having him.”
Sam opened his eyes and rolled over on his side. “What happened?”
“He was breech, and the doctor we had here then was past his prime. He got him out, but I hemorrhaged and had to have blood transfusions. If Mrs. Pembroke hadn’t been there to make the calls to find my blood type in Little Rock, I wouldn’t have made it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“When Travis finally showed up, I was too weak and tired to even talk to him, much less cry over the lipstick.”
“That was rotten for you.”
“Well, I had Bradley, and he was all right, and I got better.”
Sam lay back and closed his eyes again.
“What about you, Sam? Were you ever married? Do you have children?”
He didn’t answer her.
“Is that something you just don’t want to talk about?”
“Right.”
“I’m sorry I asked.”
He shrugged. “Was Travis Pembroke a good lover?”
“No. I’ve told you that before.”
“I could make it good for you, Nell.”
“You’ve said that before, too, but I’m not going to be one of your conquests before you move on.”
“You wouldn’t be.” He sat up. “I’m going to bed. I can’t believe you’re in bed, and I’m leaving you here unmolested.”
“That’s a nasty word.”
“Sorry.”
“Will you be here for breakfast?”
“I might, if I don’t get another cal
l.”
“You want clown waffles?”
He opened the door. “Yeah. Lots of butter and syrup. Goodnight, Nell.”
“Goodnight, Sam.”
She scooted down in the bed again. He’d been different tonight, maybe because he was tired. There was something about him, something sad and lonesome that made her want to put her arms around him in a purely platonic way. I could love you, Sam, if I’d let myself. But you’re such a mystery. I can’t let myself love a mystery. She thought briefly about getting up to lock her door, but instead she closed her eyes and drifted off.
****
Penelope smelled coffee as she came through the dining room the next morning. Jake sat at the table, his hands wrapped around his favorite mug. “Mornin’, Nellie.”
“Morning, Daddy. You’re up early.”
“I made coffee for Sam and me.”
Her hand froze on the coffee pot. “You saw Sam.”
“He said to tell you he had to leave early and was sorry to miss the clown waffles.”
“Oh.”
“He said he’d be back tonight. Maybe.”
“He’s staying in the front room, Daddy.”
“Did I ask you that?”
“No, but I didn’t want you to think anything else.”
“The two of you are consenting adults, darlin’. What you do is your business. ‘Course, I hope you tend to business the way you were taught.”
She turned around so fast that a few drops of hot coffee splashed onto her hand. “I’m not sleeping with him, Daddy!” She soothed the burn under cold water from the faucet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Sorry I raised my voice.”
“I shouldn’t have provoked you. I was funnin’ you.”
“I don’t even know his last name or if Sam is really his first name.”
“I like him.”
“Well, so do I,” she admitted, picking up her mug again. “How about you? Do you want clown waffles?”
“I’d rather have some scrambled eggs and sausage.”
“Okay.”
“What’s that box sitting on the dining room table?”
“It’s a box of pictures Jessie Ruth Collier’s nephew left at the library ten years ago. Miss Emma never got around to opening it up.”
“Figures.”
“I counted eleven more boxes not even labeled. Mary Lynn and I are going to load them in your pickup and take them to the school if the boiler ever starts working again. I’ll call Fr. Loeffler and see if he’ll loan us some of the long tables from the parish hall so we can sort through everything.”
“Wonder what’s in them?”
“No idea, but I guess we’ll know pretty soon.”
“I saw Marlo Howard in town yesterday,” Jake said.
“Apparently she moved into the Barnes house in the dead of night on Monday.”
“Rent or buy?”
“I don’t know. She’s strange.”
“She looked right at me and didn’t even say hello. Guess I didn’t make much of an impression on her at the Sit-n-Swill on New Year’s Eve.”
Penelope kissed his smooth-shaven cheek. “She’s clueless if she didn’t think you were the handsomest man there.”
****
Mary Lynn and Penelope spent the afternoon going through the pictures in the box. Each was labeled in the same precise script—dates, locations, names, even a few comments on the circumstances surrounding the pictures. Jake wandered in from his daily conference with the Toney Twins and picked up a stack of sepia-toned photos mounted on cardboard. “I remember Ragsdale’s Studio,” he said, pointing to the imprint at the bottom of several pictures.
“Mamma took me down there to have my picture made right before I started to school. Mr. Ragsdale gave me some saltwater taffy for being a good boy and sitting still.”
“Where was the studio?” Penelope asked.
Jake closed his eyes and chewed his bottom lip. “Near as I can remember, it was where the abstract office is now. Upstairs. I wonder what happened to all his equipment when he died.”
“His family probably sold it as part of his estate,” Penelope said.
“No, he didn’t have any family. I remember Mamma saying so.”
“When did he die?” Mary Lynn asked.
“Back in the thirties sometime, I think. Before the war anyway.”
“You don’t suppose somebody just locked up his studio and left it like it was, do you?” Penelope asked.
“Could be. He lived up there, too.”
“We could…wait just a blessed minute!” Penelope turned the picture she was holding in her hands and then flipped it again. “Would you look at this!” She held it out for the others to see. “This is Daisy Bowden and her groom, Vincent Ives in 1888, and the note says it’s taken in front of their home, and that the house was built by Jeremiah Bowden in 1881.”
“The Sit-n-Swill,” Mary Lynn said, practically putting her nose on the picture.
“So Mr. Ives existed after all and was alive and well in 1888. That proves Jessie Ruth did know who her father was.”
Jake took the picture in his fingers. “Slimy looking fellow, isn’t he? Hair all slicked back and oiled, fancy cravat and stick pin. But Daisy’s a right pretty gal.”
Penelope grabbed a handful of index cards and began to shuffle through them. “She was thirty-four. Maybe she took him as a last resort, so she wouldn’t end up an old maid.”
Jake squinted at the ceiling. “Jessie Ruth was ninety-three when she died, so she was born the next year, 1889.”
“Well, something good came out of the marriage anyway. Sort of like me with Bradley.”
Jake patted his daughter’s back. “Things have a way of working out.”
Mary Lynn held out another picture. “Look what I just put my hands on. She turned over the picture and read from the back. “The remains of the house where I was born after it burned in 1896.”
Penelope put her finger on one corner of the photograph, where the blurred face of a child seemed to blend with the bricks of the stone fireplace. “And I’ll just bet that little girl peeping out from behind the chimney is Jessie Ruth Ives Collier.”
****
Mary Lynn came back that night after supper, bringing Harry to see the pictures. “You girls are a wonder,” he said, mopping his balding head, always shiny with sweat no matter what the temperature.
“Who knows what we’ll find in the other eleven boxes,” Mary Lynn said.
“Or won’t find, as the case may be.” Penelope straightened a stack of pictures on the edge of the table. “But then again, why would the nephew bring the boxes to the library if they weren’t important?”
“I’ll bet Jessie Ruth left instructions for him to do it,” Harry said. “I remember she had all her affairs in order, even if we couldn’t figure out why she left the school property to the town and said it couldn’t be sold off.”
“Buried treasure,” Penelope said. “There’s buried treasure somewhere on the land.”
“Don’t we wish it?” Harry said, mopping his head again. “But this box of pictures is a treasure for sure. Do you think you ought to bring in an archivist to help you?”
“No,” Mary Lynn and Penelope said at the same time.
“Everything belongs to the town, and so it should stay here,” Penelope said. “You know there’s a group who want to take over the house at Pembroke Point.”
“Buzzy says they can’t do it.”
“Buzzy Baum may be the city attorney, but I’m not sure he can fight the state. Of course, the house belongs to Bradley. They can’t take it away from him.”
“That’s what Buzzy says.” Harry picked up the picture of the burned-out homestead now known as the Sit-n-Swill. “We need a museum in town,” he said. “We’re going to lose too much of our history if we don’t have a place to preserve it. There’s where the state can help—showing us how to do it.”
“When we’ve been through everything a
nd know what we have, you can call them in,” Penelope said. “But not until then.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When the Hargroves had gone, Jake said he was going to watch Law and Order. Penelope sat down at the kitchen table and began to draw a floor plan of the Barnes place. She was erasing a line and pondering the exact location of the cellar door when she heard Sam’s pilfered key in the lock.
“You’re back.”
“One more night.”
“I drew the floor plan. Most of it.”
He pulled a bottle of wine from a paper bag. “I know you don’t indulge, but I need it tonight.”
She brought him a wine glass from the set in the china cabinet in the dining room. “This belonged to my grandmother in England. Mother went over when she died and packed up some things to ship back. There are a dozen glasses and a decanter in the set.”
He held the glass to the light. “Have you had it appraised?”
“No.”
“Be a good idea to do it. For insurance purposes anyway.” He poured the wine and settled back in the chair. “Anything I should know?”
She told him about the box of pictures. “I know you’re probably not interested, but we’re excited.”
“Then I’m excited for you.”
“I love old things.”
“I do, too, as a matter of fact. Most of what I had…” He stopped and drank from the glass again.
She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.
“Everything will be Bradley’s someday. I hope he marries someone who’ll appreciate it.”
“What’s he going to do with Pembroke Point?”
“He wants to work out a deal with the town to open it to tourists, especially the house, and keep the farm producing. It would be good for the town as well as him.”
“I’ve seen other working historical sites be successful.”
“Then maybe this one will, too.”
“I want to take a drive, but we’ll have to use your car.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Just get your coat and keys, and I’ll show you.”
****
She took him over the town, a short trip, and told him what she knew about the various locations. “Trying to tell an outsider about Amaryllis makes me realize everything I don’t know about my own hometown.”
The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) Page 9
