by Robin Shope
“That is so very cool. So, you live in a lighthouse?”
“That I do. Still renovating. Want to see it sometime?”
“I really would like that.”
“I’d really like to show you.”
She was happy. She’d often felt challenged or content, but simple joy eluded her. She had found a place here in the beauty of untouched raw nature.
Wynn checked on the kitten to find she had calmed. As Wynn sat down something sharp poked her on the wooden seat. She pried it out. It was a brooch, a cameo.
Agatha’s?
16
An old man was selling sweet corn from a pickup truck. He sat on the tailgate, tapping his shoes together as he read a newspaper.
Seagulls fluttered over the crescent shaped beach as sunbathers relaxed on sand as white as granulated sugar. In the water, a couple paddling a kayak had trouble. Giving up, they got out and swam towards shore, laughing as they pushed the kayak in front of them.
Not surprised to find several other cars already there, Wynn parked at the beachfront in front of a “NO DIGGING FOR JOESPH REED” sign in the shape of a shovel. In the back pocket of her jeans was her to-do list. Wedged in-between emailing the first part of her report to her professor and finding a new area of the island to explore for flora, was a visit to a particular beachside shop; Sheri’s, in fact. Perhaps the shopkeeper would have something left of her dad’s store inventories. It was a long shot, but it was worth asking.
A large sign printed in black, “Sandy Beach Treasures,” hung near the building’s roof peak. Wynn walked into a painted shop. The pungent scent of sandalwood offset local artist paintings, ranging from modern to abstract, displayed at the front of the shop. The room’s low ceilings, salmon colored walls, and light linoleum floors were the perfect backdrop for the abundant cornucopia of doo-dads that crammed every inch of each shelf.
On the far wall was a clock, a black cat whose swaying tail ticked the seconds of the day.
Wynn stood still, suddenly remembering a morning like this one, but spent in her mother’s kitchen. A memory buoyed with faraway laughter.
****
“When a gyrocompass is properly mounted it will always point to true north. This clock will keep me turning the latchkey in the shop door on time.”
They had an ordinary life, defined by ordinary moments, which made it exquisite. She had been wrapped up in it, held in it, kept safe there. Dislocated from her past she now floated emotionally out to sea—drifting with the waves while waiting for a rescuer who would put together all the pieces of her life so she could move forward into her future.
****
“Wynn, is that you?” Sheri waved from behind the counter. “I wondered when you’d get around to coming.”
“I’ve been busy, but here I am.”
“I know why you’ve really come.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve heard the news.”
“News?” Wynn braced for yet another dead, or missing, husband.
“You haven’t heard? Oh, good, I get to tell you. The authorities believe the body in Boone’s casket might be none other than Joseph Reed in the flesh—what was left, at least!”
“Now that I think about the condition of the body, that sounds about right. The hot sand and cold winter snow would have served as mummification agents to help preserve him. I guess it’s time for the man to have a Christian burial. Too bad Anna is deceased, but he sure has enough relatives on the island to see to it.”
“That would most likely be Owl.”
Wynn picked up a bejeweled seashell. “Interesting item.”
“Isn’t it? I thought it could use some bling around here to help balance the ambiance of the shop.”
Wynn returned the encrusted shell to the shelf. A remnant of glitter remained on her fingers.
Sheri moved the item to a lower shelf. “This is where it belongs.”
“Has the corpse been identified as that of Joseph Reed?”
“I guess all the signs about no digging will have to be taken down if it is. Owl is having DNA analysis performed on him on the mainland and they’re taking mouth swabs from all of his living relatives. Listen to this.” Sheri moved closer. “Doug Reed is the only one who refused to partake in the testing. He thinks it’s silly. Know what I call that? Suspicious.”
“Taking swabs of all the family members is overkill. It only takes one blood relative to link a family. Has Aunt Roxie been told?”
“She’s the one who is spreading the news!”
“That’s odd. She never said a word about it to me, and we had morning tea together, too.”
“Speaking of Roxie, let me take you on a memorabilia trip. I’ll show you where she and your mother signed their names when they were in high school.” She indicated the graffitied wall.
“Why do you allow people to do this?”
“Because it’s fun.”
It made the already bohemian atmosphere stranger.
“You’re joking with me, aren’t you?” Sheri shoved aside a rack containing colorful shirts of palm trees and sunny beaches. Then she tapped the wall with a finger. “Look right here.”
“Roxie and Ruth, best friends and sisters forever!”
Wynn starred at the handwriting, so similar the same hand could have written the words.
“I was years behind them in school and I only really got to know Roxie when she started the Bible study. I never knew your mom. Sorry.”
“My mom and Aunt Roxie had a falling out. Did Roxie ever tell you what it was about?”
“From what I know, they have always been close and remain so to this very day.” She looked puzzled.
Perhaps her dad’s signature was somewhere. “Where’s my dad’s signature?”
Sheri’s bright and friendly attitude soured.
“He never signed the wall because he never stepped foot into my dad’s shop, leastwise while I was here. His place was just a tiny spot back then, cards don’t take up much space. That’s probably why the realty company knocked it down and built bigger.” Sheri’s voice was quick and fearful.
Wynn, although curious about Sheri’s attitude, continued along the walls, reading the names until she came to a freshly painted area that was about four inches square. “What happened here? Did someone write a rude comment?”
“Well, look at that. I never noticed.”
Sheri was aware of where everything belonged in the shop, down to a blingy shell placed on the wrong shelf. Certainly she was aware of the painted area on the wall.
“Wynn, let me show you a famous signature. It’s over there.” Sheri led the way to another area.
“On the opposite wall.”
“Yes. A television star used to vacation here once a year. I also have other movie and TV star signatures but I will make you hunt for those. It’ll be more fun that way.”
After politely commenting on the signature, she spent the next few minutes wandering the shop.
“Here.” Sheri pulled the cap off a fat marker and handed it to her. “It’s time to sign your name.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You must!”
Wynn gave in and found a spot on the wall between a Betty and a Bob. With great flourish she drew branches of a willow tree, threading it through the names around it. She finished with the words, Wynn in the Willows. Wynn blinked tears, embarrassed to be struggling with her emotions. “You mentioned having bought my dad’s shop inventory. Is there a chance some of that stock remains?”
“I sold those greeting cards for just one season, but quickly found I did so much better with post cards. As you can see, I have very limited space. I can’t remember what I did with them. Let me have a look up in the crawl space sometime and I’ll let you know if I stored them up there, but off hand, I’d say they got tossed. Sorry.”
Roxie couldn’t remember where the newspaper clippings were of her dad, and now, Sheri couldn’t remember if any of her dad’s items remained. Most defin
itely there was some secret between her aunt and Sheri. The news served to make Wynn more determined to find out what was being hidden. “If you do find them, I will gladly pay you for them,” she said in a controlled voice.
“Nonsense you can just have them. But as I said, don’t get your hopes up.”
“I’ll try not to. Thanks for showing me around your cute shop!” Wynn waved goodbye.
The drone of a single engine airplane made her glance up. The sound of waves crashed against the seawall as Wynn headed to her vehicle. She stared at the shovel shaped signpost. The season was short here and each day mattered. Yet, conflict between the personal and professional raged. She had planned to spend her time foraging through remote island vestiges, but now she looked at the water as she considered another alternative.
She pulled her backpack onto her lap and drank some water. Wynn glanced at her watch—9:30. With a couple of deft moves, she pulled her hair into a ponytail, and then turned in the direction of the Ferry’s whistle.
The choice for the day was made.
17
Wynn pulled out Roxie’s bank key. She’d go to Egg Harbor to unlock some family secrets. She took a parking spot close to the pier where the ferry was now docking. Within minutes, she was seated on the forward bow. The sun filtered down through the top observation deck. Below, the vehicles were secured for the journey across the bay.
White cliffs hugged the shoreline on the north side as glistening blue water ran along the shore. Memories were encapsulated there. The source of her grant was, too.
Depending upon what information she gleaned, by the time she took the evening Ferry back, she just might be the owner of a whole new set of problems to solve, or have all the answers she desperately needed.
She stared at the passing Willow Island landscape; houses, storefronts, beach, and harbor.
“Wynn.”
“Doug, I didn’t expect to see you.” Her heart tugged at the sight of him.
He held up a small trap, which had a water bottle attached to the wire. The kitten was safely tucked into a soft towel. A face of fluff peered out. Whiskers stirred.
“Oh my gosh, but you are so adorable!” she cooed to the kitten. “What a darling face.”
The gray kitten stuck its nose out a bit further.
“Look at that. I think he knows he belongs to me.”
“You know all that from a nose twitch?” Doug seemed amused. “And how do you know he is a he? I can’t get close enough to look.”
“I just think so.”
“Then it must be so!” Doug laughed and sat next to her.
“And just where are you taking my kitten?” Wynn snatched the trap and set it on her lap. She placed her hand flat against the wire. The kitten stretched to sniff her hand.
“I’m taking him to the rescue center.”
“Ah, Clara’s. I remember.”
“Since you’re on your way to the mainland, why don’t you come along?” He flashed a killer grin.
“How soon can I take the kitten home?” she asked, without answering his invitation.
“You can ask Clara about that and about taming a feral kitten. She has lots of good tips.” Doug looked at Wynn. “But she just might change your mind about raising a feral cat.”
“No, there will be no mind changing. I want him.” She steadied her apprehensions about meeting Clara. Besides, she was curious about Doug’s past.
“Great. My truck is on the deck below. Unless…”
“Unless, what?”
“How inconsiderate of me. You’re going to the mainland. I’m sure you have your day mapped out.”
“I do. But my plans shouldn’t take too long.” If her plans were changing, she was glad it had to do with spending time with Doug. “If you don’t mind waiting, maybe we can meet somewhere, like say, in thirty minutes after we dock? Unless you’re in a hurry?” Wynn couldn’t go another day without opening that bank box, but the allure of Doug and the kitten was strong.
“Tell you what. There’s a café in the middle of town right on Main. I’ll have a cup of coffee there while I wait for you. Do you mind giving me your cell phone number just in case we get our signals crossed or something happens?”
Once the ferry landed, she sat beside Doug in his truck as they drove out.
“I’ll meet you right here in thirty minutes.”
“Thirty minutes sharp.”
The bank was right across the street.
Nerves made her usually calm hands shake. Would someone keep her from Roxie’s box of information? What would her aunt do? Ban her from returning? Kick her out of her life? Wynn had suspicions that Roxie was somehow involved in the choices her parents made. Why else would Roxie have paid Wynn’s college tuition and give her a rent free tree house for the summer? And she couldn’t forget the car that now had her name on its title.
Wynn felt like a criminal as she glanced in all directions before crossing the marble floor. A uniformed guard stood alongside a young bank employee seated at a desk.
“May I help you?”
Wynn noted the circular doorway which led to a room filled with rows of safety deposit boxes. Her heart beat faster. She was within feet of the one belonging to Roxie.
“Ahhhh, yes. I need to get into a safety deposit box.” Purposefully she left out the word ‘my’. Snooping was bad enough, but lying would be over the top.
The clerk led her into the deposit box room and rummaged in a file drawer. “May I see your ID?” She held out her hand.
Wynn handed it over.
“Oh, Ms. Baxter, I see your name is on this card, but you’ve never signed it. Please sign it now.” The clerk noted her surprise. “Did your aunt not send you one of our signature cards to sign?”
“Is that what it was?” Wynn remembered no such card, but she wasn’t saying so now. “I left it at home.”
“Well, you can sign it now, right here.” The clerk pointed. “Then you have to sign the log-in card, too. And date it so we have a record of who got into the box.”
Wynn swallowed. Anyone coming after would know she got into the box. Oh, well. She needed to know, and Roxie meant her to have access at some point or her name wouldn’t be here. She signed.
The lock and door opened easily. She slid the box from its slot and placed it on a table.
Wanting to view the contents privately, Wynn went to a small cubicle and shut the door. The box was full of photographs. Wynn was disappointed. She wanted more, a surprising secret revealed. At first, she wondered why these photos couldn’t reside safely in one of the albums on Roxie’s cottage shelf. However, the answer came as she began to poke through them, the settings and images evoking chills that ran down her body.
All of them were of Wynn at various ages. There was a picture of her with Grammy grocery shopping. She remembered the red coat she wore that winter. It smelled good. The material was soft against her cheek. Another picture was with Uncle Dill at the park. He always pushed her really high on the swings. Another was of her holding onto the railing as she stepped down to get off a school bus.
Ah, there she was holding the blue ribbon for winning the science fair with her project of testing the concentration and effect of minerals and PH in soil and water samples. When they got home that day, there was another card from her mother. Wynn had turned twelve the previous month.
Most of the pictures were taken by a person most likely seated in a vehicle, or someone passing by, or sitting in the back of a room. Wynn was frozen in time, still images of her entire life, ranging from her first year with Grammy, through high school, and college and even her master’s degree.
Wynn chewed the inside of her cheek. She took out her camera and spread the pictures out. She’d take her own photos. When she finished, she gathered the photos together.
At the bottom of the box was butcher paper neatly creased into sharp folds. She unfolded it and guessitmated it to be at least ten feet long. It was a timeline. Words were written on it.
&nbs
p; Steve, dead. Accident. My fault.
The words made Wynn’s heart drop. She sat trying to calm herself. My fault. My fault. It couldn’t have been murder or Roxie would have been arrested. Accident. It said. What kind? Blinking back tears, Wynn pulled herself up and tried to steady her wobbly legs. She read down the list.
Ruth and Wynn leave for Steve’s parents. Wynn first grade. Won award for reading the most books in her class.
From there it continued on through each year, including her high school graduation, college graduation, graduate degree, and then abruptly ended after she won the grant.
How odd it began at her dad’s death and not Wynn’s birth. Her eyes ran with tears as she wondered what made Roxie keep such an odd assortment in a safe deposit box. Her cell phone rang.
“Are you OK?” Doug asked. “We need to get to Clara’s if we want to get back in time to make the last ferry of the day.”
“I’m so sorry. I got a bit side tracked. Can I make one more stop first? I promise it’ll be quick.” Her voice was a thin thread.
“Sure. Where?”
“The police department. I want to get a copy of Boone’s accident report.”
“What for?”
“To read the facts about his death. There’s so much gossip and innuendo surrounding the disappearance of his corpse. I want to start with the unbiased information and work my way through the scenario to some reasonable conclusion.”
“OK. Are you sure you are OK, cause you sound kind of funny.”
“Of course I’m OK. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’ll meet you at the bank.”
“I’ll be quick.” Wynn dumped the pictures back into the box, but slid the timeline into her backpack, and then slipped the strap over her shoulder. The wind had picked up by the time she walked back outside. Clouds were moving in. The sky seemed lower.
She had to find out how her dad died, help find Boone’s body so Jackie could have the funeral with closure, and finish her grant. Then what? Only God knew. Why was she thinking about God so much lately?
