Among the survivors of this massacre was a young woman named Maude Prichard. Considered to be a powerful witch, she had had a premonition that discovery of their whereabouts was inevitable and, thus, erected what was, in effect, a modern-day panic room near to her family home. The structure she built was small and shaped like a tower or silo. The only entryway to this place was below ground via a series of tunnels she and her husband built. In addition, to ensure the safety of her family, she cast a spell on the silo so no one who was not kin to her could see or enter it.
What happened to her after Storm was abandoned is unknown. However, through exhaustive research conducted by Jeremy’s uncle, it was revealed to me that, through my mother, I am Maude Prichard’s direct descendant.
For years after the massacre, Storm was unoccupied until in the early 1920s when a group of crime families bought it. They erected four large mansions, one sitting on each of the island’s main compass points. Stormview Manor is one of these. While to the general public, Storm was to be a summer retreat for the families, the real reason for the purchase was much more nefarious. Beneath the surface of the island, the families expanded the tunnel system, bringing one of them out to the place where the main wharf sits today. They used this tunnel and the rest of the labyrinth to unload and store bootlegged liquor coming to America from Europe and other parts of the world. They thrived until Prohibition was repealed and, at that point, abandoned the island.
Currently, Storm is owned by four families: the Palmers, Morrisons, Levines, and me. However, even though the island is privately owned, it still is home to a population of locals – approximately two-hundred-fifty at last count – who live and work here. These are the people who make the island run and they live on land that is generously leased for life. My Jeremy is one of these folks. He was born and raised here.
Storm Island – a place of legend – a place I now call “home.”
Thinking about the history of the island, I approached the entryway to Stormview Manor. Above the old wooden door now hangs a new sign:
Storm Island Medical Clinic
Kate Pomeroy, M.D., Medical Director
I smiled. This was the culmination of my dream. After the deaths of my aunt, uncle, and father the previous summer, I’d decided to turn the first floor of the manor house I’d inherited into a free clinic for islanders. I’d already given up on becoming a first-class surgeon and, instead, decided my calling was to be G.P. – a family physician. The renovation to transform the residence into a state-of-the-art medical facility was now nearly complete and we planned on a grand opening the first week in November. A pre-opening celebration was scheduled for the Saturday before, the 30th of October, one day before Halloween. Hence, the party was to be a costume affair. The event was only two weeks away and already my stomach was full of jitters.
Taking a deep breath, I walked inside. Steve Wagner, my head nurse and good friend, was talking to one of the painters. He turned toward me when he heard the door open.
“Kate,” he said, walking in my direction.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I replied. “How’re we doing?”
“Everything’s going according to plan. We’ll make it. You go on to the office. I’ll be in directly.”
I smiled, nodded, and walked down the corridor to the room that was now my office. Steve and his assistant, Nadia, were going to school me on the new Medical Records’ program that had just been installed. I had to admit, I’m wasn’t particularly looking forward to this instruction. I was pretty good on computers, but learning a whole new system was not my idea of a fun day.
Nadia peeked her head inside the door.
“Ready to begin, Dr. Pomeroy?” she asked, struggling to hide her heavy Eastern European accent.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied. “Come have a seat beside me. You’re going to have to guide me through this.”
She pulled a chair over next to mine and, as she moved, I studied her.
She was a very pretty girl – slender with pale skin, long blonde hair, and startling blue eyes. From her appearance, no one would ever guess that she had been the victim of human trafficking. As best we knew, she was abducted when she was thirteen or fourteen and taken to a brothel in Indonesia. My late-uncle’s partner, Vladimir Sokolov, was convicted of this abduction and dozens more. As a result of these crimes and many others more heinous, Vlad was spending the rest of his life in a Federal maximum security prison.
Wanting to right some of the wrongs committed by this man and my uncle, I decided to use some the money I’d inherited to try to locate these victims and rehome them. I enlisted the help of my attorney, Matt Snyder, in this endeavor and Nadia was the first abductee we found. We tried to locate her family in Russia, but were unsuccessful. The girl, apparently, had no one.
Not wanting to leave her out on the street where she would remain prey for some other unscrupulous person or organization, I invited her to Storm to be a part of our new clinic operation. My head nurse, Steve, immediately recognized her innate intelligence and set about training her for the front office.
She was a quick study and admitted that, at the brothel, she had often worked the computers, preparing deposits, withdrawals, and transfers from the many bank accounts associated with the local operation.
“We were part of the Bratva,” she’d explained.
I remembered being puzzled, the term not familiar to me.
“What’s a Bratva?” I’d asked.
“You know,” she’d replied with a grin. “The brotherhood – mafia, Russian-style. We were just a small cog in a big machine.”
We quickly realized that, as a result of the work she’d done for the Bratva, she was extremely computer-savvy and, in no time, she became an invaluable asset to our operation.
She, like Steve, took up residence on the second floor of the manor house, which contained two large master bedrooms, each with adjoining bath, and a good-sized sitting room in between. Steve installed a state-of-the-art entertainment system in the latter space and, with a gourmet kitchen at their disposal, he and Nadia had all the trappings of a real home.
“Dr. Pomeroy?” Nadia asked, bringing me back to the present. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Sorry, Nadia, I was just woolgathering. I’m ready.”
“Okay. First, we must set up your login.”
4
Kate
A Night on the Town and More
I ARRIVED BACK at the Carriage House, my little home, shortly after five p.m. After taking a quick shower, I surveyed the contents of my closet, trying to choose what to wear to town that evening. I finally decided to go retro – 1940s Lauren Bacall.
To establish the look I wanted, I slipped into a pair of loose-fitting beige trousers, with pleats in the front, and a pale-blue silk, long-sleeved blouse with mandarin collar. I curled my shoulder-length chestnut hair into a pageboy, tucking loose strands of what had once been bangs behind my ears. For jewelry, I decided on turquoise – earrings and pendant.
Happy with the look, I applied minimal makeup – blush, a pale-pink lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow. Satisfied, I slid my feet into a pair of blue satin stiletto heels and turned to check my appearance in the hall mirror.
I grinned. I knew I would never rival the great Bacall, but I was sure that Jeremy, my Bogart, would like what he saw.
I checked my watch. It was almost time to drive down to the wharf to meet the water taxi. Since Jeremy had mentioned dancing, I tossed a pair of sensible shoes into my backpack in case my feet gave out. I put the necessities – driver’s license, cell phone, etcetera into a small beige clutch.
Leaving a couple of lights on so the place wouldn’t be dark when we got home, I pulled on my camel-colored wool coat and headed out the door.
Jeremy was waiting to meet me on the dock when the water taxi arrived. He kept his mainland truck in a garage nearby and, now, helped me into the passenger seat.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
; “You’ll see,” he replied as he backed the truck out and headed in a direction away from the busy nightlife of downtown Portland.
Puzzled, I leaned back in my seat and smiled. If he wanted to surprise me, I was going to let him do it.
We drove for about twenty minutes, then he pulled off the highway onto a two-lane road leading toward the shore. About ten minutes later, he turned into a parking lot in front of an old Victorian house. The sign out front read,
B and B
By the Sea
Surprised, I turned toward him.
“Is this it?” I asked. “Are we staying overnight? I didn’t plan on that.”
Jeremy grinned and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”
After parking the truck, he helped me out and, taking my elbow, escorted me to the entrance. A woman in a wheelchair was waiting to greet us.
“Lieutenant,” she said. “Good to see you again, sir.”
Jeremy smiled. “And, you too, Sergeant. May I introduce you to my friend, Dr. Kate Pomeroy. Katy, this is Lacey O’Toole. She was part of my team in Afghanistan.”
Sgt. O’Toole smiled and leaned forward to shake my hand and, as she moved, the quilt draped across her lap, shifted.
I bit my bottom lip when I saw that both of her legs appeared to have been amputated just above the knee.
I struggled to maintain my composure knowing she must have been injured in the blast initiated by the Afghan girl who had been Jeremy’s first love.
“Nice to meet you,” I said softly, taking her proffered hand.
“Likewise,” she replied, then turned her attention back to Jeremy.
“Everything you requested has been taken care of, Lieutenant. Here’s the key. You two enjoy yourselves. If you need anything, ring me up on the landline. I ain’t going nowhere.”
Jeremy took the key from her hand, then leaned down and kissed her soundly on the cheek.
“Thanks, Sarge. We’ll have to get you over to Storm one day soon. I think you’d like it.”
The woman blushed then escorted us to the door.
Outside, I looked up at Jeremy. “Was she? Did that happen when the suicide bomber...?”
Jeremy nodded. “She was one of the lucky ones. She’s originally from the Chicago area. After she was medically discharged, she decided to come here. Bought this place and fixed it up. It’s beautiful. You’ll see.”
We walked down the street to a smaller structure that sat by the shore. On the outside, it was modest-looking, but as soon as I stepped inside, I knew it was much more than it appeared to be.
A two-room suite, the front room was a combined living and dining area. A large, comfy-looking leather couch sat in front of a stone fireplace in which logs were blazing away merrily. Off to the side was a dining table, covered with a white linen tablecloth and two place settings. In the middle was an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne.
What’s going on? I asked myself. Why all this?
“Make yourself comfortable,” Jeremy said. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. I slipped off my coat and sat on the couch waiting for whatever was going to happen next.
Jeremy came back directly, pulling a rolling suitcase behind him.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“All the necessities, my dear. I purloined a pair of jeans, a sweater, bra, and panties while you were otherwise occupied. Also, I picked up a new toothbrush and other toiletries. You shall lack for nothing.”
I grinned. “Okay, but why all the secrecy?”
“All in good time. And, I did mean it about the dancing. There’s a joint just up the street, should we feel so inclined. But right now, how about a glass of bubbly?”
He opened the champagne with a loud “POP” and poured us each a glass.
“Let’s go outside,” he said. “It’s a beautiful night.”
I hesitated. “But it’s cold.”
Jeremy laughed. “California girl! Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm. Now, be good, put your coat on, and let’s go look at the water.”
We walked out onto a large redwood deck. The rays from the full moon reflected off the water like a million tiny fairy lights. The sky was clear and there were so many stars, I couldn’t count them all. I smiled, admitting to myself that he was right. It was heavenly out here.
As I stood on the deck gazing at the sky, Jeremy came up behind me and wound his arms tightly around my waist. I leaned back against him as he pointed out all of the constellations that sparkled above us.
Everything was perfect and I had to admit that, cold or not, I could stay here forever. But the spell was broken by the sound of someone rapping on our cabin door.
“That must be dinner,” Jeremy said. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”
Two men with a rolling cart were standing just outside the door. I recognized the logo on their jackets – they were from one of the posher restaurants in the area. Reservations, I knew, were hard to come by and I wondered how Jeremy had managed to pull this “to go” order off. I still couldn’t figure out what this was all about. I was usually content with a burger and fries from the Wet Your Whistle, Storm Island’s local watering hole. Jeremy knew he didn’t need to go to all this trouble to impress me.
But maybe, it dawned on me, this wasn’t about me. Maybe he’d won something – Lobsterman of the Year – or some other sort of honor. I grinned knowing that all this guessing was fruitless. I’d just have to wait – everything would be explained in due time.
The delivery boys spent a few minutes describing the culinary delights they’d brought. To start, there was a Caesar salad. Following that, a casserole of lobster mac ’n cheese, pan-seared Maine scallops with lemon caper sauce, charred carrots with griddled goat cheese, and, to top it all off, crème brulée for dessert.
The boys ladled the hot courses into chafing dishes and tossed the salad while we watched. There were also two bottles of wine – one red and one white. When the guys finished, Jeremy walked them to the door and I noticed him slip them something, most likely a hefty tip.
“Well, Katy,” he said as he sauntered back to the table. “What do you think?”
“It looks spectacular.”
“Okay, take as seat. What wine do you prefer – red or white?”
“White, thank you.”
Jeremy opened the chilled bottle of Pinot Gris and poured glasses for both of us. Then, he filled my salad plate with the Caesar.
I smiled at him and lifted my wine glass in a toast.
“To us,” I said.
Jeremy didn’t move, but just stared at me for a moment and then, to my surprise, got up out of his chair and dropped to one knee on the floor before me.
My mouth fell open in shock.
“Katy Pomeroy,” he said softly. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you hobbling down that road looking like a drowned cat. I know we haven’t been together long – five months – but it could be five minutes or five years and I’d still feel the same. And, now, I would like nothing more than to have you join me on a journey through life.”
As he spoke, he reached into his sport coat pocket and removed a small velvet case.
“Katy, will you marry me?”
I couldn’t breathe.
He opened the box and inside sat a small diamond solitaire, sparkling merrily in the soft lighting of the room.
“Katy?”
I tore my eyes from the ring and stared at him, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“I love you, too, Jeremy Bradshaw. And, yes, I’ll marry you.”
Grinning broadly, he jumped to his feet, placed the ring on my third finger, left hand, then pulled me into his arms.
Not surprisingly, dinner was suddenly forgotten.
About an hour later, clad in only the long terrycloth robes provided by the B&B, we returned to the table. Some of the food was now cold, but we didn’t care. We ate heartily, finishing off one bottle
of wine and starting in on the other. When we’d eaten all we could, Jeremy got up from the table and walked over to couch. He stoked the fire, adding another log or two, then put a disc in the small CD player that sat on the end table.
“I promised you dancing, didn’t I?” he said as music filled the room.
“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. “Johnny Mathis! I can’t believe it.”
Jeremy laughed. “I spent a good part of the day at the used record store in town looking and listening to romantic music. I ended up with this and a couple discs by Celine Dion.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you did good. You can’t get more romantic than Mathis and Celine.”
“All right, then,” he replied, opening his arms to me.
We swayed more than danced, just content to be so close to each other. I don’t know how long this went on but by the time we went to bed, the sun was beginning to peek up over the horizon.
We slept until ten a.m.
“Time to get up, Katy,” Jeremy whispered. “We’ve both got work to do.”
Reluctant to leave, I finally sat up.
We showered and dressed, then packed our things.
“What do we do with all this?” I asked, indicating with my hand the debris from last night’s feast.
“They’ll be back to clean up,” Jeremy said with a grin. “Comes with the service.”
I shook my head. “I hate to think about how much you spent.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Jeremy replied, laughing. “But don’t expect this again until our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary!”
We drove back to town. I called Steve and, once again, apologized, knowing that I was going to be late.
“I’m really not setting a very good example,” I said to Jeremy. “I’ve got to be more punctual in the future.”
The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2) Page 2
