Watch for the Dead (Relatively Dead Book 4)

by Sheila Connolly

  “But the trunk is full! Wait until I tell you what I found! You’re not going to believe it. Come see.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the back of her car and popped the trunk. “Look.”

  “I see boxes. Old boxes. Have you opened them?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Ned raised one eyebrow. “Do you know what’s in them?”

  “Not specifically, but generally. Help me get them inside and I’ll tell you all about them.”

  They each hefted a box out of the trunk and carried it into the house, depositing them in the dining room, then made a second trip. “I’ll get the last one,” Ned volunteered. Abby stood looking at her fabulous find, beaming. However these boxes and their contents had come into her hands, they were hers now. Unless—a stab of anxiety pierced her—Edna was totally gaga and enjoyed making up stories to entertain hapless strangers who took the time to talk to her, and the boxes contained nothing but old newspapers. Abby quickly peeled long-dry tape from around one and pulled off the top: the box was stuffed with a hodgepodge of papers, file folders, letters, journals, and lumpy things wrapped up in yellowed tissue. She spied the name Whitman on one letter and sighed with relief. Not that she’d ever really believed that Edna had been lying to her. There had been that indefinable connection that Abby was beginning to recognize. Edna had Reed blood, somewhere up the line, as did Abby and Ned. And now Ellie. That link gave a whole new meaning to the term “family.”

  Ned came up behind her as she knelt in front of the open box. “You look like you just opened a Christmas present,” he said. “What is all this stuff?”

  “I have to tell you the whole story, in order. Can we get a pizza or something?”

  “Sure, I guess. Want me to call it in?”

  “Please.” Abby turned back to the first box and set its lid beside it. She pulled over the next box and peered inside, then the other three. All looked about the same—a jumble of items, in no particular order. Not that she was about to complain, but she needed a plan before she just jumped in and started pulling things out randomly.

  Ned returned and said, “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Are you going to tell me what’s got you so excited?”

  Abby sat back on her haunches. “I went to the yard sale, as planned. It was already busy, early in the morning. Apparently the current Whitman family is moving out of the house any minute now, and it looked like the current owner—Brenda—was in a hurry to dump everything and leave. As you can guess, she wasn’t exactly in a chatty mood. I got as far as ‘hello’ and verifying that I had the right place, but when I started to ask questions about family history, she pointed to her mother-in-law, who she’d kind of parked in a corner. So I went over to talk to her—her name’s Edna, by the way—and it turned out that she was the keeper of the family records. She’d moved out of the house years ago, into a retirement place of some sort, but she didn’t have space for these boxes, so she left them in the attic, which was fine until her son took a new job and needed to move. I think the charming daughter-in-law was threatening to pitch them all, and Edna was standing guard to make sure that didn’t happen. Ned, this may sound weird, but she kind of knew me before we even introduced ourselves. Turns out she’s a Reed descendant, on her side—but the Whitmans aren’t. Anyway, you want to know what the first thing she said was, when I told her what I was looking for?”

  “I assume you’re going to tell me?”

  “Of course I am. Edna said that Isabel was William Flagg’s child. Natural child, I mean. Not by his wife, Elizabeth Reed. Edna didn’t know who I was, but she knew I’d be interested in that fact.”

  Ned sat down on the floor next to Abby. “Wow. These Reeds are spooky people, aren’t they? So what did you say to that?”

  “Well, I hadn’t come up with an answer when she asked me if I’d met William, and of course I had to say yes. So there we were. She doesn’t like Olivia’s husband, Samuel, any more than I do—she called him a parasite. We must have talked for an hour or more, and then we shifted the boxes to my car. I told her about how I’d run into Olivia at the cottage on the Cape, when I’d never even known she’d been there, and why I felt I had to find out why she’d been so sad. And Edna said the answer was in these boxes. That’s all she would tell me, but I bet she figured I’d have fun working it out for myself. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “It is. You have phenomenal luck, Abby.”

  “I’m not sure it’s all just luck, Ned. It’s almost like Olivia is guiding me, although I have no clue how that could happen. But the things that have happened, they can’t all be coincidences, can they?”

  “It seems unlikely, in a rational universe.”

  They were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. “Must be the pizza,” Ned said, untangling his legs and standing up. As he went to the front door, Abby reluctantly got up and brushed off her jeans. Much as she didn’t want to let the precious boxes out of her sight, she thought it would be rude to leave pizza smudges all over someone else’s documents, so they should eat somewhere else. Whatever Edna’s intentions had been, Abby did not feel these relics belonged to her: she was only the custodian. She carefully replaced the covers, and met Ned in the kitchen, where he was getting plates out of a cupboard.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Abby said suddenly, as Ned doled out pizza slices. “I did buy something—a cup and saucer. It looked old, and kind of lonely. I paid two dollars for it.” She retrieved her purse and extricated the cup and saucer, unwrapping them carefully and setting them in the middle of the kitchen table.

  “That’s, uh, nice?” Ned said, looking bewildered.

  “Wait, there’s more.” With a flourish, she pulled out the cup and saucer Daniel had given her.

  “So you bought two of them?” Ned asked.

  “No. I stopped by the West Falmouth house on the way back. Your buddy Daniel was there, and we had some time to chat, since the rest of the family was at the beach. It was his grandfather who bought the house from Ruth Ellinwood. I asked if anyone had found any artifacts in the house, although I wasn’t expecting much. He said not until recently, when he hired that agency to manage the rentals on the house. When they cleaned the place, they found the cup tucked all the way back on a high shelf—apparently nobody had ever noticed it. He gave it to me. They match.”

  “Ah,” Ned said. “Olivia’s hand again?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it? That cup’s been waiting in the house for almost eighty years, and then I show up with its mate in my bag? I will not accept one more coincidence today. I think somebody wanted these two to be reunited in the here and now. Maybe Olivia did want me to find them both.”

  “And what message is she trying to send you?” Ned asked.

  “That part I don’t know. But I think there is one. Let’s eat.” She set the twin cups and their saucers carefully on a countertop, side by side, out of harm’s way.

  As Abby dug into her first piece of pizza, she realized she had never had lunch. Maybe that was why she was reacting so weirdly to things, or maybe overreacting was a better word. She really did not want to believe that her ancestors were clustered around her all the time, conferring about the best way to drive her crazy. If that was the case, the afterlife must be pretty boring.

  “So now what?” Ned asked, after finishing his own piece.

  “Well, I want to go through the new material in some sort of order. I started all this because I wanted to answer one question: why was Olivia there and why was she crying? I found out that she owned the house, okay, but not why she was there. Then my mother told me about the painting, and that led me to the interesting fact that Thomas Clarkson knew Olivia’s father, but that was when Olivia was just a child, so that wouldn’t have meant much to her then, and the painting my mother has was painted long after that. Anyway, I couldn’t find a whole lot about Thomas Clarkson, after his early years, except that he was a very busy painter and preferred marine pictures, which is what we’ve got. So I thought I’d try comi
ng at it through Isabel’s family.”

  “Why? What do you hope to find? Or maybe, what did Edna think you’d find?”

  “I’m looking for whatever brought Olivia to the Cape, after her husband died, and then broke her heart.” Abby paused for a moment. “Do you think this is pointless, Ned?”

  He took his time answering. “No, I think I understand, and I know neither of us knows how all this stuff works—we’re both still learning, together. I guess I’m just playing devil’s advocate—making you narrow down your questions. And I think you’re doing a pretty fair job of it.”

  “Thank you. Shoot, Edna is too young to have known Olivia, but I should ask if her husband’s father knew her and ever said anything about her. You know, it’s the unwritten stories that carry the tales. Edna said that the family knew that Isabel was William’s daughter, but I’d bet nobody carefully wrote in the family Bible, ‘Today William’s bastard child was born to a woman not his wife.’”

  Ned smiled. “People seldom did that, but you’ll notice that they talked about it, although maybe discreetly, behind closed doors and only within the family. I assume it carried some sort of stigma back when it happened. But Elizabeth seems to have accepted Isabel. Based on what you’ve seen, Isabel was always close to her adopted mother, wasn’t she? She stayed nearby, even after her father had died, and took care of her to the end. Does that suggest any hostility between them?”

  Abby giggled. “Do you know, I think there was a family story on my side about that. Let me see if I can remember the details . . . I was pretty young when I heard it. Something like William and Elizabeth got married right after the Civil War, and Olivia was born almost exactly nine months later. But you’ll notice there weren’t any other children. What I overheard was that Elizabeth had the one baby and said, ‘That’s enough of that nonsense,’ and never got pregnant again—the implication being, which didn’t occur to me at the time, that she stopped sleeping with William altogether. So maybe she was willing to cut William some slack when he went looking for a little, uh, comfort, elsewhere. Most of the stories I’ve read about him suggest he was a man’s man, if you know what I mean. Not macho, but he belonged to a lot of men-only organizations, and even led some of them. Which suggests that men liked him too. But of course, there’s no mention of women in his life.” Abby couldn’t believe she was spinning this entirely too personal story out of very slender evidence, but it did make sense to her.

  “So what’s your conclusion?” Ned asked.

  “I’m willing to believe that William had some affairs along the way, and that one of them might have resulted in Isabel. But as you just pointed out, it appears that Elizabeth welcomed Isabel with open arms, which was rather nice of her. She could have said no.”

  “Maybe she liked the child-rearing part but not the birthing part?”

  That was a point that Abby had never considered. “I guess we’ll never know. I’m having another slice of pizza.” Abby helped herself, then chewed pensively. “You know, the Flagg side of the family had issues with reproducing at all. There were very few children among all of William’s siblings, and I think Isabel wasn’t the only adopted one, if I remember the censuses right. Overall, isn’t that kind of unusual for that time period? You think maybe there was a biological reason?”

  “Abby, let’s not read too much into a few facts. Isabel may or may not have been William’s child. You might get a DNA test from a descendant that would show you something, but how likely is it that any of Isabel’s descendants are going to be willing to take part? And is it really important? What is the question you’re really asking? And what do you hope to find in those boxes?”

  Trust Ned to keep nudging her back to the central issue. Abby drew a breath. “Whether Olivia confided anything to Isabel about the later years of her life. They didn’t live all that far apart. Isabel was married and had four kids by the time Samuel died—maybe Olivia wanted a summer place big enough for Isabel’s family to stay. We know that Olivia stayed close to her mother—I’ve got a picture of them together in New Jersey, after Ruth was born. So I’m hoping that there’s some record that Isabel left that could provide an explanation—a diary, letters, something tangible.”

  “And if there isn’t?” Ned prompted.

  “Then we go back to our ordinary daily lives. But remember, Ellie saw Olivia and felt her emotions too. It must have been important, whatever it was, for her to be visible to us.”

  “Are you planning to start tonight?”

  “No, I think I’ll wait until tomorrow, so I can do it all at once. This is a lot to take in. Will you be around? Do you have any projects planned?”

  “Spending some quality time with you?”

  “I think I’d like that. There are some advantages to having a living, breathing companion.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Chapter 26

  At breakfast the next morning Abby could hardly contain her anticipation. Five boxes of family papers to examine! So what if they turned out to be old report cards or coal bills? They were history, and they could contain clues to who knew what.

  “Ned, how come you never mentioned Daniel before?” she asked, munching on her toast.

  “Didn’t I? I guess I don’t see much of him. Why?”

  “Well, he invited me in when I stopped by the house yesterday, and I told you that we chatted for a while. He said he helped found your company?”

  “Yes. As he probably mentioned, he was the money man, and I was the brains. That’s not a criticism. He’s a great guy, and smart in his own way, but he’s no scientist. Still, I think he had fun being part of a start-up. He met his wife that way—at some conference where he was looking for more funding.”

  “I didn’t meet her. I gather they’ve got kids?”

  “Three, I think, all young. I don’t recall that I’ve met them, although I’ve met his wife a time or two. I’ll bet he’s a good father—he’s like a big kid himself. But he’s shrewd. He’s not the type to spend summers lazing in the sun, even if he does have a beach house. So he rents it out when he doesn’t want to use it, and he makes out like a bandit.”

  “Smart,” Abby agreed. “We could get together with him and his wife sometime.”

  “Sure.”

  “Or with any of your other friends at work?” Abby pressed.

  “Are you trying to make a point, Abby? Like, I have no friends?”

  “Well, we don’t socialize a lot. I wondered why.”

  “Because I work a lot. Because I’m the boss, and it’s hard enough to maintain discipline and productivity with the people I employ. They’re smart and they work hard, but we don’t have a lot in common. Most of them are close to ten years younger than me. I’m not sure we speak the same language.”

  “Ned, I’m almost ten years younger than you,” Abby pointed out.

  “You’re an old soul?” he joked, then turned serious. “Are you saying you’re lonely here?”

  Was she? “Not with you, but you’re not around all the time. Look, I’ve never been a girly girl who likes to go to lunches and parties. But I guess I miss working. I don’t really know anybody around here.”

  “You blame Leslie for booting you out?”

  “I don’t blame anyone, Ned. None of us could have foreseen the things that have happened, and I understand that Leslie was and still is having trouble wrapping her head around it, particularly as it affects her daughter. I don’t expect to go back to working at the museum. I enjoyed my job there, but it would be too weird for both of us. But I would like to work somewhere. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes, I can. You’re too smart to sit around here all day slapping up wallpaper or refinishing floors. But I don’t have any brilliant suggestions.”

  “Ned, we don’t have to solve this today. And I don’t have any ideas either—there aren’t that many historical museums around, not that I’ve checked to see if they’re hiring. But you asked. Yes, I’m a bit lonely, because I don’t s
ee a lot of people day to day. And I was kind of surprised that you call Daniel a friend, because I’d never even heard of him until last week. We need to get out more.”

  Ned looked down at his plate. “I’ve been working on something . . . no, it’s not ready to talk about yet.” Then he looked back at Abby. “You could join a genealogy group? You’d be a real asset.”

  Abby laughed. “Yes, but a little skimpy on the documentation side. I don’t think the DAR would accept ‘my patriot ancestor told me so’ as proof of anything.”

  “Probably not,” Ned said, smiling.

  “So, having made the case for us seeing more people, will you mind if I spend the day rooting through Edna’s boxes, even though you’re going to be home?”

  “Go for it. You want help?”

  “Maybe. First I have to find out what’s in there. Of course, you know a lot more about Massachusetts than I do, so I may need to ask you about some connections or odd references.”

  “I will keep myself available. Should I strip wallpaper or paint?”

  “Does the fireplace work?” Abby countered.

  “Uh, I don’t know? I’ve never tried it.”

  “Why don’t you find out? If it doesn’t and you can’t fix it, you can find someone who can. Wouldn’t you like to have a cozy fire come winter?”

  “With you next to me, yes.”

  “So go clean the flues or something. You know where I’ll be.”

  Having found a constructive chore in the house for Ned, Abby felt free to tackle the Whitman files. Luckily there was little in the way of furniture in the dining room, apart from the table and a few chairs. One chair she had commandeered to sit on, and she moved another one closer so she could put the box on it and look through it without straining her back. There were no labels on any of the boxes, so she dragged the nearest one over, put it on the chair, and opened it.

  An hour later she had covered the entire table with piles of documents. Edna had done a worthy job with what she had to work with. Of course, she had started back in the days when there was no Internet, and Family Tree Maker was no more than a gleam in someone’s eye. In those days you presented yourself at libraries and historical societies and archives and went through what they had, book by book, folder by folder. Of course, there was still some of that to be done now—there were places that would never have the time or money to transfer their holdings to a digital format—but there was so much available online! Edna probably didn’t even have a computer, and much of what she had so carefully collected over the years was in the form of old and fading photocopies. At least her handwriting was clear and legible, and she had taken careful notes.