I crossed over to that side of the street to take a closer look. The green paint on the building was faded and flaking, and several tiles from the roof had fallen into the alley.
I noticed that there was a separate entrance on the north side of the building, so I slipped into the alley and went to see if it was open. It wasn’t. I was headed back to the street when I heard a noise from the other end of the alley, by the old shipyard. I turned to see what it was.
As I did, I saw someone in black pants and a hoodie with a black backpack slip out of sight. Qigong began to bark frantically and started to run, dragging me along. Was it the same person Jackson had caught in the garden last night?
I raced after Qigong. My heart was pounding by the time we reached the mouth of the alley. I looked in both directions, but there was no one. The stranger in black had vanished.
Qigong tugged me toward the shipyard, and I didn’t think twice. I raced into the yard, the dog at my side. Panting, I looked around, but again, there was no one except us. Qigong stopped barking and starting sniffing the ground.
The shipyard was deserted, and even though it was morning, I suddenly realized that adrenaline was not my friend. It was making me take risks that I shouldn’t be taking. Silently, I chastised myself for taking a chance that might land me in trouble just like it had the night before, and we quickly started back toward Main Street.
I made it back to Nature’s Way by nine fifty-five and put Qigong on the couch in my office for a nice snooze before going out to the garden. There, I found the locksmith, busy putting a lock on the gate, and Koren and Coyle talking to Jackson.
Jackson pointed to the fence while he explained what had happened. Coyle was holding the shovel, which had already been bagged.
“Ms. McQuade,” Detective Koren said. “It’s nice of you to join us. Your boyfriend was just telling us about what happened. What may I ask prompted you to look in the garden last night in the first place?”
I told him about being locked up in the camera obscura in Mitchell Park and how it had unnerved me. “When we got back here I just wanted to make sure that the garden was okay. We’ve been finding holes in the garden, like someone is looking for something.”
“Looking for what exactly?”
“We don’t know,” Jackson said. “But we’ve found several objects that may be artifacts. We’ve been told that they may have been left by pirates.”
“Pirate treasure? That’s a new one,” Detective Coyle said with a laugh. “What do you think of that, Koren?”
“Not much,” Detective Koren replied. “I think Ms. McQuade couldn’t resist snooping around the murder scene, like she usually does, and it had nothing to do with these supposed pirate artifacts. Isn’t that true?”
“It’s my property, Detective.”
“She has point,” Jackson said.
“From what I’ve heard, certain people want to take the lot away from you, especially after what happened with Dr. White,” Detective Koren said. “So you might not own this land for long.”
“Yeah, and if we find out that Jackson here had anything to do with the doc’s murder, that’s just going to make it that much easier,” his partner added.
“Jackson had nothing to do with Dr. White’s murder. We told you what happened.”
“Right, and now all of a sudden you’ve got this mystery suspect in a black hoodie that’s supposed to take the attention away from him.” Detective Koren scribbled something in his notebook.
“The man was here, Detective. In fact, I think I saw him again this morning over by the shipyard.”
Jackson gave me a questioning look. “You saw him?”
“I can’t be certain it was the same guy, but he was dressed the same way you said the man was dressed last night, and he ran when he saw me.”
Detective Koren turned to Coyle. “Check it out. Ask around at the shipyard, see if anyone has been hanging around.”
“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Spade,” Detective Coyle said.
“Go,” Detective Koren told his partner. “And give me the shovel.”
Coyle handed it over but not before giving Jackson a nasty look.
Still, it was good that they hadn’t been interested in the artifacts. This meant that we could take them to the lecture tonight.
“He’s right,” Detective Koren said as he turned to leave. “We’re not done with you yet.”
• • •
With Koren’s warning ringing in our ears, Jackson returned to his work on the patio, and I went back inside to see how many people had signed up for the garden tours this afternoon. The hourly tours from twelve to two were full, with fifteen people each. After that, interest seemed to fall off, and no one so far had signed up for the tours at three and four. Perhaps more people would sign up as the day went on.
Regardless, I had enough to keep me busy and my mind off the case until tonight when Jackson, Simon, and I attended the lecture at the Maritime Museum. We needed answers, especially after Koren and Coyle’s ominous warnings, and I really hoped that this expert could provide them.
I’d finished up the first three tours, but when there was no one waiting at the garden gate by 3:10, I texted Merrily to see if anyone was coming. When she didn’t reply, I headed up the path to Nature’s Way, past Nate, who was busily selling merchandise and plants, to see what was going on.
I opened the door to find the place packed. Merrily and Wallace looked totally overwhelmed. Both of them were speed-walking from the kitchen to the café, carrying platters of food, while a line of customers waited at the checkout counter.
I hustled over to the counter and began to check people out. Some of them were paying their bills from the café; others were buying staples like quinoa and organic peanut butter. Most of those waiting were patient and pleasant, but a few were downright nasty, complaining about the wait. Quite a few supporters stopped to tell me that they had heard about the petition and that they were on my side.
After I’d helped everyone, I went into the kitchen and found Merrily pulling two quiches out of the oven. “Are you okay?”
Merrily put the quiches on the counter and took off her oven mitts. “I didn’t expect us to be this busy, but I think between the yard sale and the news about the murder, people wanted to check us out.”
“Great,” I said. “Sales are through the roof due to morbid curiosity.”
“We did sell a lot,” she pointed out.
I sighed. “Did we get any more sign-ups for the tours? I texted you but you didn’t respond. Now I understand why.”
Merrily pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. “Okay, the garden tour at four is almost full, but no one so far for three.” The front door opened and two groups came in looking for tables, followed by four women who started browsing the shelves, and yet another group that lined up by the counter for baked goods. Wallace poked his head into the kitchen. “Willow, can you stay for a little while longer? We could really use your help.”
“Of course,” I said, and went to work. I directed one of the women to the section with homeopathic tinctures, then grabbed menus and went over to the door to greet the new customers. Since there were no empty tables inside, I suggested that they have lunch on the porch. Both parties agreed, and I went back outside and got them settled at two separate tables.
As I did, I spotted Kylie Ramsey, of the farmer’s market; heirloom veggie growers Ramona and her partner, Rhonda; and Sandra Bennett across the street in Mitchell Park. The four merchants were chatting and laughing as they strolled along the boardwalk toward the Shelter Island ferry terminal and the Maritime Museum. I wanted to believe that Sandra wasn’t in on the effort to shut down my garden, but the fact that she seemed so chummy with these women made me wonder.
Since confronting them wouldn’t do any good, I went back inside and returned to
the counter. I’d checked out another half dozen people when Nick followed his students downstairs after his afternoon yoga class and stopped to see me. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said as he gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Are you all right? Allie told me about that nasty Web site.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Though sometimes I wish I could crawl back under the covers and pretend none of this was happening.”
“That’s not your style,” Nick told me gently. “You’ll fight for what you believe in. Claire would expect nothing less.”
As he spoke, Nate rushed into the store. “Willow, you’d better come outside,” he called.
“What is it?” I asked, stepping out from behind the counter.
“A bunch of people are picketing in front of the garden.”
I stood there, stunned. “They’re doing what?”
“Protesting the garden. No one can even get near the tables. We’re going to lose all our sales. You’ve got to do something!”
Nick squeezed my arm. “Go get ’em, girl. I’m right behind you.”
• • •
I told Merrily that I’d be right back, and Nick and I went out to the garden. As we rounded the corner, I could hear the chanting: “Shut down the Garden of Death! Shut down the Garden of Death!”
Then I saw them, a group of a dozen or so people I didn’t recognize led by Maggie and Harold. They were holding signs with the same slogan and marching in a circle in front of the garden.
My heart sank—this display certainly wouldn’t help make my garden a success. What I couldn’t understand was how something so beautiful could be so maligned. But I’d heard that if you don’t understand someone’s motivation, it probably has to do with money and greed. I had the feeling that this was the motivation here, but were they after the lot or what might be buried here?
“You’d better call Simon,” Nick said. “And where’s Jackson?”
“Working on the patio,” I said, trying to calm myself with a few deep breaths. “Can you please go get him?”
Nick nodded, pushed his way past the protestors, and went into the garden. As he did, Ramona, Rhonda, Kylie, and Sandra all crossed the street from the park. They grabbed signs from the pavement and joined the group. None of them looked my way.
I took a few steps back and texted Simon and told him what the situation was. He immediately texted me back:
Will call lawyer. B there soon. Stay calm!
I called the police and asked them to come over, put my phone into my pocket, and walked up to the protestors.
Maggie and Harold stepped out of the circle and came over to me. “We don’t give up,” Harold said, a smug tone to his voice. “And you can’t shut us up.”
My phone pinged and I pulled it out:
Judge will issue order asap. Stay strong! S.
“Actually, yes, I can. A judge is about to issue an order prohibiting this demonstration.”
“On what grounds?” Maggie said, annoyed.
“I’m not sure, but you should leave.”
“No way,” Maggie said. “Keep going, people!” She and Harold began pacing in a circle again, shouting along with the other protestors. Sandra marched along with them, avoiding my gaze.
Jackson pushed the gate open, and he and Nick came over to me. “You okay?”
“I just got a text from Simon. The lawyer is handling it, but until he does, this is making the garden and Nature’s Way look really bad. I called the police.”
“Time to move out,” Jackson told the protestors. “The cops are coming, and you people need to go home. This is private property.”
“The sidewalk isn’t,” Harold said, waving the protestors over. “We’re not leaving.”
A Southold town cop car pulled up, and two uniformed officers got out and asked what was going on.
“These people are picketing in front of my garden, and I want it to stop,” I explained. “My lawyer has asked a judge to stop this. Can you make them leave?”
Maggie gave me a toothy smile. “I don’t think your lawyer’s going to have much success. There’s a little thing called the Constitution. We’re exercising our rights to free speech and the freedom to
assemble.”
But Jackson pulled one of the cops aside and said something to him. The cop conferred with his partner then said, “You’re disturbing the peace. Besides, this is making the town look bad during the Maritime Festival. The mayor would appreciate your cooperation. Please leave.”
“We are not leaving,” Harold insisted. “Keep marching, everyone!”
“Wait a minute,” Simon said as he walked up to us. “I just got a text from my lawyer. You are to cease and desist immediately.” He held out his phone so that Harold and Maggie and the cops could all see a copy of the signed order.
One of the cops nodded. “He’s right. Move it along, folks.”
The crowd grumbled but began to disperse. But not before Maggie said, “You can’t stifle free speech, Mr. Lewis.”
“This has nothing to do with free speech. You’re just trying to cause trouble for Willow—which I’d call harassment. Now get lost.”
“Thanks, Simon,” I said as they left. “I owe you one.”
“I’m not keeping score,” he said. “I’m just trying to help.” We watched as the cop car pulled away. “By the way, what happened with the detectives this morning?”
“We tried to tell Koren and Coyle about what we found in the garden,” Jackson said. “But they didn’t believe us, let alone consider the artifacts as motive for White’s murder.”
“So you still have the earring, the sword, and the goblet?” Simon asked.
I nodded. “All three.”
Simon grinned. “They actually did us a favor. Make sure and bring all three with you tonight to the lecture. I predict that Professor Albert Russell is going to find them extremely interesting.”
chapter fifteen
Willow McQuade’s
Favorite Medicinal Plants
FLAXSEED
Botanical name: Linum usitatissimum
Medicinal uses: Flaxseed is the seed of the flax plant, which is believed to have originated in Egypt. Flaxseed contains lignans (phytoestrogens, or plant estrogens), which can help with hot flashes during menopause. Flaxseed also contains soluble fiber, like that found in oat bran, and is an effective laxative. Whole or crushed flaxseed can be mixed with water or juice and is also available in powder form. Flaxseed oil is available in liquid and capsule form. I like the nutty taste and add it to my organic yogurt along with granola and whatever fruit is in season.
That night, lights were streaming from every window of the museum when we arrived. Inside, there was a display featuring an oversized map of the East End on a corkboard and a table with copies of Professor Russell’s new book, Pirates of the East End. People milled around, checking it out, along with the exhibits about the maritime heritage of the area. There were displays on the Greenport fishing industry, the oyster industry, and the huge lighthouse lens that dominated the west end of the museum.
The only person I recognized was Harold. He appeared to be alone, no Maggie for once. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation, so I watched from a distance as he browsed the maritime photos in the gallery. Fortunately, none of the other protestors were there, and for that, I felt grateful.
Simon found us seats in the third row, and I sat between him and Jackson. Jackson had brought the earring, sword, and goblet in a duffel bag. I was also grateful that there weren’t any security guards in the museum checking bags. But the Maritime Museum was small; it didn’t really warrant a security staff.
A few minutes before eight, a petite woman in a red suit headed to the podium. With her was a tall, slightly balding man, sporting horn-rim glasses, a bow tie, and a day’s growth of beard.
“Good evening to you all. I’m Sar
ah Peterson, the director of the Maritime Museum. Tonight I am pleased to welcome Professor Albert Russell, author of Pirates of the East End, to our museum.” The crowd, which by now filled every chair, applauded. “We’re all very excited to learn more about your research, Professor.”
“Thank you for having me,” Professor Russell began, opening a notebook on the podium. “I’m a native of Shelter Island, and it’s good to be back on the North Fork. My interest in pirates started in my teens when I first learned that pirates frequented the East End. In college and grad school at Columbia University, I became a history major. I was particularly captivated by course work on merchants, pirates, and slaves in the seventeenth century. My new book evolved out of my teaching history at Columbia and a recent series of articles that I wrote for the New York Times.
“I think we can all agree that pirates are fascinating,” the professor went on. “I guess that’s why you’re all here.” He smiled and a few people laughed. “My talk tonight will center on the pirates who frequented Long Island, and the most famous pirate of all—Captain William Kidd and his visit to Gardiner’s Island.”
He began by defining the difference between piracy and privateers. Privateers, captains of privately chartered ships, were licensed to capture enemy ships and give a portion of the loot to the government, while pirates made their own rules, stealing from whomever they chose and keeping it all.
“In the seventeenth century, eastern Long Island, with bays and inlets on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other, was a favorite playground and battleground for pirates,” Russell explained. “One of the most frequented places was Gardiner’s Island, just off the East Hampton coast, settled in 1639 by Lion Gardiner after he received a grant from King Charles I of England.
“The island, a part of the town of East Hampton, has been owned by the Gardiner family for nearly four hundred years. Sixty years after the Gardiner family settled there, Captain Kidd—privateer and reputed pirate—sailed his ship, the Adventure Prize, into one of the island’s many harbors. He was on his way to Boston to clear his name after being accused of piracy.
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