15 Minutes of Flame

by Christin Brecher

  Just then, Bellows joined us from around the side of the house. Today he was wearing what I assumed was his outdoor gear. It consisted of a pair of faded khakis and a gray fleece hoodie that looked as old as the patched tweed jacket he’d worn yesterday.

  Before he could say a word, Fontbutter released my hand and headed right for him with a pitch about his show.

  “I’d be happy to add some historical flourishes,” said Bellows with some authority. “I don’t have much experience on camera, but I can tell you a lot about history. For example, I am working for the Whaling Museum right now, putting together an exhibit about whaling captains’ logs and the ships’ voyages. Did you know—?”

  “Very kind of you, but that’s usually my part of the show,” said Fontbutter. “I will want to interview you for information about the bodies and the island. And I’ll be happy to give you a credit at the end.”

  “A credit?” said Bellows. “But I am sure you’ll want to include an authentic historian.”

  “People like a bit more flash these days,” said Fontbutter, twirling his moustache. “It’s a downright shame, of course. The real heroes never get the credit.”

  Bellows looked aghast. I could see he was about to protest when Leigh rounded the house as well. She ignored both men and headed straight to her car with a spring to her step.

  “Good morning, Leigh,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” said Leigh as she opened the back of her car and began to extract some ropes and harnesses, all of which I assumed were for the excavation down the well.

  Fontbutter did not attempt to shake Leigh’s hand, so I assumed they had already met before I arrived.

  “Will your descent be so deep that you’ll need all of that equipment?” I said. “That looks like a lot of gear.”

  “It’s to lower ourselves down the wall of the well. Belaying is a way to safely descend a deep drop using ropes. I don’t have many opportunities to belay down to sites, and it’s my favorite kind of work. Haven’t done anything like it since my trek to Egypt. I studied in Cairo under a wonderful Egyptologist in college.”

  “I’ve tried it. It’s fun,” said Fontbutter. “Perhaps we can do a segment on my show about scaling sites.”

  “We should,” said Leigh, brightly.

  Bellows paled.

  “I have lots of tips of the trade I’d be happy to share,” she said, “along with some great stories about Solder’s work and some digs we’ve done together.”

  “I can’t wait to meet this Solder of yours in person,” said Fontbutter. “I heard him speak once. Not the most commanding of speakers, but I could tell he’s a brilliant guy. I’d love to share some ideas with him on how to promote his work.”

  “He won’t be interested,” said Leigh, in a tone that suggested we should all know this fact by now. “He hates publicity. He does it all for the love of the work, not headlines.”

  Having gathered yesterday that Leigh felt she and Solder should make more of an effort at promoting their work, I suspected she’d try her best to include Solder in Fontbutter’s production. I wondered, in fact, if the spring in her step had a bit to do with Fontbutter’s arrival.

  Perhaps reading my mind, or feeling she had betrayed her man by sharing her disappointment that he did not do more to put himself in the spotlight, Leigh shut the car trunk and scurried back around the house. Fontbutter’s eyes followed her. It was obvious to me that he found her attractive.

  I quickly averted my stare when he turned back to me.

  “Leigh will be a great addition to the production,” he said to me. “She has the right vibe. And you! You are small-screen eye candy.”

  Fontbutter was lucky that my cousins appeared from the backyard at that moment. Had I had another second with the man, I’d have given him an earful of my thoughts on being eye candy for his show. Eye candy? Really? As it was, I gave him my best stare-down. Old Holly and Leigh might welcome his arrival, but not me.

  I’d been excited to pursue the mystery of Patience Cooper and Nancy Holland. I’d thought we could save Agnes from living with doubts about her legacy, and that we might even help Halloween Haunts get back on track. I confess, I was also excited myself to learn more about these women with whom I felt so many connections. Now, however, I could see that many others stood to benefit from our discovery of her skeleton.

  Patience Cooper had died a violent death. Rather than letting her rest in peace, I hoped I hadn’t resurrected her to new troubles.

  Chapter 7

  “Hiya, Stell,” said my cousin Docker.

  Strong and stout, Docker dragged behind him something that looked like a small tree, but that I knew was actually a gargantuan weed. I’d had no idea that so much work would be needed in order to clear Old Holly’s property. Ted, longer and leaner but equally strong, followed behind with another weed. Both were wearing blue fleeces with the name WRIGHT BROTHERS CARTING on them.

  “Everything good?” I said to my cousins.

  “Well, you have a path to the well,” said Ted. “It took us a while to get to it, but we teamed up with Kyle Nolan from Kyle’s Gardening to clear off about two feet of vines around the well, and we added a pathway leading up to it from the lawn.”

  Ted looked at Old Holly and leaned into me.

  “And before you start complaining that we should have done more,” he said in a low tone, “this job was really something for a bigger team with more time. The thicket around the well is actually quite deep. Kyle finished the pruning, though. We had to borrow an axe from Old Holly to get some of it done. It was that thick.”

  “You guys are the best,” I said to both Ted and Docker. I didn’t know Kyle Nolan, but I knew his wife, Clemmie, since she was a barista at The Bean.

  “Anything for you,” said Docker as Agnes and the other ladies pulled up and parked their trio of Toyotas. “And anything for Agnes.”

  “Hello, boys,” said Agnes from her open car window. She jumped out of her car with a box tied with twine.

  “You didn’t,” said Docker, putting his hand to his heart.

  “I did,” she said. “Lemon bars. Your favorite. I remembered from when you came to clear away my old wood fence last fall.”

  She looked over at Old Holly. They didn’t exactly greet each other as much as acknowledge each other’s presence.

  “I figured Mr. Holland wouldn’t have anything for you to eat, in spite of your labors,” she said, turning back to my cousins, “so I wanted to make sure someone was keeping an eye out for you.”

  “You’re the best,” said Docker.

  My cousins took the box and headed to their truck, which was overflowing with shrubbery. As they pulled away with the last of their load, I watched Ted pop one of Agnes’s treats into his mouth with a smile.

  “Ready?” I said to Agnes.

  “Ready,” she said, her friends coming up beside her.

  “Ready,” said Bellows. He might not have convinced Fontbutter to put him in his production of this Nantucket mystery, but I could see Bellows wasn’t going to relinquish the opportunity to be part of our discovery without a fight.

  For different reasons, we all took a deep breath.

  “Are you coming?” I said to Old Holly over my shoulder.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got baseball to watch. I told Andy, when you find Nancy you can take your snapshots or whatever you want to do. I guess you can take a couple of artifacts for Fontbutter, too. But at the end of the day, I want you all to leave her be.”

  “Will do, Mr. Holland,” said Fontbutter, raising a handheld camera. “I’ll keep an eye on everything for you.”

  “As will I,” said Bellows.

  “Who is he?” said Agnes, as we all headed to the back of Old Holly’s property.

  “He’s a filmmaker,” I said. “Old Holly called him, and he was apparently on the first flight here to make a movie about the excavation.”

  When we rounded the house, we found ourselves in a clearing of
about three or four acres. Old Holly’s land included at least a dozen acres more, but unfortunately for him it was mostly wetlands. As a result, he was stuck with undevelopable land on an island where acreage was more valuable than gold.

  “Leave it to that man to try to make some money off of this,” she said. “Who cares about family pride? Or facts? To him, this is a chance to have his yard cleared for free and make some money in the process.”

  Cherry put her arm around Agnes, and we all continued toward the well. As Ted and Docker had forewarned, the lawn, if that’s what you could call it, given that the grass was half-dead, ended with a wild, dense thicket and stalky pine trees. In the midst of this Northeastern jungle, the team had made their path to the well.

  I noticed that a long folding table had been erected on the lawn. It was covered in some of the climbing equipment Leigh had removed from her car, along with a few other odds and ends for the excavation. I wondered why they had chosen a place so set back from the well to set up a command center.

  Andy stood beside the table, on the phone, and I could hear him giving his chief a collegial update about the work that had been done. He gave a nod of recognition to all of us as we passed him.

  When we reached the old structure, I understood why the table was so far back. My cousins and Kyle Nolan had only been able to clear a limited space around the well, which remained surrounded by thick, high brush. There was not room for all of us and a table. Solder and Leigh were huddled to one side, reviewing a checklist. They looked up at us, and I could tell we had little time to see the site before they’d want us out of their space.

  The well itself was a humble, round structure. About six or seven feet wide and made of the same stones as Cooper’s chandlery, it came up to my waist. If Nancy was below, I could see how her cloak could have been caught against the stones as she lifted her leg over the cumbersome edge.

  Several boards that had covered the old structure for many generations had also been removed. They were shoved into the thicket behind the well. As I’d done with the Cooper’s Candles sign, I walked over to the old slats to examine them. I noticed a few of the old nails on the ground beside them. They were rusty from the elements. Some were machine-made, others were as old as the ones I’d found back at the Morton house. The Hollands had taken care to keep the well sealed over the years.

  Agnes leaned over the thick, rough edge of the well and looked down.

  “Can you see her?” she said. “Oh, you can’t see anything. My word.”

  I joined her in staring into pitch-blackness below us.

  “Hello,” said Cherry into the well. “Anybody there?”

  She looked at our confused faces.

  “I was checking for an echo,” she said. She picked up a pebble and dropped it down the well.

  We didn’t even hear it drop.

  “No tampering with the equipment along the side, please,” said Solder, politely but firmly. He put on a bright yellow windbreaker with many pockets and checked to make sure he had his gloves with him. His expression was both serious and excited. I had a feeling that, except for his concern about us tampering with his site, he was not quite aware of any of us.

  “Good luck,” Fontbutter said to Leigh.

  “You’re not really dressed for our outing,” said Bellows to Fontbutter, perhaps noticing his attempt to flirt with the scientist.

  “I’m right off of an event in Virginia and not dressed appropriately,” Fontbutter agreed, “but my enthusiasm runs wild when I find a good story. This one has the potential to be the biggest hit I’ve ever had.”

  “How’s it going?” said Andy, joining us.

  “Considering my connection to the island, and my expertise in history,” Bellows said to him, “I would like to propose that I accompany Mr. Solder.”

  “That will not be necessary, but thank you, Mr. Bellows,” said Solder.

  “With all due respect, I insist, Mr. Solder. This is as much a historical matter as a forensic one. I am sure I will have information to help you. Any scientist should welcome the offer of help from someone who knows the context of the geography and the culture.”

  Andy took a step between the men.

  “Mr. Bellows, if there is a reason for you to go down the well after Solder’s initial investigation, we can discuss it at that time. Although your expertise in archaeology, especially with regard to New England in the nineteenth century, is especially appreciated, given the situation with the body, I only have permission from Old Holly and the chief of police for Robert Solder and Leigh Paik to descend.”

  I thought Andy did a bang-up job at being diplomatic.

  Solder took off his spectacles. Bellows straightened his fleece.

  “Of course, I have permission to descend the well for filming,” Fontbutter said to him. “I’ll take all the photos you’ll need.”

  Solder raised his eyebrows. Bellows clenched his jaw.

  “Mr. Fontbutter,” said Solder, “I’ll be sure to be down the well each time you descend to film. I’m concerned that someone like you might contaminate the body.”

  Bellows smirked at Fontbutter. Then he bowed to the group and retreated down the path. Leigh handed Andy a walkie-talkie.

  “Alright, everyone,” Andy said. “Let’s clear out. Leigh has given me your walkie-talkie, Solder, so we can stay in touch while you are down the well. She has me on channel two.”

  “Roger that,” said Solder, clicking a rope attached to a belt around his waist to a rope he had secured to the ground.

  Leigh began to do the same. The anthropologists adjusted their helmets, checked their headlamps, and did one last check of their ropes. The rest of us all turned and headed back, single file, to the camp table in Old Holly’s yard.

  “How did Mr. Holland find you?” I asked Fontbutter as we walked up the field.

  Fontbutter gave me a mischievous look.

  “He didn’t find me,” he said. “I found him.”

  “So quickly?” said Agnes.

  I thought her question was a good one. It had been less than twenty-four hours since we’d decided to unearth Nancy Holland, and here was Hugh Fontbutter, making himself right at home.

  “I’m connected to a lot of social media,” he said.

  “You should follow me,” said Cherry. “I have over three thousand followers. I’m aiming to be an influencer.”

  “I’m sure you are,” said Fontbutter, with an amused glance at her wardrobe, much of which was hand-crafted and quite colorful compared to his urban style. “But it was your Girl Scouts who tipped me off. They had several hashtags about a dead body, and one was about the well at Mr. Holland’s house. Anyone who follows stories on ghosts will have heard about this one by the end of the week.”

  “Oh, no,” said Agnes. “Think of all the crazies about to visit the island. Clairvoyants and ghost whisperers.”

  “I know,” said Fontbutter, looking very excited. “The royalties should be very tidy on this one.”

  Bellows was pacing in front of the command center. Flo set up three folding stadium chairs. The Candleers took their seats and stared at the brush, as if they were at a sports event that was more exciting than Old Holly’s Red Sox game.

  The walkie-talkie that Andy was holding blasted white noise as he turned up the volume.

  “Testing,” said Andy.

  We heard a whirring noise, and then a voice broke through.

  “Over,” said Leigh. “We’re heading down. We’ll be in touch when we reach the bottom of the well.”

  “Over,” said Andy.

  Flo took out a can of nuts and opened them.

  “Have something, Agnes,” she said.

  The sound from the walkie-talkie whirred again, this time more loudly.

  “—I think a flashy show is a complete betrayal of our work,” we heard Solder say. “It’s a good thing the skeleton is under our jurisdiction. Another forensic anthropologist might not be so diligent, but I won’t allow Fontbutter access to the
Cooper specimen. And if he does manage to find a way in, I’ll make sure it will come with a large donation to the university. And neither of us will be doing interviews, that’s for sure. At least I know you’ll agree.”

  From the way the two scientists were speaking, we all realized we were listening to a private conversation.

  “I don’t agree,” said Leigh. “But it doesn’t surprise me. You don’t think even the curator from the Historical Association has the right skills.”

  Everyone looked at Bellows, who quickly looked at his phone, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

  “Leigh, this is Officer Southerland. Do you read me?” said Andy.

  There was no response. I gathered that something was pressing against Leigh’s walkie-talkie, so that it was only able to transmit to us.

  “Bellows,” Solder said, “plucked the linen from the body yesterday with his bare hands. Historians should leave the field work to experts. I held my tongue only because I knew you were trying to be nice to the locals.”

  “I only want to be out in the world, my love,” she said.

  The conversation stopped for a few minutes. We could hear heavy breathing of the two partners as they shimmied down the well.

  “Anyone can go down that well,” said Fontbutter, somewhat to himself, as he rubbed his finger around the collar of his button-down shirt. “I don’t need to make donations.”

  No one answered him. By now, we were all pretending to be busy. The conversations both belowground and above were not what anyone had anticipated.

  “All I’m saying is you can’t live in a bubble forever,” Leigh said. “The real world is passing you by, Robbie. And now you won’t even tell me what you’re working on. Why not? What could you possibly be working on that you can’t tell me about? I thought if we came here you might tell me.”