by J A Whiting
Lin walked him to the door and as Leonard drove away in his truck, Viv bicycled around the corner. Holding the front door wide open, Lin waited with a big smile on her face as Viv locked her bike. Viv gave her cousin a hug. “I can tell you’ve got some news for me.” She greeted the friendly dog with a pat and looked eagerly at Lin.
“I found something about William Weston in the papers that Leonard brought over.” Leading Viv to the kitchen island to show her, Lin summarized what she’d learned.
“Having your daughter run off with some creep is a good reason to try and rid your town of those losers.” Viv slung her backpack onto the counter and removed a container of salad. “Although, putting yourself in danger might not be the best idea. I understand that those smugglers could be vicious.”
Lin took the shepherd’s pie from the oven and set it to cool on a wire rack. The cousins set the deck table with dinner plates, napkins, and silverware all the while discussing the information about William Weston.
“It’s a bit of news,” Viv said, “but not a whole lot to help figure out what’s going on.”
“It’s a clue though. I think it’s important, too.” Lin told Viv about the odd sensation she’d experienced when she discovered the article containing some quotes from her ghost.
They carried their food and drinks to the outside table, lit the candles, and settled down to enjoy the meal.
“What was William Weston’s daughter’s name?” Viv scooped a portion of shepherd’s pie onto her plate.
“Rose.”
“How old was she?”
“Twenty.” Lin passed Viv the salad bowl.
“Did the old article say who your ghost’s daughter ran off with?”
“No. I wish it did. It would be another clue to go on.”
Taking a sip of her wine, Viv held the glass and swirled the dark red liquid around. “Do you think your ghost’s appearance has something to do with his daughter?”
Lin took in a deep breath and nodded. “I do, yes. It’s a feeling I got when I read that Weston mentioned to the interviewer that his wife had passed away years ago and that Rose was all he had left.” Lifting her napkin to her lips, she thought over the few things they knew. “I can’t pull it together, but I think the ghost-workers that Mrs. Perkins sees, Rose Weston, and my ghost all have something to do with each other. We need more information.”
Viv sprinkled her portion of salad with oil and vinegar. “What about the sensation you had when we were touring the Perkins mansion? Could that be a clue to what’s happening?”
Lin stopped chewing and stared at Viv. “It must be.” Placing her fork on her plate, she frowned. “How does it all tie together?”
“We need to do more research. After we eat, let’s go through more of the old newspapers.”
“I think we should try to find out who was smuggling liquor back then. We need to pay a visit to the historical museum to look things up.” Lin started to feel hopeful. “Maybe we can actually figure this out.” Her eyes narrowed. “If only I knew what the ghost wants from me.”
“Maybe it will become clear soon.” Viv gave the dog a small piece of chicken. “Keep digging. We’ll get there.”
Lin’s phone buzzed with a text. After reading it, she lifted her head and smiled at her cousin. “It’s Anton. He found some information having to do with William Weston. He wants to meet at the historical museum tomorrow.”
“A break in the case.” Viv raised her glass to toast with Lin.
Lin smiled, lifted her glass, and clinked it against Viv’s.
16
The next day in the late afternoon, Lin and Viv met Anton at the historical museum. Viv had a few employees covering for her and Lin had moved the last two clients of the day to the following morning. Arriving directly from her landscaping job and with no time to stop at home for a shower, Lin worried that she might be kicked out of the place for being dirty and stinky.
The cousins met outside and climbed the granite steps to the cool comfort of the museum. Anton was in his usual seat at the back of the main room sitting at the long polished wood table near the windows overlooking the small back garden. He looked up from his book as Viv and Lin approached and he gestured for them to take seats.
Getting right down to business, Anton flipped through his leather notebook to some of the pages at the front. “It took me a while to find anything of interest, but I was finally able to procure some materials that provided some good information. It’s nothing definitive, but it may help point you in the right direction.”
Lin folded her arms on the table and leaned in with interest. “Leonard’s wife kept some old newspapers and I found a tidbit about William Weston. He had a daughter who ran off with a smuggler and right after that happened, William joined the watch-dog group who tried to help stop the rum running.”
Anton’s dark eyes stared at Lin. “I see. So Mr. Weston had some motivation other than a moral interest in halting the smuggling. A personal motivation can sometimes be more compelling than one based on an ethical concern alone.”
“Did you find anything about Weston’s daughter, by any chance? Her name was Rose.” Viv looked down at Anton’s copious notes. “We wondered if she ever returned home.”
“No, nothing like that. My research has been on Mrs. Perkins and her family.”
Lin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She and Viv had focused on the ghost and trying to determine what he wanted. Lin mentally berated herself for ignoring Mrs. Perkins and her background.
Anton put his finger on a line of his handwritten notes trying to find his place. “Here. I’ve taken down some information. It’s quite interesting. Mrs. Perkins’s father, Rowan Richards, purchased the mansion on Fairview Street, the one that is currently being renovated, in 1926 and lived there until his death in 2001. The man was one hundred and one years old at the time of his passing.”
Viv said, “Well, I guess Mrs. Perkins has good genes.”
“His wife died in the 1980s. Richards had quite a life.” Anton raised an eyebrow. “The man came to the United States from Scotland as a young boy. The family was poor. They had friends in New York City so the family settled there and worked as laborers. Rowan had more ambition, it seems, and moved to Nantucket when Prohibition was instituted to join in the rum running. I am assuming that the young man had a good business sense and strong leadership skills because, rumor has it, he was soon running the smuggling organization here on the island under an assumed name. The operation expanded and he was said to have taken over the smuggling ring in the northeast United States.”
Looks of surprise washed over Viv’s and Lin’s faces.
Anton leaned across the table and lowered his voice even though there were only two other people sitting on the other side of the room. “At the height of their success, it is estimated that Rowan Richards and his gang were taking in about fifty million dollars a year.”
Lin placed her palms on the table and pushed up straight. “What?”
Viv nearly tumbled out of her seat when she heard the amount of money that Mrs. Perkins’s father was making back in the day. “Fifty million? Back in the 1920s? How much is that in today’s dollars?” She rolled her eyes and put her hand up, palm facing Anton. “Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know.”
Anton went on. “Mr. Richards was rivaling the money that Al Capone and his gang were making in Chicago at the time. When Prohibition was on the way out, Capone used his contacts to continue in organized crime. Mr. Richards used his experience and contacts for developing legitimate businesses. He went to Europe to negotiate contracts for distribution and importation rights for gin, scotch, and other spirits. The man invested in real estate, the stock market, and many other businesses and he built an immense fortune and gave generously to charities. Mrs. Perkins was his only child and he gave her the import-export portion of his businesses which she developed into what it is today. When he died, most of his money went to universities, hospitals, and charities.”
“I’ve never heard of Rowan Richards.” Lin shook her head. “I would think he would be known for his rags-to-riches story and his business acumen and success, not to mention, the shady start to his career.”
Anton explained. “The man protected his privacy with a passion. He kept out of the news, donated quietly, held his businesses under umbrella organizations and had the CEOs of those businesses take the publicity. During the last half of his life, he rarely left the island.”
“So Richards bought that mansion on Fairview Street at the height of his rum running days?” Lin was trying to put things together.
“He did.”
Lin speculated. “So those ghost-workers that Mrs. Perkins sees at night … they could be men who worked for her father in the 1920s.”
Viv nodded. “Those ghost-workers must be moving alcohol. They must be working in the gang of men who were employed by Rowan Richards during Prohibition. The ghosts must be reliving, if that’s the right way to put it, one of their nights of smuggling of nearly a hundred years ago.”
“Is Mrs. Perkins seeing the ghosts as some kind of a message from her father?” Lin’s brow furrowed as she tried to understand the implications.
“If she is, then why does your ghost appear? What does he want?” Viv cocked her head to the side. “He was against the smuggling.”
The cousins stared at Anton for clarification.
“No, no.” Anton pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Don’t look at me. I only find the information. You must interpret it.”
Lin’s shoulders sagged. “We could use some help here.”
“Ask your ghost.” Anton flipped through the pages of his notebook for anything he might not have told the girls. “By the way, have you received your invitation?”
Lin’s eyes widened and her heart pounded with dread. “What invitation?”
“The invitation to Mrs. Perkins’s house-warming event.” Anton shuffled some books around on the table.
“I haven’t been home yet.” Lin’s voice trembled slightly and she glanced at Viv. “I haven’t picked up today’s mail yet.” She hoped that she’d been left off of the guest list and there would be no invitation in the mailbox, and then, worrying that there was an invitation, her mind whirled as she tried to think of possible reasons and excuses that she could use not to attend.
Viv put her hand on Lin’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll all be there with you. John’s office will be invited and I’ll be going with him. Jeff will be there. Anton will be there.”
“It might actually be an interesting event.” Anton took a look at Lin. “Perhaps you can focus on trying to link all of the information together while you’re there.” Folding his hands on the table, he added, “Maybe those ghost-workers will make an appearance on the night of the event and we can all see them.”
Lin scowled.
“I must run along.” Anton gathered his things, stuffed them into his black leather briefcase, and dashed away.
Viv sighed. “You’ll figure it out. Walk me back to the bookstore, would you? I’m working the evening shift tonight, too.”
Strolling along the brick walkways of Nantucket town, Viv and Lin discussed the information that Anton had discovered and shared with them.
“I didn’t realize that illegal activities were so lucrative.” Viv smiled. “Maybe I’ll start dealing in illegal items. Maybe I’ll make a fortune from it.”
Lin looked at her cousin out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not sure you have the personality for it.”
“Why not?” Viv pretended to be insulted by her cousin’s doubt that she could be successful at smuggling.
“You’d worry too much and you’d end up getting caught because the police would pick up on your nervousness. You also aren’t cold blooded and couldn’t do the things that would be necessary. You’re generous and kind and good to people.”
Viv narrowed her eyes and joked. “Maybe I could change?”
“Maybe.” Lin chuckled.
The girls walked past some of the beautiful antique mansions that lined Main Street and Lin wondered what was behind the fortunes of the people who built them and the fortunes of the people who owned them now. Could such wealth be amassed in legitimate ways or were such fortunes only possible through shady dealings or unfair business practices or by hurting others?
“I wouldn’t mind being wealthy,” Viv announced. “Not one bit.” Kidding, she narrowed her eyes and gave her cousin a gentle poke with her elbow. “Maybe I need to work on developing my ruthless side.”
“It might help you increase your bank account,” Lin joked. She couldn’t imagine her cousin having a ruthless bone in her body. Suddenly, a tight sensation of dread gripped Lin’s stomach and made her feel sick as the word repeatedly pounded in her head.
Ruthless. Ruthless.
17
Under the dark sky, Lin hurried past her mailbox and gave it wide berth as if the thing might reach out and grab her if she wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t want to know if the box contained an invitation to Polly Perkins’s house-warming event because then she could pretend that the fancy get-together wasn’t going to happen. Unlocking the cottage’s front door, Lin gave the mailbox a quick glance before bolting inside, slamming the door, and leaning back against it while taking in long, deep breaths. She knew it was foolish to behave the way she did, but Lin couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread that consumed her over attending the event at Mrs. Perkins’s newly-renovated mansion.
Nicky wagged his little tail and greeted his owner with sleepy eyes. Despite the late hour, Lin prepared a snack and decided to do some programming work for the mainland business where she was employed part-time. Having worked for the firm for a few years before deciding to move to Nantucket, she was pleased when they asked her to continue to work for them remotely.
Setting her half sandwich and cup of tea on the desk in the spare second bedroom that she used as an office, she sat down at her laptop. The dog curled up on his doggy bed in the corner. Lin sighed watching the dog turn in three circles and settle, wishing her concerns were as care-free as the sweet brown creature’s were.
After working for an hour, it was hard to keep her eyes open. She was about to power down her computer when she decided to stay up a little longer to do some internet searching on William Weston and Rowan Richards. There were several articles that mentioned Richards attending charity events on the island, a story on the wedding of his daughter, Polly, to Roger Perkins, and numerous references regarding his company holdings. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary for a man of his wealth, and in fact, it all lined up with how Anton described Richards … reclusive and averse to publicity. Lin found it odd that not a single word could be found about the man’s early life. It was as if Rowan Richards arrived in the world as a fully-formed adult working in business.
Lin turned her thoughts to William Weston and calculated that since his daughter was twenty years old when she ran off with a rum runner, then Weston was probably around forty at the time which meant he was most likely born around 1880. After keying the man’s name into an internet search engine, Lin scanned the articles and stories, but none of them were about the correct William Weston.
Glancing at the time at the bottom of her computer screen, Lin regretted staying up so late and knew she’d pay for it the next day. Dragging herself up from the chair, she and the dog stumbled sleepily to the bedroom where they climbed into their beds. Lin shut off the light and rested back against her pillow, and just as she was about to doze off, a thought pulsed in her brain causing her to sit bolt upright blinking into the darkness. The idea that surfaced had her heart pounding and her stomach churning. Did Rowan Richards kill my ghost? Did Richards kill William Weston?
Lin couldn’t wait for her workday to end so that she could hurry to the historical museum to look for information on William Weston. She wanted to find out when he’d died, and if possible, how he’d died. Her mind was so focused on the t
hings she needed to learn that she didn’t hear Polly Perkins approaching and when the woman called out to her, Lin startled.
“Hello.” Mrs. Perkins came out the front door of the brick mansion. “I’m glad to see that the front garden is nearly finished.”
Lin said, “Just a few finishing touches.”
“Very good. Will the side garden be completed before my house-warming event?”
Lin assured the woman that the landscaping would all be done in plenty of time for her gathering.
“Did you receive the invitation to the event?” Mrs. Perkins had her hand on her hip. “I expect everyone to be in attendance.”
Lin had forgotten to check her mailbox that morning. “I haven’t received it.”
Mrs. Perkins eyes darkened with disbelief.
Lin quickly explained. “I didn’t get my mail yesterday. I’m sure the invitation will be there when I get home today.”
As the woman was about to turn away, Lin took the opportunity to ask a question. “My cousin and I have been going through some old Nantucket newspapers. We read a bit about your father.”
One of Mrs. Perkins’s eyebrows raised and she took a step closer. “Did you?”
Lin nodded. “He seemed to be a very interesting man.” She gestured to the house. “We read that your father bought the house when he was a young man.”
“He did.”
Even though she knew the answer to her next question, Lin asked anyway. “Did he come from a wealthy family?”
“He did not. My father was a self-made man.” Mrs. Perkins’s voice held a slightly arrogant tone.
Lin smiled. “How did he make his money?”
“Business.” Mrs. Perkins’s huffed seemingly annoyed that anyone would need to ask how a person amassed such a fortune.
