by J A Whiting
“I am also the much smarter brother.” Paul countered his brother’s joke with his own as he shook hands with Lin and Viv.
The cousins were ushered to the living room where several photos were scattered over the coffee table. They all took seats.
“We were just having a look at some of the old photographs,” Peter Van Helman said. He recounted the story for Viv that he’d told Lin earlier in the day about his father and the rum runners.
“Our father was lucky that he wasn’t killed.” Paul slid a photo closer to the girls. “This is Dad here. He’d only been on Nantucket for about a month. This is his friend, the young man who was killed in the gunfight with the dealers.
Lin and Viv leaned forward to get a better look at the pictures.
“This is a photo of the gang-boss, Ronald Jones, his real name was Rowan Richards, who went on to become a very successful businessman.” Paul eyed his brother who nodded and said, “I told the girls that Ronald was an alias. They knew who he really was.”
Peter had a few notebooks next to him on the sofa that contained news stories and photographs. “Ronald Jones was a mastermind and that’s for sure. After I’d heard Dad’s stories about the rum running days and his brief membership with the group, I became interested in Ronald’s life and followed news about him. I was fascinated with the man and how he became so successful. I hoped that one day I might write a book about him.”
“My brother is an historian,” Peter explained.
“Retired professor,” Paul elaborated. “American history is my area of interest.”
“You must know Anton Wilson then?” Viv asked.
“Oh, yes.” Paul smiled. “Anton and I get together once a month for coffee. The talk somehow always turns to history.”
Lin was interested to know more about Rowan Richards. “We understand that Ronald Jones, or Rowan Richards as he was known after the rum running days, was pretty reclusive and shunned attention of any sort. Have you gathered enough information on the man to fill a book?”
“He was indeed a very private man. There’s quite a bit of anecdotal information about Rowan Richards when he was the boss of the rum running gang and the heavy-hand he used to keep control of his area and his crew. My dad introduced me to a few men who had been involved in the gang and they offered to tell me some things on the condition of anonymity. Allegedly, Rowan Richards maimed men, caused accidents, had men murdered to keep them in line or to keep their mouths closed or to use them as examples to the other members of the group to do their work and keep quiet. I don’t have enough to write a book with Rowan solely as the subject. I would write about Prohibition on the island and would include information about some of the gang members and the bosses who ran the gangs.” Paul raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I think that Rowan’s background might be of interest to many people.”
“Is it safe to write about Rowan Richards?” Viv asked.
Paul’s expression turned sober. “That has been my concern for most of my adult life. Rowan has been dead for over a decade now and his loyal partners must all be dead as well. Rowan has a daughter, but I doubt that she runs her business using the same tactics that her father employed. It might be time to prepare a book for publication.”
“What made that man such a monster?” Viv’s voice was gruff. “How does someone have so little regard for other people? How does someone so easily and callously take another person’s life?”
Paul shook his head. “It would probably take a team of psychologists to figure that out.”
“Do you know much about his early life?” Lin questioned. “We know he came over from Scotland and lived with his parents in New York before he came to Nantucket.”
“There isn’t much available about his early life,” Paul said. “I do know that he was arrested in New York several times for assault.”
“So he had violent tendencies right from the start,” Viv noted.
Peter said, “Rowan arrived on the island and joined a fledgling group of smugglers. He became the leader almost immediately and expanded his territory from there.”
Paul shared some other information. “When it was clear that Prohibition would end and with his plenty of contacts, Rowan began thinking about using his immense resources to invest in and develop legitimate businesses. He left Nantucket for a while, changed his appearance to fit the business world. When he ran the smuggling ring from the island, Rowan was skinny, had long black hair that he wore tied back in a ponytail. I think he fancied himself a pirate back then. He returned to using his real name, cut his hair short, lightened it, put on some weight, and always dressed in fine and tailored clothes. He hired the best lawyers and financial people to create a ring around him. He owned a good number of properties on the island even when he lived on the mainland. Eventually, Rowan moved back to Nantucket.” Paul looked at the photos on the table and moved one over to show Lin and Viv. “This is one of the only other pictures of Rowan during the smuggling days.”
“His eyes look a bit crazy,” said Viv.
“Maybe that’s because you know his character and the things he’s done,” Lin suggested.
“This is another picture of Dad.” Paul placed a photograph on the table in front of the girls.
“Oh.” Lin’s heart started to race and she let out an exclamation of surprise when she noticed the man standing next to Paul and Peter’s father in the photograph. It was her ghost. “Do you know this man? I think Viv and I have seen him in other photos of the time.”
“Yes,” Paul said. “My dad said the man’s name was William. He didn’t know a last name. The man was older than our father. Dad liked him.”
Lin hoped to get some information about the ghost. “How did your father know him?”
Paul said, “He was one of the rum runners. William was part of the group who worked for Ronald Jones, later known as Rowan Richards.”
Lin was so shocked to hear Paul say that William was a rum runner that she gaped at him with her mouth open and Viv had to step in. “I’m pretty sure this man was described as belonging to one of the citizen watch-dog groups who did what they could to help rid the island of the illegal smuggling.”
Paul shook his head. “You must be thinking of someone else. Dad told us that William was a good guy, but he was a smuggler. He was on that ill-fated smuggling deal the night of the storm. William was the guy Dad worked with to get the boat safely returned to shore.”
Lin was so baffled by this news that her head was spinning and she felt dizzy. “Did some members of the watch-dog groups infiltrate the gangs in order to report back to the police about who was involved and what was going on?”
Paul cocked his head. “It’s possible, I suppose, but I can’t imagine the authorities would use citizens to do such things. Maybe members of the police force would do that.”
“Though, we’ve never heard anything about that kind of thing,” Peter said.
“I wonder if William was a police officer?” Viv tried to make sense of the matter.
Paul shook his head. “I don’t think so. My father said that William told him that he’d worked in a store on Main Street for more than twenty years. He said he tired of it and wanted a chance at adventure and making some money.”
With trembling fingers, Lin lifted the photograph and stared at the picture of her ghost. What’s going on?
20
“I can’t believe that William Weston was a rum runner.” Lin looked through the car’s passenger side window at the dark night. “I just don’t believe it.”
“Well, maybe he was involved with the smuggling.” Viv turned the steering wheel to move her car onto the side road. “Maybe he got killed in a deal. Maybe he blames Rowan Richards.”
“So why did he choose to come back now? Why is he appearing now? Rowan has been dead for over ten years. What’s the point? Why have those rum runners appeared behind the restaurant now? What’s going on?”
The cousins drove along in silence for a few minutes each
one thinking over the pieces of the puzzle that they’d discovered so far.
“We need to think.” Lin adjusted in the seat to better face Viv. “Why the ghosts have appeared now is an important clue, but that isn’t known to us right now so we have to think about what we can find out.”
“Okay. That’s right.” Viv nodded. “What should we focus on?”
“I think we should try to find out whether or not William Weston was associated with the police force. That could be the reason that he was working with the smugglers, if that’s even true. I think we need to find out how he died. That might be easier to figure out. If it was an accident, maybe there’s a news account. We have the old newspapers from Leonard that we can look through.”
“I’ll drive to your house then and we can spend some time looking at the newspapers.”
In a few minutes, Lin and Viv were curled up on the sofa with the dog asleep in between them. They read through news accounts from the past using William Weston’s date of death that they’d been able to get from the online database to narrow down when an article might show up in the news about his accident. Checking papers up to two weeks after the man’s death date revealed nothing and the cousins sat back on the sofa deflated.
“Now what?” Viv asked.
“William Weston must be buried on the island.” Lin stretched her legs out and rested them on the ottoman. “Tomorrow I’ll call the island cemeteries and ask if William is buried there.”
“How will finding his grave help us figure out how he died?” Viv yawned.
Lin leveled her eyes at Viv. “Tomorrow I’m going to make another call to someone else. I have an idea, but I’m not sure if the person I’m going to call will agree to it.”
Lin parked her truck in the cemetery parking lot and slid out of the driver’s seat. She opened the back door for the dog so that he could jump out. They walked around to the passenger side just as the woman got out and shut the vehicle door.
“Thanks for coming with me.” Lin smiled at Libby Hartnett.
“The ghost is in need.” Libby looked over the peaceful cemetery that had large trees ringing the area. Birds chirped and a gentle breeze cooled the air. “We have to try and help.”
The cemetery worker who Lin had spoken to on the phone gave her directions to William Weston’s plot and Lin led the way up the slight incline to the far corner of the cemetery. When the spot was located, the two women stood quietly looking down at the headstone and the dog sat down next to it.
“I don’t do this very often anymore.” Libby turned to Lin. “It’s exhausting for me. It takes days for me to recover.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I feel a duty.” Libby closed her eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath.
“Should I tell you more about him, my ghost?”
“No. It’s best to just let it happen.” Libby reached out her hand to Lin. “Ready, Carolin?”
Libby Hartnett had a special skill that she’d shared once with Lin several months ago when Lin had returned to the island. The two women were distant relatives and Libby had been helping to guide Lin as she came to terms with and tried to develop her skills of seeing and helping ghosts. Libby had a different ability. Libby could sometimes see what had happened to a person almost like watching an episode of a television show. If she held the hand of someone with special skills, then that person might be able to see what Libby saw.
Lin took in a long breath and grasped the older woman’s hand. The two closed their eyes and tried to empty their minds and slow their breathing and after a minute, the breaths they took became synced with one another. Lin’s hand buzzed slightly as if a tiny electrical current ran between herself and Libby. Slowly, Lin experienced the sensation of entering a dream state, her muscles warmed and relaxed and it almost felt like she was floating on the air. Her vision began to dim until it went completely black and she squeezed Libby’s hand for reassurance.
A pinhole showed in the center of the blackness and bit by bit the hole expanded until Lin could make out several people standing outside somewhere in the darkness. The images were not fully clear … it seemed as if she was looking through a blurry window. Slowly, the sound got louder like a volume knob was being turned up and she began to make out some words.
Three men, dressed in 1920s-style clothing, stood outside a large brick building down near the docks smoking cigarettes being careful to stay out of the light of the streetlamp. It was late at night and the streets were empty.
“What’s taking so long? Where is he?” A tall, skinny man shuffled from foot to foot. “I wanna’ go home.” He threw the butt of his cigarette onto the cobblestones in the road.
“He’ll be here. Keep your shirt on.” A stocky, bald man growled and then cursed the chill in the air. “It’s September already. Bah.”
Footsteps could be heard in the distance coming down the brick sidewalk towards the men.
“This better be him.” A scruffy, young guy tossed his cigarette away and rolled up his sleeves.
William Weston stepped into the pooled light from the streetlamp and stopped short when he saw the three men standing in the shadows. Worry and alarm washed over his face and he took a step back. This was not who he had expected to meet here on the dark corner.
Lin’s heart pounded like a drum as she watched what was happening.
“Hey there, Will.” The tall, skinny man spoke and moved closer to Weston who shuffled back one more step.
“Evening,” Weston managed as he attempted to move past the men blocking his path.
“Not so fast.” The younger guy grabbed Weston’s arm.
“What do you want?” Weston struggled to wrench his arm from the man’s grasp but without success.
“It’s not what we want, you know,” the bald guy told him. “You’re a good guy, Will. It’s what the boss wants.”
Even in the darkness, it was obvious that Weston’s face had paled. He glanced up to the top floor windows of the brick building. “Why? I’ve been doing my job.”
“It’s not for us to decide.” The bald man lurched forward and punched Weston in the stomach.
Lin tried to cry out, but her voice was silent.
The other two men were on Weston in a split second and, in no time flat, the man lay sprawled on the sidewalk facedown, unconscious.
“Get him up.” The bald man glanced around to be sure no one had witnessed the assault. “Carry him.”
The other two men pulled Weston up and draped his arms over their shoulders like the man was drunk and had passed out and they were bringing him home.
“Let’s go, into the water with him.” The bald man started off to lead the way down the empty streets to the waterfront and as he went, he looked up briefly to the top floor of the brick building and nodded. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to his accomplices.
They hauled the unconscious man away down the street with his feet limp and bumping along the cobblestones. As they disappeared around the corner of a storefront, slight movement could be seen in the window of the top floor of the building that stood next to the walkway where the attack on Weston was carried out. A man watched for a few seconds from the window until the three men and Weston were out of sight. Turning away, the moonlight shined on the man’s long dark hair held back in a ponytail.
Rowan Richards.
Lin coughed and startled from the vision, finding herself sitting on the grass in front of William Weston’s gravestone. Her heart was still pounding and beads of sweat covered her forehead. Nicky had his front paws on Lin’s lap and was licking her face. Lin turned to find Libby and saw her leaning forward with one hand holding on to the top of the headstone while her other hand pressed against her eyes.
Lin gave the dog a pat, scrambled up, and darted to Libby. She placed a hand gently on the older woman’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Libby lifted her head, her face was ashen. “I’m okay.” Her voice was barely audible. “I ju
st need to rest.” Lin helped lower her to the grass and sat down next to her.
“My ghost, William Weston, was murdered.” Lin’s breathing was shallow and quick. “Those men beat him unconscious and threw him into the ocean. He must have drowned.” A full minute passed. “The man in the building with the ponytail. Did you see him in the vision?”
Libby nodded. She looked stricken and weak. “Who was he?”
“He was the boss of a smuggling gang during Prohibition. At the time, he went by the name of Ronald Jones. He was a monster.” Lin told Libby the terrible things she’d learned about the man.
“What happened to him? That boss.”
“He became a very wealthy man. He tried to hide his past in order to become a respectable business owner. His daughter lives on-island.”
Libby faced Lin with narrowed eyes. “Who is his daughter?”
“The man’s real name was Rowan Richards. His daughter is Polly Perkins.”
Libby’s eyes went wide and she shook her head. “I wonder if that woman knows about her father and his crimes.”
Nicky squeezed between Lin and Libby and leaned against the older woman. Libby ran her hand over the dog’s fur. “Was this experience helpful to you, Carolin?”
“It was.” Lin hugged Libby. “Thank you for helping me. Now I know what happened to William.”
Lin looked across the wide space of the cemetery. Now I need to figure out why.
21
Lin was completing the landscaping work on Mrs. Perkins’s side yard by planting hydrangeas, hostas, day lilies, and several other different perennials. The small side garden was surrounded by a high cedar fence and had a brick walkway that curved in the grass and led to a large cedar and wrought iron gate that opened to the expansive rear yard. The gate had been locked the entire time Lin had worked the job at Mrs. Perkins’s mansion.
All the while that she dug holes, mixed in some fertilizer and peat moss, and placed the plants into the prepared spots in the ground, ideas about William Weston and Rowan Richards swirled in Lin’s mind. Did William manage to join the group of smugglers in order to weaken or sabotage their organization? Did Rowan discover William’s purpose and order his murder?
