Past Malice

by Dana Cameron

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “And Dad called the other day. He and Beebee are already in Nantucket, but they said they would stop by here Labor Day for a visit.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll stop by then too. Get it over with.” She finished her beer and put the bottle on the side of the sink; she left the shredded label on the table. “I’m for bed. We working on the sherds tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I’ll do that for a bit and then head into town.”

  “I’ll be gone for the morning, so plan on taking the car in the afternoon.”

  “Okay. Night, Brian.”

  “Night.”

  The next morning, after ensuring that the crew had ample work to keep them occupied through the day, I tore off down to the photography place in Stone Harbor to pick up the rest of my prints. There were two main roads in Stone Harbor, and both roughly followed the coastline. The first, the oldest, ran directly along the waterfront, and I knew from hard experience that in the peak summer season it was worth parking as far away as possible and walking in. The traffic was incredible. It was complicated by campers and motor homes for which there was barely room, the proliferation of tourists who ran back and forth across the street from the view of the harbor to the photo-opportunity stocks that seemed to be obligatory in any Massachusetts town older than two hundred years, and yet another T-shirt stand wedged into an eighteenth-century shop space. The riot of color and noise, set against a background on one side of white sails and blue ocean and on the other by low buildings of stone and wood, modestly painted in muted colors, was sometimes a little tough to take. The second road was newer and therefore slightly less twisty. It was about a quarter of a mile inland and ran past what was now the main business district.

  It was still early, so I made good time. As I entered the photo place the owner, Roger, greeted me warmly, and with good reason. I kept him in electricity for months at a time with the bills I ran up with my slides and prints, but it was worth it. He always got the color and the sharpness right and those were the main things.

  “Morning, Emma.”

  “It is morning, isn’t it?” I said, a little more cheerfully than I am usually able to manage. “How’s things, Roger?”

  “Not bad. Last trickle of prom and graduation pictures, now we’re heading into vacation shots. I always look forward to yours, though; I never know what I’m going to get. Sometimes it’s old maps, sometimes it’s buildings, sometimes it’s broken pieces of things, sometimes it’s great scenery—”

  “Those last ones are probably Brian’s fault. He made me take a vacation last year. My system still hasn’t recovered from all that lying around on the beach in Jamaica.”

  “Well, they were pretty shots,” he said approvingly. “And this time I have—what? Dirt. Rocks. I have to tell you Emma, I wasn’t thrilled.” He smiled and handed me a couple of envelopes.

  “Ah, but these are special rocks and dirt. These are historical rocks and dirt.” As always, I opened them right then and there, to see how they came out. “See here? That’s the foundation of a house that was built in the seventeen-twenties, part of it burned about fourteen years later. And that,” I pointed to a shallow depression in the ground, “I’m thinking that looks like it was a planting hole, maybe to put in a small tree or a bush. It could also be something related to the destruction of the house, but we’re finding more of them and I’m wondering if there wasn’t a garden there at some point after the fire.”

  “Emma,” Roger said. “It’s dirt. It’s a hole in the ground. This makes the usual stuff I see, like thirty-six exposures of kids with the family cat, all of them wearing party hats, look like fine art.”

  I clucked. “Some people have no appreciation for science. I’d like to oblige you with cute cat pictures, but I’m not sure ours would register on film—there’s something demonic about him.”

  Roger rang up the total. “Thirty-four fifty please.”

  “Ouch.”

  He smiled. “Remember though: That’s historic dirt in those photos.”

  I made a face as I handed him the cash and took my receipt. “Take it easy.”

  “Whenever I can.”

  Pulling up the drive to the Chandler House took a little of the wind out of my sails; it was hard to enjoy the beautiful day knowing that Justin had died in such an ugly fashion just the day before. It was still early when I arrived, and the historic house was in a state. The fact that Fee bustled about so briskly rubbed me the wrong way, and I wondered if I was being too cynical in imagining that the spreading news about Justin’s death mightn’t goose the ticket sales for the house tour, when they eventually resumed. Surely that was too base a thought….

  I walked into her office. “How are you doing, Fee?”

  “Well, it’s all just a little sad and disturbing, isn’t it? I’m glad I have my work to keep me busy, else I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

  I recalled that she hadn’t thought much of him when she’d voiced her opinions at the board meeting. She thought he was too young, though the way she seemed to challenge Daniel, I wondered whether there wasn’t something else going on there—a power struggle, perhaps? Something that wasn’t obvious to everyone else.

  “Is there a new guard coming soon?” I said.

  “Oh, yes. We called the person who was second in line for the job, my first choice, actually. He said he was still free and happy to start work.”

  “Suited for the job, is he?” I said, not quite certain how to phrase a more direct question about what Fee thought of Justin.

  “My, yes. Nice older gentleman. Married. Not so flighty as a lot of the younger people we spoke to. You never know what they’re getting up to, or how long they’ll stay. You want someone solid, responsible.”

  I thought about Justin’s goal of being a history teacher, the way he told me he went about his work toward his master’s degree. “Justin seemed pretty responsible to me.”

  “I’m sure he was, in his way,” she said quickly. “But he’s gone now, and who knows under what circumstances, and now we have to carry on, don’t we?”

  There was something almost happy about her brisk manner this morning that sent a shiver down my spine. “Is Aden in?” I asked, if only to try and collect myself.

  “Yes he is. He’s back in his office, if you like.”

  I rapped a knuckle against her desk idly. “I guess I’ll stop up and check in before I head back home. Any idea when the police will be back?”

  “I haven’t the least idea. Later this morning, I imagine.”

  She seemed singularly uninterested in the events that were virtually taking place right under her office window. Most people would have given in to guilt-tinged curiosity of some kind.

  “Do you know if there’s going to be a service for Justin?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll be told.” Emotions fought across her face and she eventually decided to tell me: “From what I know of Justin’s…people…they stick close together. It’s possible they might only have a private ceremony. They tend to be clannish and quiet.”

  “You know them well?” I was assuming she meant his family, but why should she hesitate over that?

  She colored. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  That was interesting; how was it she knew so much about Justin’s family? I didn’t know whether Fee was from around here.

  “I guess I’ll head back and find Aden.”

  “All right, Emma.”

  The door to Aden’s office was ajar, and he was seated by his desk with his back to me, looking out the window at the harbor, with his feet up on the sill, talking on the phone. His office was exactly what you’d expect for such a room. It was more like his personal library, with a couple of nice pieces of period furniture, well-worn wool carpets, and a framed antique map of Stone Harbor and Boxham-by-Sea on the wall without a window. Only the open files on his desk and the computer betrayed that it was a place of business.

  A
t my knock, he craned his head around to see who it was and waved me in.

  “—very good then. I see we’re all on the same page. Just one more thing before I let you go—”

  I walked over to the wall to look at a framed photograph crowded with men dressed in hunting garb and armed with rifles, standing over a couple of bucks. In the corner, someone had written in ink 1972 STONE HARBOR HUNTING PARTY. Some of the faces looked familiar, although the only one I could definitely identify was Aden himself. Same grin, more hair, more flesh on his bones.

  Aden hung up and with a little difficulty swung his legs down to the floor, before he swiveled around to face me. He grimaced with the effort.

  “Isn’t that the first thing they teach you in school, Emma? Not to tilt your chair back, not to put your feet up?”

  “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  Aden rubbed at his back. “I know I shouldn’t do it, but I do it anyway. It’s terrible for me, the ruin of my back, and yet I do it anyway. Why is that, do you think?”

  What I thought was that Aden didn’t seem to be much concerned with what had taken place just outside his office and only the day before. No one was expressing the sadness, confusion, or anger that one might have expected; hell, that I was experiencing myself. “Maybe you aren’t much for doing what people tell you to do,” I offered.

  Aden tapped the desk with his middle finger. “Well, I’m not at that. I see you’re interested in ancient history there.” He indicated the photograph.

  “Yes, it looks like a classic.”

  “We used to go every year. That was the last time we were all together.” He got up and pushed his nose close to the photo. “There I am, of course. Couldn’t miss that puss, could you? And there is Burke Chandler—that’s Bray’s father, he’s gone now—and that one is Keith Prowse, Fee’s older brother. That one there is Raymond Taylor, poor bastard.”

  “Is he related to Perry?”

  “Oh, God yes. Don’t you know, we’re all related to each other, we old families?” He cackled. “But Raymond was Perry’s father. A great man for hunting, was Ray, but then the cancer got him, and took its time too.” Aden sighed hugely, then he looked at me slyly. “But there’s someone else you know in that party.”

  I had another look at the picture and then shrugged. Time had changed too much for me to recognize who I might know. “I’m actually asking you a trick question. Teddy Cressey is taking the picture.”

  “He went hunting with you?”

  “Well, he kept pestering me to go with us, so I let him come along. You know, to look after us, help with the dirty work. No one really liked him, but it was useful to have an extra pair of hands along. It was a good time.” He sighed again. “But you’re not here to discuss that long-forgotten trip. I’ll tell you, I really wish that I could be anywhere but in this miserable office today.” He went over and sat back down at his desk, swiveling toward the window again.

  “I can believe it. It’s going to be a tough one.”

  “I’m going to imagine that I’m out there on the water. Nothing can follow you out there, Emma, or at least, you’re given the illusion of that, which is almost as good. Do you know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “It’s been a while, but I grew up sailing.”

  “There you are. No noise, you have only the immediacies of what you’re doing, and if those are taken care of, you’re free to watch the scenery, ignore the rest of the world.” He cast another longing glance through the window behind him, smiled sadly, and then resigned himself to being where he was. “What can I do for you this morning, Emma?”

  “Not much. I guess I wanted to know whether you’d heard anything from the police. About Justin, about what their plans are for the site.”

  “I don’t know much. They’d only say that he was shot, but of course, they wouldn’t say anything more than that. We didn’t find anything about the locks or alarm to suggest a break-in, but what I’m willing to guess is that poor Mr. Fisher startled someone who intended just that. I can’t guess why, though. We don’t keep a lot of cash on the premises, ever, and anything that might be of value in the house is generally too large to be carried off easily or too recognizable to be easily disposed of.”

  I had to agree; there wasn’t much in the house that was fantastically valuable. Most of the rooms were decorated to illustrate different periods of the house’s use, and most of the objects weren’t actual belongings of the Chandler family but things accumulated along the way to furnish the rooms and give an idea of how each space was used through time. The furniture was good, but there wasn’t anything that would make a break-in worthwhile. Or make killing poor Justin Fisher worthwhile either.

  “I’m betting it was just one of those unhappy accidents that plague our society these days. Stupidity that is complicated and escalated by the use of violence. But that’s something you’d know something about too, isn’t it?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I instantly knew what he was talking about but couldn’t believe that he would mention again. It was a ghoulish prying that was in the poorest taste, as far as I was concerned, especially after I’d made it clear how much the topic bothered me when he brought it up after the board meeting. Anger made a mask of my face and I could feel my jaw muscles tighten. “What is it that you mean, Aden?”

  “I mean that you’ve experienced this violence I describe firsthand.” His words were as hard as I felt my face going. It was an aggressiveness that was totally inappropriate to the situation, bringing up what had happened at Penitence Point, as he seemed to know about it.

  “Yes. So have many people.”

  “It just occurs to me that you might feel Justin’s death more keenly than others of us, because of that. I mean, we knew Justin well, but I could see how his death, the very fact of finding his body, would have a profound effect on you.”

  Although his words sounded like sympathy, they struck me as being more of a probe, and I found myself disliking Aden intensely. He might as well have asked “What makes you tick?” and been no less offensive, as far as I was concerned. It was the pain from my teeth clenching that reminded me to relax a little before I chipped a tooth or said something I shouldn’t.

  Before I could figure out what to say in response to this, Aden withdrew. “Look, I’m only trying to say that I know you had an awful shock yesterday and that you must be feeling it acutely. I’m an oaf: I try to be sympathetic and end up trampling all over the sensibilities of the other person. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  I wasn’t satisfied; it occurred to me that Aden always knew exactly what he was saying and how it would affect the other person. His behavior was that of a curious kid with a dissecting kit, scalpel in eager hand. His persona as a jovial eccentric was a mask for something far less amusing or attractive.

  “While you are here, working on the site, I do feel responsible for you, so I hope you’ll let me do anything I can to help you with your work. Through all this.”

  And if I wasn’t completely mistaken, he was reminding me that I was working here on his say-so and was there just a hint of admonishment should I decide to speak my mind? Maybe I wasn’t in the best state, but my instincts are good and getting better all the time, and I was pretty certain that was exactly what was going on.

  “Well, unless you can speed up the police investigation, so I can get back to work out there, I guess there’s nothing you can do,” I said lightly. “So I’ll just have to pretend that I’m out there for a sail too, while I head for the library today. Actually, if I were out there, it wouldn’t be a bad way of studying the site. I mean, when you get down to it, so much of the traffic along this coast was conducted by water that it’s like the houses along the big rivers in the south, where you have two front doors; one for the road side and one for the water side.”

  “That explains so many of the narrow, twisty little roads we have around here—highways included,” Aden agreed, looking thoughtful.

  “I’m sure the Chandlers would ha
ve had a jetty or a wharf, if not by their cliff, then close by, for people to reach them that way too.” All I had to work from was one reference in a diary and the tax records, so I didn’t know the actual location of it yet.

  “Well, I might not be able to take you out on the water myself today, but maybe I can help. You say you haven’t been sailing for a while, but how would you feel about taking my outboard? It’s tied up at the marina on the other side of the point. The currents can be pretty strong along the point, but if you’re up to it, you’re welcome to take that out and have a look at the historic site from the water today.”

  Actually, as little as I liked the idea of being beholden to Aden at this particular moment, it struck me as a great idea. No one expected me back at the house much before noontime, and the thought of being on the water was beguiling, especially if I could rationalize it as being in the name of work. “I’d love to, as long as you don’t….”

  “I’m tied up here for the rest of the day. Why don’t you?” He grinned, a nasty little imp’s grin. “I can see you want to.”

  Aden seemed to be able to see a good many things and I was beginning to think that it wasn’t his most appealing trait. “Okay, thanks, I’ll do that.”

  “Here’s a note.” He began to scribble on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “I doubt that anyone would give you any trouble, but just in case, give them this. But you shouldn’t have any problem.” He reached into a drawer and then handed me a key, “This is for the padlock.”

  I took it and put it into my pocket. “Great, thanks. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Like I said, there’s no chance of me getting out of here today. I’m a slave to the phone and will be for a while.” He made a sour face. “Not the least of which will be the Chandler family reunionistas, when they hear that there’s been a death here. It is a big fundraiser for us and I can’t let it get away from me…us.”