The Curious Case of the Missing Figurehead: A Novel (A Professor and Mrs. Littlefield Mystery)

by Diane Noble

  It was a setup; I knew it the minute Chloe Grace came on the phone. “Gramsy, can I come over? I was so sad we had to leave last night. I’m scared and I want to be with you.”

  I would walk over hot coals for this little girl. In my opinion, the most beautiful sound in the world was Chloe Grace calling me Gramsy. I melt. I’m putty in her hands. Always will be.

  I tried to stick to my guns. “I have some work I need to do, sweetie. We’ll have to plan a sleepover for another night.”

  “I don’t like Mama’s friend anymore,” she said. “I don’t want to be here when he comes. You looked mad at him last night and now he scares me.”

  Oh dear. I’d been had. I went over the alternatives in my head. With Chloe Grace along, this would have to be a reconnaissance mission. Visual contact only. If by some miracle I encountered Hyacinth and the thieves, I would have to stay back—hard for me to do, but necessary because of the little treasure in the backseat. I would step aside and let law enforcement take charge. Above all else, I would do anything in my power to keep my granddaughter out of danger.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to ignore the niggling doubts still alive and well in my brain. “Let’s make a new plan. How about if you come with me? You can be my assistant.”

  “Yay!” I held the phone away from my ear as she screamed. “Mama says you’re looking for Auntie Cinth.”

  “I am.”

  “Then I can help.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Put your mom on.”

  In the background, Chloe Grace squealed and laughed. Katie took the phone. “So what’s the plan?”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll take her with me.” I explained my plan to do research and not get into anything dangerous. I shot up an arrow prayer while Katie thought it over.

  “To Possum Grove?”

  “Yes. I’ll have my phone. I’ll keep you posted along the way. But we may not get back until late. Pack her jammies and she can spend the night.”

  More squeals of delight as Katie relayed the news.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The Professor

  Max had good reason to visit his dad. He enjoyed their weekly visits immensely, but today held special significance. He needed to jog his dad’s memory about the sinking of the Andrea Rae. The last time they spoke, he felt his dad knew more than what he’d revealed through the years.

  But as he drove away from El’s, his dad and the Andrea Rae weren’t what occupied his mind.

  No, he wondered about his sanity. Never in his life had he fallen so quickly and completely for a woman. Not even the girl he’d been engaged to marry eons ago, the one who broke his heart.

  He left El with mixed feelings: sorry he couldn’t go with her to search for Hyacinth; also relieved to get away from her before he did something foolish—like pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly.

  His feelings took him by surprise. He’d known since Friday morning that he was falling hard, but when he saw her priceless expression as she entered the kitchen today, he knew he’d never be the same. It was as if he looked into his own soul. Her face, her eyes, told him she was—in that one instant—filled with joy, disbelief, vulnerability, and fear.

  Yes, he was afraid. He’d trusted a woman once a long time ago, so long ago it was almost laughable. Still, it took years to get over her. Sometimes he wondered if he still feared relationships because of the one that failed. Human beings were odd that way, their memories selective and tending to turn toward the negative if allowed.

  But just thinking about El made his heart rate increase. Her laughter, velvet and husky; the way she talked with her hands; the tears that seemed to embarrass her yet flowed freely and somehow pulled from him a tenderness he never knew he had; her eyes and the way they sparkled with mischief and made his heart soar.

  He downshifted and turned onto a mountain road just east of Asheville. He traveled north for a good way; he’d memorized the route years ago. The cottage, his destination, had been in his family for generations, though he associated it more with his grandpa than with his dad, who moved there after retiring from the navy.

  The closer he got to the cottage, the more eager he was to see his father. And to talk about the figurehead. Maybe he’d left out something in his story.

  Max had called him after he found the Lady, but he hadn’t talked with him about the theft. He probably already knew. Gray Ghost couldn’t get and didn’t want broadcast TV, only a radio signal. He would likely have heard about it on the local news station.

  He turned the Defender onto another smaller road, a two-tracker. The average traveler would have no idea that, in the midst of these thick woods, a thriving community of two dozen people and a few herds of deer existed, independent of the outside world.

  Mostly, they were older but hardy souls. They lived separate from society, but took care of each other. It had been that way for generations. Some nights, it was one’s turn to cook for the others; another night, someone else provided the victuals. Nothing was ever planned. It just happened. There was dancing and storytelling, fiddling, hunting, and fishing. His dad thought he’d found himself a little piece of heaven when he got out of the navy and moved to his own father’s cottage in Gray Ghost.

  When Max’s grandparents lived there, he had often stayed with them for long stretches of time. Now, it felt as if he were coming home.

  He spotted his dad’s cottage from where the two-tracker ended a ways down the mountain. Max caught his father up on the latest news about the Lady, but his father obviously had something on his mind.

  “Son, I came across something the other day that I’d forgotten about. Hearing the news of the robbery got me to thinking about the sinking of the Andrea Rae, about the day it went down, and a letter I received sometime later.”

  He got up and went into the cottage. “You stay there, son,” he said from the doorway. “I’ll be right out.”

  He came back out a few minutes later with an envelope. “I want you to read this.” He handed it to Max.

  Max opened the envelope and pulled out a letter.

  March 25, 1945

  To: Wallace Haverhill

  Dear Sir:

  It may come as a surprise that someone besides you survived the sinking of the Andrea Rae. You have become quite the hero as the lone survivor. Since finding out about your celebrity in my local newspaper, I thought it would be wise for us to compare notes. I, too, was on board that fateful night. I remember hearing someone speak of a treasure. Things went black after that, and the next thing I knew, I had washed ashore with no memory. My memory returned when I saw your photograph in the newspaper and read your story.

  I hope to receive a reply from you. My address is 41771 Mountain View Avenue, Wilmington, North Carolina.

  Cordially yours,

  William B. MacDonald

  His dad reached for his US Navy mug and sipped his coffee. “I put the letter away, at first thinking the seaman was a crackpot. He called me a celebrity. All I did was get pulled ashore. I didn’t even have to swim. And surviving a shipwreck when everyone except you perishes is worse than dying with your friends and comrades, believe you me. I was no hero. And I didn’t want to meet someone else going through the same sorrow I was. Then, later on, I got to thinking maybe it was for real. I replied to the letter, but it was returned with a stamp that said no one at that address.”

  “What do you think now?” Max examined the type. It clearly was from the 1940s or thereabouts, and not something recent. “You remember when you got it?”

  “Oh, yes. It was right after the war. The date on it is authentic.”

  “May I take it with me?”

  “Of course. I’d hoped you would. Maybe it will help to run down this MacDonald or his descendants. Maybe they had something to do with the robbery.” He
shrugged.

  “We certainly haven’t had much luck so far.”

  “Son, do you still have a passion for finding it?”

  Max smiled. His father always got to the point. Saw things no one else did in him. “I do, but it’s tempered somewhat. I’m just now beginning to realize there’s been a shift in my thinking.” He leaned forward, pondering his dad’s question. “I think it’s because I’ve come to understand that an object, no matter its dollar value, can’t come close to the sanctity of life. The value of even a single life. A lot of people have been placed in danger, one even died on Friday night, because of an object.” He paused, surprised at the difference three days made.

  They sat quietly together.

  “Better late than never,” his father finally said. “What’s her name?”

  Max laughed softly. “El. El Littlefield.”

  “Ah, one of the Eldila.”

  Max grinned, appreciating his father’s knowledge of the writings of C. S. Lewis and his Space Trilogy. “I thought of them too when she told me her name. She is full of love, laughter, and light.” He was quiet a moment and then added, “Strangely, if it weren’t for the justice of returning the millions, perhaps billions, of dollars’ worth of treasure to the families of the victims, the rightful owners, it would have little meaning.”

  “And that from a historian. She must really be something.”

  Max threw back his head and laughed. “It’s not just about her, Dad. I take my vows seriously, my vows of living simply, in poverty and chastity. An overabundance of wealth, unless generously helping the poor among us, is troubling. But these treasures, and the families they belong to, are not mine to judge. My quest is to find them.”

  “Hmm. Does El know of your Franciscan vows, that you follow Christ’s footsteps in the manner of Saint Francis, a simple monk?”

  Max grinned. “You really know how to spell it out for me, don’t you?” He studied his father’s weathered face, the flowing white beard, the lively blue eyes, and nodded slowly. “I need to tell her. It’s only fair.”

  “Especially the chastity part.”

  “It doesn’t mean what you think, Dad.”

  “I know that, but she won’t, so you better talk fast when you explain it.” He laughed. “I would love to be there when that happens.” He leaned forward and gave Max a playful slap on the knee. “Bring El with you next week.”

  “As if that will ever happen.” Max grinned at his dad. “I would like to bring her up her with me, but you’ve got to promise to behave yourself.”

  His dad’s eyes brightened. “You mean I can’t talk about the heirs I’m hoping you’ll give me?”

  Max was still laughing as he walked down the mountain to the Defender. His dad never failed to lift his spirits.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Mrs. Littlefield

  After three restroom breaks and one ice cream stop, we made it to a faded roadside sign that pointed to Possum Grove, five miles away.

  Chloe Grace had been a little trooper and kept a lively conversation going with either me or with the doll that sat next to her in the backseat. She’d even drifted off for a brief nap. Now she was getting antsy, and I didn’t blame her. I was too.

  “How much longer, Gramsy?”

  “We’re almost there, honey. Help me watch for a church.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I don’t know. But we might see a sign that says Possum Grove Holy Ghost Revival Church.”

  “That’s a big name for a church. I don’t think I can spell that. Those are big words.”

  “They are.”

  “Is that where Auntie Cinth is?”

  “She might be. She called me from a telephone that belongs to the pastor here.”

  “I see it, I see it,” she squealed a little bit later.

  I too saw the small brick building in the distance, but as we drove closer, it turned out to be a Baptist church.

  Dusk set in, and I wasn’t too keen on driving after dark. Not only did we need to find the church, and the pastor, we had to make our way back to Eden’s Bridge. I began to wonder if I’d been out of my mind to bring Chloe Grace along on this trek. I’d just been so sure that this phone number might lead to Hyacinth. So sure of a happy outcome.

  The what-ifs marched in and took up residence in my stomach.

  We came to the town of Possum Grove, which boasted a general store, a café, a gas station, and a dollar store. All were closed.

  I kept my foot on the accelerator, and we soon left the little town in the distance.

  “There it is, Gramsy,” Chloe Grace squealed again. “That’s gotta be it. I just know it. Let’s stop and see!”

  In the waning light, I spotted a small white clapboard church down the hill from what appeared to be an old graveyard. As we drew closer, I slowed to have a better look. I didn’t see a sign, but there was a steeple on top of the roof.

  The church looked friendly, with its windows and doors open wide and light spilling out into the darkening dusk of evening. A few cars were parked on one side of the building, and as I pulled up, parked, and turned off the engine, I heard singing drifting from inside.

  “Music!” Chloe Grace unfastened her seat belt and scrambled from the car. She stretched her arms and legs, allowed herself a loud yawn, and then took off running for the church.

  I trotted along behind.

  “Gramsy, come look. Hurry!” Chloe Grace called when she reached the doorway. “It’s a choir, and I know the song.” They were singing a rollicking, syncopated version of “This Little Light of Mine.” “I love that song,” she said. She started singing with the choir, at first mouthing the words, then growing bolder and louder.

  Several members noticed us and smiled, and then the choir director turned to see what had caught their attention. He clicked his baton on his music stand and the singing stopped.

  The organist, a middle-aged woman with a graying cap of curls, halted, reluctantly it seemed to me, in the middle of “I’m going to let it shine, let it shine, let it …”

  “Hello, there,” the choir director called to us. “Can we help you?”

  “I’m looking for the Possum Grove Holy Ghost Revival Church,” I said, walking briskly down the aisle.

  “Well, now.” His smile spread. “The good Lord has led you to the right place. You’re standing on holy ground in the very church you’re looking for. What can we do for you?”

  I took Chloe Grace by the hand, and we walked toward a choir of about fifteen men, women, and teens arranged on risers.

  “We’re practicing for a contest in Nashville at the end of the month,” the choir director said. “Normally, we don’t meet on Sunday nights, but because of the contest, we’re working in an extra rehearsal. I’m glad we’re here tonight. The Holy Ghost must’ve put it in our hearts so we’d be here for you.”

  I smiled my thanks. “I’m Elaine Littlefield, and this is my granddaughter, Chloe Grace.”

  “And I’m Cleon Washington, the pastor’s son.” He shook hands with Chloe Grace and then with me. “Now, how can we help?”

  “We’ve driven a long way today, looking for my missing friend. We’re from Eden’s Bridge.”

  “That is a ways.” His expression reflected his concern.

  “I received a call from her today on a phone that had this number on it, and the name Marshall Washington.” I pulled my phone from my purse, tapped a few icons and showed him the number.

  “That’s my parents’ number,” he said, appearing even more puzzled.

  The choir members drifted from their positions on the risers and gathered around us.

  “I remember my mama saying something about a woman she helped out this morning during our worship service.”

  My spirits leaped up inside me. “Did she give her name?”

&n
bsp; A younger woman stepped forward. “I’m Cleon’s sister, Natasha. I remember Mama sayin’ that the woman was in a hurry and never gave her name. Mama gave her some food from our potluck, and some bottles of water. She must’ve given her the phone too.”

  “Did this woman say where she was going?”

  “If she did, Mama didn’t say. She and Daddy were pretty excited about leaving on their mission trip.”

  The choir members nodded and started talking about it. Something to do with helping out the less fortunate, going where the Holy Ghost leads, but not knowing where that might be when they first get on the road out, how many they’d helped through the years, just depending on the Holy Ghost to lead them to those in need.

  My heart plummeted. I couldn’t help thinking I could use a little help from the Holy Ghost myself about now. So could Hyacinth. “It sounds like there’s no way to get in touch with them.”

  “Especially now that they don’t have the cell phone,” Cleon said. “It only worked half the time anyway.”

  “If they happen to call, would you give them this number?” I jotted down my cell phone number and name and handed it to Cleon. “Have your mother call me about my friend? She might know some details that she didn’t mention to anyone else.”

  Cleon studied my face, probably noticing how my spirits had fallen. “You look in need of refreshment. We have potluck leftovers downstairs.”

  I shook my head. All I could think about was how we’d come so far for so little. We did find out that Hyacinth had been here, but we didn’t know where she’d gone next. “I promised Chloe Grace that we’d stop by the Cracker Barrel out by the interstate for supper.”

  Cleon nodded. “Little ’uns love that place.” Then he smiled, looking straight down at Chloe Grace, who I could see was getting more fidgety by the minute. “How about joining us for another round of “This Little Light of Mine”? I heard some mighty fine singin’ a few minutes ago comin’ out of your mouth.”

  Chloe Grace brightened considerably. She looked at me for approval and I nodded. “You’ll have fun. Go ahead.”