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

by Diane Noble

  I squeezed her hand. “It sure does.”

  I looked up to see Max running toward us. Sheriff Doyle was right behind him. Then I blinked in surprise to see Bubba and Junior, grinning to beat the band, come running from behind. And EMTs rolling a stretcher, looking as though they were in a race with the others to reach us first. And they did.

  The paramedics lifted Katie onto the stretcher, then glanced at Chloe Grace. “I’m fine,” she pronounced, grasping my hand even tighter. I nodded indicating that she was.

  Sheriff Doyle had joined us, and stepped forward to greet me. “Job well done,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “First you tell me you’re going to arrest me for everything from manslaughter to drug possession, and now you’re praising my work?”

  “Point taken,” he said, backing off. “I admit I get on my high horse sometimes. I’m sorry.” He held up both hands as if in surrender. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” I said, then smiled. “Something tells me I’ll hear it again.”

  I turned to Max, but Bubba and Junior got in the way. They were still grinning when the sheriff came up again and gestured toward them. “Meet my newest recruits.”

  “Recruits?” These two hellions? I exchanged a glance with Max. He stood open-mouthed too.

  “We just graduated from the academy,” Bubba said, looking a lot more professional than the last time I laid eyes on him.

  The sheriff stepped up, his grin widening. “I recruited them to go undercover to help us solve the puzzle of the ipecac epidemic.”

  Not to be outdone, Junior elbowed his way into the group. “We’ve been working behind the scenes.”

  The sheriff gave Junior a good-natured slap on the back. “We’d suspected Dr. Fletcher for some time but had no proof. Sorry I kept you out of the loop, but I had to be sure.”

  I was dumbfounded.

  “We’re sorry for the things we said to you, Mrs. Littlefield,” Bubba said, looking appropriately contrite.

  “You should be.” I looked at his brother. “And you too.”

  “We got into our roles a little too eagerly,” Bubba said. “Even Mama said she was ashamed.”

  “My turn,” Max said stepping up and nudging the Sutherlands out of the way. He drew me into his arms and held me as if he never wanted to let me go. Then he stooped down and hugged Chloe Grace.

  “Did you know it was Jane and Sandy?” I asked Max.

  “Jane was on board the Black Watch with me when the figurehead was found.”

  “She had access to your gear?”

  He nodded. “I think she also guessed that because of what the figurehead meant to me, I’d be in the water a second time. But Sandy …” He frowned. “But as for Sandy … I’m haven’t yet figured out his role.”

  By the time we reached the marina office, the EMTs had loaded Katie into the ambulance.

  “She’s suffered a possible concussion,” one of them said to me. “It appears that she fell. The patterns of bruising aren’t consistent with blunt force and she doesn’t seem to have any broken bones.”

  “Which hospital?” I didn’t want my daughter out my sight for longer than a few seconds.

  “Mercy General,” the same EMT said.

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “They’ll be running tests on her, probably a CT scan and an MRI,” the EMT said. “Give us half an hour or so, then they’ll let you see her.”

  I turned to Max. “Can we ride with you?”

  “Oh dear,” he said. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

  “You? A confession?”

  “I rode with you.”

  “What?” Then it dawned on me. “You were in the back of the truck?”

  “Actually, in the carton. In place of the angel.”

  I felt my jaw drop. All along, I’d held close that image of an angel riding with me. And it had been Max.

  He laughed. “I’ll drive this time. We have a lot to talk about,” he said. “I discovered the connection between Sandford Ainsley and William MacDonald. Sandford, aka Sandy, is William’s grandson. He grew up hearing stories about the Lady, much as I did.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Online research last night after we talked. I found a neighbor whose children played with Sandy when he was young. He’s always been obsessed with the idea of finding the figurehead, and the romance of finding the buried treasure.”

  I frowned. “How did Sandy and Jane get together?”

  “That I don’t know, but with a little digging we could probably find—”

  I touched his lips with my fingers to shush him. “I’m ready to let the law enforcement officers do their job.”

  “Ladies,” Max said, giving us a little bow, “Our chariot awaits your charming presence.”

  Chloe Grace giggled.

  “I say we go by the hospital and see how your mama is doing, then we’ll find a Cracker Barrel for some fried chicken.” He winked at Chloe Grace.

  “Yay!” she yelled, “I like that plan!”

  “But first, Mercy General,” I said, holding his gaze with mine. “I won’t be able to rest until I see that Katie is all right.”

  Chloe Grace’s eyes grew big when she saw the truck. “It’s so big,” she said. “I bet a horse could fit inside it.”

  Max grinned. “I bet it could.”

  “Wow!” she said.

  Max buckled Chloe Grace into her seat belt and then took my hand to help me in. His touch made my heart do a little dance. Imagine such a thing at my age. Before he closed the door, he took both my hands in his. “You’re a wonder, Mrs. Littlefield. I can say unequivocally, this has been the best week of my life.”

  “Well, thank you, Professor,” I said. “You’re a bit of a wonder yourself. And I agree.”

  He rounded the truck and got in on the driver’s side. “Are all your cases this exciting?” He started the engine and backed out of the parking space. The sound of the engine’s rumble—with Max driving —calmed me. He turned to smile at me, and I got lost in those blue eyes of his.

  “No.” I reached over and touched his cheek. “Not even close.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Mrs. Littlefield

  The following afternoon, I had just grabbed a chocolate-chip cookie out of the freezer and dunked it into my coffee when my home phone rang. The caller ID read: New Hanover County Jail, Wilmington, North Carolina.

  Sandy.

  My feelings were mixed. I’d mulled over his words to me the day before, about his love for my daughter and Chloe Grace, wondering, no, believing, that he was sincere. I’d been talking to God a lot about forgiveness and grace. Do we ever have reason not to forgive? What if he lied to me yesterday? Did that excuse me from having a forgiving heart?

  I picked up the phone. “Hello, Sandy.”

  “I can’t talk long,” he said. “I just want you to know that everything I said to you about loving Katie is true. I want a second chance. I also realize that everything you said to me is true as well. I didn’t deserve a second chance. I will be out of her life now, until I pay for my actions since I plan to plead guilty.”

  He let out a long ragged breath. “I’d so hoped to get to know my daughter. Maybe someday she’ll know how sorry I am for what I’ve done—both for my abandonment of her and her mother and now, after deceiving them both.”

  “Sandy—”

  “No, please, let me finish,” he said. “Little by little, I let greed and self-centeredness control my actions. I didn’t know about the kidnapping plan. By the time it happened, it was too late to get out.”

  “Who’s idea was it?”

  “Some people Jane’s father is in cahoots with. They wanted to get their hands on the figurehead for the ‘loot,’ as they cal
led it. Jane willingly went along with it, even talked me into taking a position with the pharmaceutical company they run.” He dropped his voice to a whisper as if to not be overheard. “The company is a front for drug running. The relatively ‘harmless’ ipecac was a foil.”

  He paused. “But to back up, I told Jane about the treasure off the coast of NC, and she became obsessed with finding it. She found the connection with Dr. Haverhill and his search. She already had her doctorate in social science so she applied for a teaching position at his school, and landed a spot on the Black Watch—just as she had planned.

  “It wasn’t until she, her father, and his thug friends found out that you were connected to Dr. Haverhill and actually catering his retirement dinner that she pushed me to make a move on Katie.” He paused, and I thought I heard him crying softly. “But the minute I set eyes on Katie and … Chloe Grace … the past seven years flashed in front of me, and I realized what I’d lost and how much I wanted them back. I foolishly thought I could turn back the clock and start all over again. Again, my self-interests overruled what in my heart I knew would be best for them both. I was too far gone to be in their lives.”

  “Sandy, you don’t need to tell me this.”

  “Jane quickly figured out that Katie and C.G. were my Achilles’ heel, and used them to get me to cooperate. Her threats ensured my cooperation. I played along, too greedy and weak to say no.”

  “I will tell Katie.”

  “I know it’s too late to ask forgiveness …”

  “It’s never too late,” I said softly. “It doesn’t mean that things can return to the way they were. But I think you underestimate my daughter’s heart.”

  Again, I heard the barely audible sobs of a broken man.

  “There’s One who tells us we are to forgive seventy times seven … just as we are forgiven. He’s the One you need to turn to first,” I said softly. “I will pray for you, and visit if you need a friend.”

  “I … do,” Sandy said. “Thank you.” A moment of silence followed, then he cleared his throat. “Tell Katie I am so sorry …” He ended the call.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Mrs. Littlefield

  I’d gone to bed early to read and had just turned the last page of Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton when my cell phone rang. I placed the book on the bedside table and picked up the phone. I smiled. It was Max. He’d been shuttling between Eden’s Bridge and Washington for the last few weeks. Each time he left, I missed him more.

  “I finished the Merton book,” I said without preamble. His low chuckle made my toes curl.

  “Do you still think he’s too Catholic for your tastes?”

  I laughed with him. “Well, he was a monk.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “So am I.”

  “Wait, what did you say? You’re a monk?” My voice came out in a squeak. “A monk like Thomas Merton?” Images of sackclothes and ashes, honey and locusts whirled through my head.

  He laughed. “Actually, I should say I was a monk. But not like Merton. He was Roman Catholic. I’m Episcopalian. There is a difference. I lived in a monastery for a few years after my profession, then I felt called to teach and to live in the world. To do what I could to make a difference in the lives of others, to love others as Jesus did, as Saint Francis did, with simplicity and joy. The only habit I wear is my cross.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  He sighed. “I was afraid you’d run the other way if I told you.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You might think me odd to have chosen to live my life this way.”

  A question that I didn’t know quite how to ask popped into my head. “Um, what about … well, are you … I know that Catholic priests and, well, monks too I suppose, take a vow of cel—” I couldn’t get the word out.

  “Celibacy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did when I first took my vows and lived at the monastery. But when I left I was no longer bound by the same commitment. Though there are other vows I keep in my rule of life.”

  I fell quiet, taking it all in. Other commitments? Rule of life?

  “Earth to El,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

  “What is a rule of life?”

  He laughed lightly. “It’s a sort of plumbline I follow that keeps me available for whatever or whomever God brings into my life. I have a set hour of prayer daily, I say the Daily Office …” He went on to explain the twelve rules that included a vow of poverty—living simply and giving to the poor, loving God and his neighbor with all his heart, examining his heart at the end of each day.

  When he finished, I said, “I don’t think I could live like that. It’s too … too confining.” And honestly, though I didn’t say so, it sounded boring.

  Give me a fiery sermon from Pastor Billy Joe Newborn any day. Let me lift my voice with the worship team and their guitars, bass, and drums. My Bible was worn from reading, its pages crinkled from being underlined and highlighted and filled with margin notes. Yet somehow, I didn’t feel holy enough for Max.

  The other truth was that Max’s commitment to his order made it clear that there was no room in his life for me. And what about the church and spiritual practices that were part of my life? Did he look down on those?

  Maybe he didn’t understand it yet, but I did. When it came right down to it, we were incompatible.

  “I should have waited to tell you in person.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “Yes,” I said. “That might have been easier.” I took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Tell me the latest about the Lady. Is there any news about the code or map?”

  “Nothing, not even a hint,” Max said. “We’ve examined the Lady with every instrument the Smithsonian has at its disposal. We’ve brought in experts from around the world. We’re all disappointed, but it’s time to release her to the museum in Boston where she belongs. I should be home by the end of the week.”

  Our good-byes were rather awkward. I put down the phone and buried my head in my pillow, my tears flowing.

  Max didn’t call for the rest of the week. I wondered if maybe his thoughts had been similar to mine during our last conversation. Maybe we were incompatible after all.

  Friday morning I rose at dawn, showered and dressed, and then headed to the kitchen. I wondered if Max might stop by when he arrived back in Eden’s Bridge. After my first cup of coffee, I called Pastor Billy.

  I told him the sad tale of Max’s devotion to the Franciscan order, that he was practically a monk, and I didn’t know what to do.

  “You’ve got to hit this hard and fast,” he said. “You come right over here and I’ll give you the weapons you need to fight this.”

  “It’s not a war,” I said when he stopped to take a breath.

  “It is in my book, Elaine, and you’ve got to nip this thing in the bud. I’m in my office at the church and I’ll wait for you. You hurry on over. No telling when that professor will be dropping by. You need to be ready for him.”

  A wave of sadness washed over me as I slid behind the wheel of the catering van. I missed the Ghia. When I arrived at the church, the pastor was waiting for me in the parking lot. He handed a tote bag to me and then patted me on the hand.

  “Now, you skedaddle,” he said, mopping his face with his handkerchief. “Get on home and get prepared for the homecoming.”

  I grinned and did as he said.

  Just before sunset, the doorbell rang. I swallowed hard and went to the dining room window and looked out at the driveway. It was empty. Puzzled, I started back toward the kitchen. The doorbell rang again. This time I went to the entry hall and looked through the peephole.

  It was Max, grinning to beat the band. I opened the door and hesitated even after he opened his arms for me to step in.

  In a heartbeat he’d clo
sed the distance between us and wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I pulled back and searched his eyes. All I saw was warmth and joy and love. Had I imagined the distance between us?

  He gently reached for me again, gazed into my eyes, and then, glory of all glories, he bent to kiss me. I didn’t want to kiss him back and tried not to. We had too many things to talk about, to figure out … but I lost myself in his kiss.

  He pulled back slightly and grinned at me as if expecting some reaction. But all I could do was stare into his eyes, memorizing everything I loved about them, their color, their depth, their emotion. Oh, how I’d missed him.

  “I have a gift for you.” He turned and looked away from me. I followed his gaze and gasped.

  It had been there the entire time, but I was so caught up in Max’s presence—and the familiarity of it—that I hadn’t noticed.

  My smile spread as I walked toward the car.

  A Karmann Ghia.

  “How …?” I looked up at him. His smile was as wide as mine.

  “It took some doing,” he said.

  I walked closer to examine it. I touched the smooth Naugahyde, which was not as worn as my Ghia’s had been. “Someone has lovingly restored this one,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “They did. You can see the love that went into it.” He ducked inside, reached under the dashboard, unlatched the convertible top, and with a gentle push let it settle into folds behind the backseat.

  “It’s just like mine,” I said putting my hands together. I circled the car, admiring its shiny chrome bumpers and hubcaps. “It’s even the same color. It even looks like it could be the same year.”

  Then I saw the license plate. “The same …” I read off the numbers and letters, tilted my head, and looked up at him, remembering that terrible sound of my Ghia tumbling into the quarry. “How did you do this? How did you find one just like it? How in the world …?” I was so flabbergasted—a word I don’t use often, by the way—I could only sputter.

  “I enlisted the help of one of the coaches who gave me the name of some super athletes,” he said, laughing. “Turns out a couple are into rock climbing and are experts at repelling. They enjoyed the challenge of retrieving plates from the quarry.” He opened the door on the driver’s side and gestured to me to get in.