“Don’t forget, babe, this is just a part-time gig for you,” I reminded him, knowing how deeply he could immerse himself in a case.
“It’s hard to let go when a child’s life is at stake.” Daniel tapped his fist to his heart. The anguish he was feeling made me love him all the more.
Evelyn’s familiar blue and white mini cooper rounded the bend of our lane and sounded her custom car horn, a yodeling loon.
Daniel rolled his eyes every time he heard it. He pointed at me and warned, “Do not let her talk you into getting a screaming orca horn for your Miata.”
“How about a braying donkey?” I joked.
“Hey, you two,” Evelyn called out as she toted a book bag from her car. “Looks like The Bluffs fared pretty well in the storm.”
“A few fallen branches. Some loose shingles. That’s the extent of our problems.”
Evelyn plopped herself down onto one of the porch rockers. “I take it there’s still no news about little Lucas?”
“Nope.” It was hard for Daniel to admit defeat, and his expression showed it.
“Sorry,” Evelyn mumbled. “I stopped in to check on the family this morning. Took them a meal. It’s a very tense household.”
“I’m sure they’re beside themselves,” I said.
“The bickering isn’t helpful.”
“They still butting heads?” Daniel asked.
“Terribly,” Evelyn said. “The house is a disaster zone. That poor father has his hands full.”
“What about Helene?” I asked.
“She seems lost. And those kids? They’re a mess.” She wrinkled her nose. “I gave the twins a sponge bath while I was there.”
I could easily envision the scene. Evelyn had a talent for gently insinuating herself and seamlessly taking charge.
“Nicholas still isn’t saying anything.”
“We’re trying to figure out a way to talk to him,” Daniel said.
“Well, you’d best do it soon,” Evelyn told him. “I overheard Matthew say the grandparents were coming to take Nicholas for a while.”
“I’d better let Brooks know,” Daniel said. “I’ve got to head out anyway.” He leaned down and planted his lips on my forehead.
“Until these cases are solved, I could ease some of your burdens by helping Johnny out at the harbor,” I offered. As soon as I spoke the words, my nose filled with a warning scent from Percy and Celeste. I wasn’t sure what they were warning me about, but Daniel was not having it.
“No way. Your days of crew work are behind you,” he said. “I’ve got it covered.”
After Daniel left, Evelyn said in a knowing way, “I understand they’re shorthanded down at the harbor.”
“Oh?” I pretended ignorance, though not surprised she would know. Evelyn had informants all around town.
“I’m sure it’s no secret,” she said defensively. “I can’t believe Daniel didn’t tell you. Brooks was seen escorting Wes Creed into the station this morning.”
“Wow.” I continued to play dumb. “I just learned a couple days ago that he was back in town.”
“Oh yes.” Her face brightened at the prospect of spilling what she knew. “There was a little trouble down in Florida. I think he got involved with the wrong woman.”
“Same old Wes.”
“You can say that again. He came back with a hideous tattoo on his arm,” she said in a disapproving tone. I could only imagine her reaction if she saw the phoenix tattoo I’d gotten last year.
As casually as possible, I asked, “Who was it that Wes used to hang out with before he left The Rock?”
“Well, he was always good friends with Johnny’s brother, Charlie Hotchkiss.” She thought a moment before adding, “Wes moved around a lot, but he did stay at Nauset Marine for a while. He likely had some pals there. He dated Lu’s cousin for a while.”
“I didn’t know that.” Lu might be a good source of dirt on Wes.
“Why the interest?”
“Just curious. I’d forgotten all about him until I found out he was working for us.”
She frowned and leaned in. “You don’t suppose he had anything to do with little Lucas? Or that suspicious death?”
Fortunately, I was saved from answering those prickly questions when Whistler stood and barked as a man and a dog appeared in the distance.
“Is that Christopher Savage?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“I have a delivery for him.” She held up the book bag. “He put in a request through the Massachusetts Library System for some books and periodicals. Bethany’s home took a hit, so volunteers are pitching in, and George offered to deliver them.”
“Funny, you don’t look like George,” I kidded, knowing Evelyn had probably been dying to see what was going on over here, what with a mysterious stranger bunking in our carriage house.
She ignored the jab. “Apparently he’s been spending a good deal of time at the library, doing research.”
“I don’t suppose anybody mentioned the subject of that research?”
Evelyn grinned deviously and picked up the book bag. “We could sneak a quick peek.”
However, Christopher had tied Gypsy and was now walking toward us in his easy stride. I introduced him to Evelyn, who reluctantly turned over the book bag.
“Bethany said you were eager to receive these, so I offered to drop them off to you,” she explained in a flirty way, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Probably hoping for a hint of what she’d just handed over, she added, “Is it a special project you’re working on?”
“Not really.” Christopher thanked Evelyn, then retreated to the carriage house. There would be no snooping into his requested library delivery today.
“Quite the taciturn man,” she said, slightly offended, watching him take Gypsy inside.
“He can’t be pleased about being displaced from his vacation beach cottage. Have you noticed any work being done on it?”
“I haven’t been to the beach, let alone had time to walk between helping with the search and getting things back up to snuff at the Inn.” She checked her smartwatch. “Oh dear. I’ve got to get back to meet an electrician.”
I was relieved that there would be no further questions about Wes Creed’s potential involvement in either of the mysteries plaguing Whale Rock. I didn’t know the answer, but I also didn’t want to encourage Evelyn or feed the Whale Rock gossip mill. I was, however, glad for the little bit of background she was able to pass on about the man.
* * *
After Evelyn left, I took Whistler for a walk. I headed for the cliffs, but he had other ideas, tugging me insistently on a detour to the Mitchell family cemetery.
He stopped to sniff at Granny Fi’s grave, as had always been his habit, while I took a survey of the graveyard. So many tragic stories in this plot of land. The storm had flattened many of the plants in the perennial garden my mother had started years ago, surrounding the graves of all the baby boys she’d lost. She’d blamed the miscarriages and stillbirths on the century-old curse against my great-grandparents.
The sun grazed the bronze Winnie the Pooh statue that stood guard over Barnacle Boy’s grave. I let go of Whistler’s leash and walked over to find a bouquet of wildflowers tied with raffia and laid by the stone. Had Edgar left this memorial to the lost boy? Such a sweet gesture would be just like him.
It wasn’t until the walk back to the house that I was struck by another possibility. Perhaps the flowers had been from the stranger, the woman Laura saw the other morning walking along the ridge. I was now even more curious about this mystery woman and why she had paid a secret visit to The Bluffs.
12
Renée
Boston ~ Mid-1960s
The first year of Renata’s nanny position with the Welles family passed easily. She enjoyed her two well-behaved charges, four-year-old Gregory and six-year-old Lisa, and was permitted adequate time to herself for her studies. There was more than a decade age gap between the younger We
lles children Renata had been hired to look after and the eldest. Phillip Welles hadn’t paid even the smallest attention to Renata during that first year, mostly because he spent a good portion of the time at a prestigious private boarding school in New Hampshire. But one summer day between his junior and senior years, their paths crossed in the outside world when she was returning books to the neighborhood library. For once, Phillip took notice of her.
She’d stumbled up the stairs to the library, her pile of books flying in every direction.
“Here, let me help, Renata,” the familiar voice said.
Flustered, she looked up into the classically handsome face she had admired from afar. She wasn’t aware he even knew her name.
“These are textbooks.” Phillip frowned at the books, then looked at Renata. “How can you go to school if you’re working for us?” He seemed genuinely confused.
“I need to work to help my family.” She lifted her shoulders. “So I teach myself. With these.”
“I’m impressed.” He handed her the books he had gathered.
“Don’t be. I’m terrible at math,” she admitted.
“How old are you?”
“I have just turned seventeen.”
“Your accent is very exotic.”
Her face grew warm. How hard she’d tried to free herself from an Italian accent.
“I like it.” He smiled, easing her embarrassment.
“Maybe I can help you with your studies,” he suggested. “We could work after the little kiddles go to bed.”
That’s what he always called his younger brother and sister. Just like the little doll toys that were so popular back then. Isabella giggled when Renata told her about the nickname that next Sunday. It was her free day and she was expected to visit her family. Mostly she spent the time with Isabella who also returned to Zia Rosa’s for Sunday dinner. Vito rarely came, avoiding their Zio Enzo at all costs, so Renata would try to squeeze in quick visits with her brother before her obligatory family dinner.
The tutoring sessions with Phillip began the following day and continued through the summer. He’d come to her room in the evenings and drill her on her weakest subject. She was a cinch at history and geography, and with her love of reading, she’d finished almost as many of the classics as Phillip had, even though he was a year ahead of where she’d be if she’d been allowed to attend school.
“I don’t think we need to be working on this anymore,” he proclaimed one night as summer was nearing an end.
She’d been crestfallen to think their evenings together would end. But that wasn’t exactly what Phillip had meant. Hard as it was, however, she managed to resist his advances.
When September arrived, Phillip left again for school. Renata didn’t see him again until the Christmas holidays. But his return home wasn’t met with the usual joyous welcoming from Mr. and Mrs. Welles. In fact, the house was filled with an awkward tension. With the children on their holiday break, Renata was kept quite busy and fretted that she wouldn’t see Phillip before he left again for New Hampshire. But that time never came.
When Phillip knocked on her door New Year’s Eve, he tearfully told her of his expulsion. He wasn’t forthcoming with details, only that he and a group of his friends had been falsely accused of an expellable act and sent home. He was to finish his senior year at the local public school.
Phillip seemed to have lost his confidence, and Renata wanted to do what she could to help this boy for whom she was developing serious feelings. After Gregory and Lisa had been tucked into their beds at night, Renata looked forward to that light knock on her door, and she found herself permitting Phillip certain liberties that before she’d fought against.
Renata began to notice changes in the young man, especially after he told her about his acceptance to the University of Oxford in spite of the expulsion, brushing aside his father’s having had to make a sizable donation to the university as well as calling in some significant favors from the family’s British connections. When summer arrived, he spent most of his time at the country club, hanging out with old friends. Though the visits to her room continued, they became less and less frequent.
13
Cassandra
The Bluffs ~ Present day
“It wasn’t me,” Edgar insisted. Less than an hour after I’d phoned Laura about the flowers on Barnacle Boy’s grave, she and Edgar were standing on my porch, Whistler circling them excitedly.
“I was at the Whale Rock library, doing some research for the book, when Laura sent me a text,” Edgar explained sheepishly, probably not wanting to seem vulture-like. He admitted that he had been hoping to spend some time in the cemetery but hadn’t wanted to intrude.
“You never have to feel that way,” I assured him.
He smiled fondly, warming my heart.
“I swung by and picked up Edgar on my way back from Eastham,” Laura added.
“I was without a car. Jimmy dropped me at the library early this morning and then joined the search.”
“Nothing new to report on Lucas, I’m sorry to say.” Laura tried to brighten the conversation by saying, “But I did get a great story to add to my article.”
As we ambled toward my family’s graveyard, she went on to tell us about a large century tree that had uprooted and split in half a barn housing a goatscaping herd. Fortunately, it had a good ending since not a single goat had been harmed.
“Creating atmosphere is crucial to the writing process,” Edgar said as we strolled around the family gravestones. “Being here helps me get a sense of the boy’s spirit.”
“How old was he?” Laura asked.
“The coroner’s report gave a range between four and six years,” Edgar responded.
“So very young.” Laura’s voice was tinged with the sorrow we were all feeling. “My own brother was only six when he drowned.”
I suspected that’s why Laura was so interested in helping Edgar with his book about Barnacle Boy. When she was eleven, she and her younger brother had been caught in an undertow while swimming. Her father nearly drowned trying to rescue his children, succeeding in saving only her. It wasn’t until weeks later that the little boy’s ravaged body washed up on shore, discovered by strangers. She had always felt responsible for the drowning.
By Edgar’s next words, it was evident he knew the story as well. “Emily Dickinson said it so beautifully: ‘I would have drowned twice to save you sinking, dear.’”
Laura nodded, touching her fingertips to the corners of her eyes as I draped an arm across her shoulders and gave a tender squeeze.
“So close to the ages of Lucas and Nicholas Kleister,” she finally managed.
“Let’s hope for a better ending for the Kleister family,” I said.
“Indeed.” Edgar knelt to inspect the bundle of wildflowers I’d found there.
“You mentioned earlier about having uncovered some interesting details?” I asked, to bring the conversation back to Barnacle Boy.
“Oh yes. I spent the morning with the historian of the Congregational Church. The minister back in 1969 was the Reverend James Woodhouse. He performed the funeral. He’s no longer living, but very fortunately for me, his daily journal of prayer and good works had been retained in the church archives.”
I knew the name. Reverend Woodhouse had been the minister who’d married my parents. I wondered if their nuptials had been recorded in that journal and what he might have said about their union. Maybe I’d go check it out one day.
“His notes indicate he performed a blessing on an item that was found along with the child.”
“What was it?” Laura and I asked in the same eager tone.
“It wasn’t specified. But Reverend Woodhouse did make an interesting notation about it.”
Edgar fished from his pocket a folded-up photocopy of a beautiful handwritten note, which read: The young boy will be buried in the private cemetery of the Mitchell family on Lavender Hill, Whale Rock. I believe this service would be more appro
priately performed by Father Callahan with burial in St. Mary’s churchyard. However, this cannot happen without the approval from the diocesan bishop, and that is unlikely without proof the child has been baptized.
“Seems archaic.”
“All religions have rules and traditions that must seem strange to others,” Edgar said. “This unknown item somehow ties the boy to the Catholic Church. It intrigues me, and I wish there was more to be learned about it.”
“I know who we should ask,” I told them.
Fifteen minutes later, we were standing at the counter of Coastal Vintage Wares, having a chat with Archibald Stanfield.
“It’s nice to see somebody walk through those doors,” Archie exclaimed. “Whale Rock has been such a ghost town—I only came in today to check on things.”
“Another week, and you’ll be back to cursing the summer crowds.” Laura tried to make light of his complaint.
“As if?” He rolled his eyes. “This world is going to hell in a hand basket,” he lamented. “Historic storms, missing children, a murder in Whale Rock!”
“We don’t actually know for sure it was murder,” I corrected him.
“Well, I doubt that the man crawled into that dumpster on his own to die.” Archie was indignant. “And now a kidnapping! That poor Kleister family.”
“Why do you say it was a kidnapping?” Laura asked.
“It’s the scuttlebutt that’s going around town. Not true?”
“There’s not enough evidence to know anything at this point,” I answered. No doubt Matthew and Helene or their investigator were spreading the abduction theory—a tidbit I’d be sure to pass along to Brooks and Daniel.
“Is there a particular item I can help you find today?” Archie wiped away imaginary dust from the display counter glass top.
“We’re here on a mission.” I went on to explain what Reverend Woodhouse had written in his journal. “We were hoping you might know what the item was.”
“That all happened long before I opened my shop in Whale Rock,” he said, deflating our hopes. But Archie was not about to disappoint us. “Your grandmother Fiona once mentioned something about it to me, though.”
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