“She did?” That rascal Granny Fi knew something about everything and everybody.
“The child had been found in a terrible state, as we all know.” Archie closed his eyes and shuddered dramatically at the mental image. “It was your father who found the boy.”
Papa had been sailing past the rocky shoreline north of town when he spied the body.
“Saintly people, you Mitchells,” Archie went on to say. “Making a welcoming place for the child in your family graveyard.”
It had mostly been Granny Fi’s doing, but I nudged Archie to continue. “What was the item they found with the boy?”
“There was a chain around his neck that had unbelievably managed to stay on.” He raised his arms in wonder. “The chain had a medal, some saint or another, though I dare say it did little to protect little Barnacle Boy.” Archie’s face saddened again. “Why the interest?”
“I’m writing something about the boy,” Edgar told him, and then added softly, almost to himself, “I wonder what happened to that chain and medal.”
* * *
“Wouldn’t they have buried it with him?” Laura said on the drive back to The Bluffs.
“Most likely.” Edgar was quiet a moment. “The only way to know for sure would be to have the body exhumed.”
He seemed to sense my shock at the idea, for he went on to defend his proposal. “DNA testing didn’t exist back in 1969. We could learn a great deal.”
“Wouldn’t you need permission?” Laura asked. “And wouldn’t there be all sorts of health department rules and license applications?”
“Perhaps,” Edgar countered. “But the family is as unknown as the boy. I’d handle the details and the cost.”
When I still didn’t say anything, he added, “Of course, since he’s buried on Mitchell property, I will respect whatever you decide.”
“Let me think about it,” I said. Perhaps it truly would help determine who Barnacle Boy was and how he ended up lost and unclaimed on our shores. Still, I wasn’t sure disturbing the long-buried child was a good idea.
“That’s all I can ask.” He offered his kindly smile as we pulled back up to The Bluffs. “Well, I must be off. Back to the Mitchell Free Library for a little more research into local lore.”
Laura departed with Edgar, leaving me to consider his suggestion to exhume Barnacle Boy. I walked back into the house, and my nostrils filled with the telltale scents of the spirits who already shared my home. I didn’t relish the thought of yet another manifestation in The Bluffs, pursuing me to its purposes. My gut was telling me to let the poor little soul rest peacefully.
* * *
I’d made a few calls to Nauset Marine to see if anyone there might still be in touch with Wes Creed, but nobody picked up. No doubt they were busy enough after the storm. I would try Lu next to find out about her cousin’s past with Wes Creed. But before I had a chance, my phone buzzed to life with a call from Zoe.
“No news about the little boy,” I told her before she could ask.
“That was going to be my second question.”
“What was your first?”
“Had I been permitted, I was checking to see how things were with you.”
“Busy with the search and helping the displaced. I got a call yesterday to help unload a truck of supplies sent from the Midwest.”
“I made a donation yesterday to the relief efforts on the Cape.”
“That was nice of you,” I said, while cynically thinking it a means of easing her guilt over not being here in person. I was surprised by the next turn the conversation took.
“Remember that Teddy person you mentioned the other day?” she asked.
“Teddy Howell?”
This was met with silence, making me think the call had been dropped, which had been happening a lot lately.
“Zoe?”
“I’m here.” She then asked, “How old is this Teddy Howell?”
“I’d guess mid- to late twenties,” I said. “Why the interest?”
“Do you remember Theodora Howell?” she asked. “Her family owned the Glass House in Wellfleet.”
“Oh yeah.” I remembered the house, but not the girl. My father had christened the place “The Glass House” because it was one of those ultra-modern homes designed almost completely of windows, to take advantage of the great Cape Cod views. But it stuck out like an ugly sore amid all the charming cedar-sided cottages. And it was only a summer house; the family’s main residence was in Boston.
“What did you say her name was?”
“Theodora. Everyone called her Theo. She was exotic looking, with long black hair.”
“Oh, you mean the beauty queen?”
“I’d hardly call her that.” The response was icy. Was Zoe jealous of someone she’d known ages ago?
“Well, she was Miss Massachusetts,” I defended myself.
“Until she had to forfeit the crown.” Meow. Meow.
A hazy memory surfaced of my mother and Zoe talking about some type of scandal linked to the pageant. I’d been too young to pay attention.
“Were there nude photos? Or did she get pregnant during her reign? It was something like that, right?”
“Funny.” Not exactly an answer to my question. “I don’t think she ever married. In fact,” Zoe continued, “I’m told she still lives in the family’s Beacon Hill home. Pretty fancy address, don’t you think?”
I hadn’t a clue where she was going with this. “Is Teddy related to her?”
“She’s his mother.”
Now, that was a surprise. “I never would have made the connection.” I realized then that it had been Zoe who brought this all up. “So, what did you want to know about Teddy?”
“Nothing.” Her voice was crisp. “I was just curious how you knew him.”
There was something deeper than curiosity going on.
“I’d better go. I’ve got a meeting with my attorney,” Zoe said.
“Next steps?” I ventured, not knowing what she’d decided about her errant husband. Zoe was all about prying everything out of me about my life and yet telling me nothing about hers.
She surprised me when she said, “Yes, I think it’s time.”
“I’m here if you need me,” I told her. “You are always welcome at The Bluffs, and everyone would love having you back in Whale Rock.”
A bitter laugh was followed by “Right.”
I’d always wondered if my sister’s rushed marriage to the charming Oliver Young, who’d whisked her away to the West Coast, was driven by her strong desire to escape Whale Rock. Why she never returned still remained a mystery to me, although she’d once confessed that she sensed something evil lurking within the bones of The Bluffs. As the call ended, I was enveloped by the scents of the spirits with whom I shared my home, wishing I could convince Zoe they meant us no harm.
Though sometimes, like right now, I had no idea what they were trying to tell me.
14
Cassandra
The next morning, when Jason joined Daniel and me for breakfast, he looked bemused. “Laura’s not here?”
“I haven’t seen her yet,” I told him.
“Maybe she took Whistler for a walk,” Daniel suggested, not lifting his gaze from the paper.
Jason’s eyes swept the room, verifying his dog wasn’t there. “That must be it.” He took out his phone and sent a text, then filled his plate from the pan of scrambled eggs and popped two pieces of bread into the toaster.
“How’s the Kleister investigator?” Jason asked Daniel while slathering the toast with butter.
“Pushy. Which can be an effective quality for someone in his role.” Daniel took his empty plate to the sink. “I’ve briefed him on what we have. Now he’s on his own.”
Ten minutes later, Jason had finished his breakfast but still hadn’t heard back from Laura. He and Daniel had to leave, so I grabbed my sneakers and tied them on. “I’ll go round them up.”
“Text me when you find them?”
“You bet,” I said and headed out toward the land trust trails. I’d forgotten to warn Laura about the dangerous trees and fallen limbs.
It wasn’t long before I found Whistler, whining and circling Laura, who was sprawled out on the trail. Fortunately, she was conscious and alert.
“What happened?” I kneeled beside her to brush the dirt from her face, which was difficult because Whistler kept shoving his nose in. “It’s okay, boy.”
“I was checking texts and my foot got caught on a root. Down I went and my phone went flying off over there.” She pointed to the high grass along the path, where I found it and brought it back to her.
“Have you tried to stand?”
“Yes, but I’ve twisted my ankle.” Then she covered her face with her hands and began to sob. “I’m so stupid.”
“Don’t be silly. Anyone could trip over these gnarly tree roots. I’ve done it plenty of times.”
“I’m pregnant.” Her face stricken with dirty tear tracks on her cheeks, she cried, “I landed really hard, and I’m so afraid the fall harmed the baby.”
Pregnant? Could all these strange scent signals from Percy and Celeste have been about Laura’s pregnancy now that she’s staying at The Bluffs?
I pushed aside these thoughts and found myself in Granny Fi mode. “Let’s get you sitting up. I’ll just text Jason—”
“No!” She grabbed my arm. “He doesn’t know about the baby yet. And if I’ve lost it …”
“Got it. I’ll just tell him I found you.” But I’d need help getting Laura back to The Bluffs. Fortunately, Christopher and I had exchanged cell phone numbers when I drove him to town yesterday, and he quickly came to our rescue.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I told him after we finally got Laura tucked into the car. I was insisting on taking her to the urgent care center to X-ray the ankle and check to make sure all was okay with her pregnancy.
“Glad I could help.”
I was finding it hard to imagine him a person of interest, as Brooks had indicated.
“Does Jason think Christopher had anything to do with Lucas’s disappearance?” I asked Laura later, on the drive to the medical center.
“Jason doesn’t talk much about his work now that I’m doing reporting for the Times. What I know about the case I’ve learned from listening to discussions around the kitchen table with you and Daniel.”
The conflict-of-interest aspect of her job hadn’t really occurred to me. “Is that awkward for you?”
“Sometimes. I miss hearing about his day.”
“He was worried about you this morning. You were out awfully early.”
“Morning sickness.” She stuck out her tongue and made a face.
“Ah-ha.” Now her early morning rising made sense.
“I saw that woman again, the one from the other day? I managed a photo, though not a very good one, and decided to follow her.” Her tone turned mournful as she continued, “Obviously, it didn’t turn out as I’d hoped it would.”
* * *
Back at The Bluffs two hours later, I helped Laura hobble inside. She was wearing a walking boot to treat a stress fracture in her foot.
“At least it will keep you out of trouble for the next six weeks.”
Laura laid a hand across her belly. “I’m just so relieved the baby is safe.”
“Maybe it’s time to tell Jason?” I suggested.
“I was planning to tell him after your wedding. I knew he’d never be able to keep a secret and I didn’t want our news to take away from your big day.” She took in a deep breath. “And then the storm hit, and there just hasn’t been a good time.”
I got Laura settled in, with her foot elevated and iced.
“I’ll take care of Whistler,” I told her. On my way through the library, my laptop came whirring to life of its own accord … or not. What were those mischievous little spirits up to this time?
At the same time, my phone buzzed. It was Lu returning my call about her cousin’s relationship with Wes Creed.
“Not much to tell,” she said. “It didn’t last long. The Ketchner girls have good sense. Why are you asking?”
“He’s been working for Mitchell Tours, and I was curious if he’d straightened up his life.”
“Evidently not. Evelyn told me he’s in the Whale Rock jail.” So much for curbing the gossip about Wes’s arrest.
“I heard.” Talking to Lu reminded me of Zoe’s recent comments about Teddy and his relationship to Theodora Howell.
“What’s Zoe’s history with Theo Howell?”
There was a pause before Lu asked, “Why are you asking about her?”
“Zoe was asking about Teddy and then reminded me that the Howells owned the Glass House. I didn’t know they were Teddy’s family.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes. She has a bug up her butt about Teddy’s mother, which seems silly to me. Theo was a summer girl from decades ago, and barely a blip on the radar.”
“Oh, believe me, Theo Howell was always much more than a blip.”
“Because she was Miss Massachusetts?” I asked.
“Well, there’s that,” Lu admitted.
“Was there a more personal connection?” I prodded.
“That’s a question for your sister,” Lu said, signaling a full stop to my probing. “I must get going. The Congregational Church is still putting together care packages. If you’re bored, join me.”
* * *
After ending the call with Lu, I sat down at my laptop and found the incoming mailbox was already opened to an email from Zoe. The subject line was “Genetic Testing,” and her two-line note read: Maybe there was a genetic defect involved in Mama’s miscarriages. You should get tested.
I clicked on a link Zoe had included and began scanning the article, which was about several types of genetic abnormalities that had been found to promote miscarriages. The room filled with the strong burning smell that had been shadowing me the last few days. Did Percy and Celeste not want me to follow up on these genetic issues? Feeling the need to escape the overpowering and confusing scent, I grabbed Whistler’s leash.
“Let’s go, boy,” I called out to the dog, who was as eager for some fresh air as I was.
I was lost in thought about the article Zoe sent when I reached Percy’s Bluffs, only to find Christopher Savage sitting in my favorite spot. As annoying as it was, I tried to shrug it off.
“Hey there,” I said, sitting down cross-legged next to him while letting Whistler run free. “Quite a view, huh?”
“I could get used to it.” He continued to gaze out at the bay.
“Taking a break from the search?” I asked.
“The buses aren’t running today.”
“Oh, right.” I hadn’t thought about that.
“Where’s Gypsy?” I rarely saw him without the pit bull.
“She’s having a rough day.”
“How’s that?”
“We came across an aggressive dog on the trails. A brief snarling match, but it takes her a while to recover.” He finally looked directly at me. “A rough history.”
“She’s a rescue?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Had she been abused?”
He shrugged. “Something had happened to her. And she was half-starved. I found her in a kill shelter just hours before her sentence was to be carried out. The staff told me they’d found her tied to their door, a sign around her scrawny neck: ‘Please find her a nice home.’” Christopher shook his head at the memory. “The Good Samaritan who left her there probably had no idea it was a kill shelter and that Gypsy’s fate was left to overworked volunteer staff who had only three days to find that nice home for her.”
“Is that how you came up with the name?” I asked. “Because she’d been wandering and scavenging?”
“That, and I knew it would make my mother happy.” A brief smile brightened his face.
I sent him a questioning look.
“Do you know the song ‘Gypsy’ by Fleetwood Mac?” he asked. “It was my mother’s favorite song.”
Fleetwood Mac reminded me of my father. For Papa, it had been “Landslide,” which he’d played repeatedly after Mama died. Just like in the song, he truly had built his life around her, his world crumbling after she was gone. Even now, whenever the haunting tune came on the radio, I immediately changed the station.
“How’s Laura?” Christopher asked, interrupting my sad reflections.
“Stress fracture,” I told him. “They gave her a walking boot. I can’t thank you enough for helping me get her back to The Bluffs.”
“No problem.”
“Is this your first time visiting the Cape?” I asked. I knew the answer already from Jimmy, but why not take the opportunity to pry some more personal information from the man?
He nodded.
“What brought you here now?”
“My mother.”
“Oh, does she live out here?” Strange that he wouldn’t have mentioned her earlier, especially when the storm hit.
“No,” he said, disinclined to offer more. He idly picked at the grass, perhaps hoping I’d leave him alone. We sat in silence for several minutes before he finally spoke. “My mother died recently. Brain cancer.”
“How horrible.” And then, “I lost my mother to cancer. It was years ago. I was only seventeen.”
“That’s tough.”
“When did it happen?” I rushed to ask while chastising myself. Way to go, making it about yourself, Cass.
“Over a month ago.”
Right before he came to Whale Rock, according to Laura’s estimate of when he arrived.
“I truly am sorry.”
He nodded and continued to look out at the rising tide of the Cape. I probably should have left him to his lone thoughts, but for some reason I felt compelled to stay.
We sat quietly for a bit before he said, “I came out here to get away for a while. Took a leave of absence from my job.”
That made sense, and should alleviate Brooks’s concerns.
“I heard you’re a teacher. What do you teach?” I asked.
“History and geography at a small prep school in upstate New York.”
“I guess they go hand in hand.” Was this the best I could do? “I’m not familiar with New York. Where did you learn sailing?”
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