by Shelly West
“Sounds like a Romeo and Juliet situation. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your mother in all this?”
“Gone. Died in childbirth.”
Now Abigail realized she might’ve been too harsh on the guy. No mother figure as a child. Maybe that was why he had taken a liking to Grandma? “I’m so sorry. I kind of understand what that’s like. I don’t know who my father is, or whether he’s alive or not. My mother refuses to tell me.”
“I’m sorry for you too then.” After a heavy silence fell between them, Lee continued, “Sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I had been raised by my mother instead.”
“Didn’t have a great relationship with your father, I take it?”
“Yeah. He hated me. Maybe he blamed me for my mother’s complications. I don’t know.”
“Hated? That seems a little strong.”
“Yeah, maybe. He just didn’t understand me. Didn’t approve of my interests.”
Interests? His affinity for flowery attire, perhaps? “What interests, exactly?”
Lee set his cup down, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, I love plants and flowers. What I’d really like to do someday is open up a big botanical garden. This region is ripe for one, with the perfect climate for all types of plants.” He then looked down at his feet. “Of course, the repair shop takes up most of my time, so I can only raise plants as a hobby. That’s why Granny lets me take care of the garden out front, and also the houseplants. It’s why I have a house key.”
Abigail nodded slowly. “That’s interesting.”
Lee shrugged and changed the subject. “Any idea why someone attacked Mrs. Lane?”
Abigail cocked her head, then realized Lee must’ve been working off old information if he had thought Grandma had been attacked. “No one attacked her. At least, I don’t think. She says she tripped over a body, which I find equally unsettling.”
“Wow. A different body from the one that washed up on shore?”
“I’m thinking it’s the same one, but who knows?”
“All I know is, whoever did it, I hope they get caught soon.”
Abigail finished her coffee, surprised that Lee hadn’t done anything to incite a rebanning from the store. “Yeah. Me too.”
Lee pushed off the stair rails he was leaning on. “Anyhow, I have boats to repair. Thanks for not feeding me to Thor.” He winked.
Abigail smirked. “Yet.”
They shared a laugh and Lee headed out. Abigail’s smile faded, however, when she thought back on their conversation. The Fischer and Lebeau families. A rivalry. Boats.
She recalled Grandma telling Sheriff Wilson something about the Lebeaus over the phone.
Wait a minute…
Grandma had said the ship in a bottle was a gift—from the Lebeaus!
Chapter 16
It took every ounce of Abigail’s willpower to keep from waking Grandma up. That woman slept in late! After Abigail checked for the fifth time to make sure Grandma was still breathing, she sighed and headed back downstairs.
She found Thor once again in a menacing pose, ready to attack the front door. His gaze pointed to a tall man donning a western hat standing on the front porch.
She let out a sigh of relief. “It’s just the sheriff, Thor. Cool it.” She opened the door to welcome Sheriff Wilson, who was holding an evidence kit.
“G’morning,” he said in greeting, then both of them cocked their heads up at the creaking staircase.
Grandma was finally awake with Missy in her arms as she took the stairs a step at a time. She had her silver hair up in a small bun with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Well, good morning to you both,” she said, and once she reached the landing, she let Missy down. The dog checked out Sheriff Wilson, let out a little growl at Thor, then scurried off to the back of the house, presumably to use the doggy door.
Abigail greeted Grandma. “Good morning. Glad to see you up and about. You had me worried, you were sleeping so soundly.”
Grandma checked one of her many antique clocks. “Oh, goodness. I must’ve been tired.”
Sheriff Wilson took off his hat, his eyes twinkling as he regarded Grandma. “I hope you’re feeling better, Florence.”
Grandma gave him a cheeky look. “You know it’ll take a lot more than that to put me in the ground.”
“Oh, don’t talk that way,” Sheriff Wilson chided her, apparently uncomfortable with the subject of death, despite his occupation. “So you told me you found something out of place?”
Grandma nodded. “Right. Yes, this ship in a bottle. It’s one of my items I don’t have for sale.”
“Where’s the bottle?”
“In a few hundred pieces, I presume.”
Abigail added, “Yeah, I never got around to cleaning the glass I found under the cabinet. I guess that’s a good thing, since you might want to check the shards for fingerprints.”
Sheriff Wilson nodded and squatted down to look under the cabinet. He put on gloves, opened up the evidence kit and took out a bag, then picked up every piece he could find.
With a grunt, he stood up and towered over the little model, examining it from every angle without touching it. “Maybe it fell in whatever altercation took place that night, then was returned to its original location without the bottle?”
Abigail wasn’t sure the bottle’s destruction had been so incidental. “But Grandma was saying Reginald—you know, the guy who was shot—had taken an interest in her items that weren’t for sale. This ship in a bottle is one of those items, isn’t it?”
Grandma furrowed her brows before nodding. “Yes, he was especially interested in the ship in a bottle.”
Abigail turned to Sheriff Wilson, hoping to find him just as excited as she was about the connection.
But he simply shrugged. “Why did he return it to its place if he was looking to steal it? And we still haven’t confirmed if he was the same intruder as the one Florence tripped over.”
He examined the model, carefully picking it up with his gloved hands and placing it in a larger bag he got from the evidence kit. “I’ll have the model checked for fingerprints too. Neither of you have touched it, I presume?”
Grandma shook her head. “It had always been in the bottle, ever since Ernest Lebeau gifted it to me.”
“Ernest?” Sheriff Wilson asked as he sealed the bag.
“Of course.”
“Is this not a model of the Lafayette?”
“Yes.”
The sheriff’s frown deepened. “Why would a Lebeau have a model of the Fischer family’s ship?”
“It’s rather scandalous,” Grandma began coyly. She waited until the sheriff turned to give her his full attention. “Would you believe it? The original Fischer patriarch, some hundred or so years ago, had secretly made peace with his pirate Lebeau rival. This ship in a bottle was a gift, from world-famous whaler, to world-famous pirate.”
“That’s quite the tale,” Sheriff Wilson said with a disbelieving grunt. “But why would Ernest give it to you, after it had been in the family for so long? Why wouldn’t he give it to Lee?”
Grandma laughed as she recalled, “He thought Lee might cave in to pressure from the Fischers and donate the ship in a bottle if given the chance. So Ernest gave it to me on the condition that I didn’t let anyone else have it. You see, Piper Fischer had been trying to collect every piece of her family’s history for the archives, but Ernest refused to give her the model at any price. It was her great great grandfather’s model, after all, so it would have made an invaluable piece for her collection.”
“Why would Ernest want to spite her?”
“He still followed the Lebeau family tradition of despising the Fischers, I suppose. He knew if he gave the ship model to me, that I’d honor his request to keep it safe. Or, at least, I did, until somebody broke in.”
Abigail decided to butt in, “Why aren’t we suspecting Lee, then? Maybe he feels entitled to the antique.”
Grandma and Sheriff
Wilson shared a look, then burst out laughing. Sheriff Wilson asked. “Lee? That kid wouldn’t step on a dandelion, let alone murder somebody.”
Grandma tried to reel in her own laughter, not wanting to hurt Abigail’s feelings. “And if some long-lost Lebeau is still hanging on to the family rivalry, I think they’d go after something a little more precious than a ship in a bottle.”
Abigail groaned at the both of them. “There’s gotta be more to it than that. And think about it: Grandma tripped over a dead body. What just washed up on shore yesterday?”
“A body,” Sheriff Wilson hazarded.
“Could be the same guy,” Abigail suggested. “That’s what everyone around town thinks, anyway.”
Sheriff Wilson shrugged. “It’s possible. But I didn’t find anything the night of the incident, and I combed through this place twice. I suppose we’ll have to wait to see what my gal in forensics has to say about this model.” He hitched up his pants then gave them a nod. “All righty, let me know if you two discover anything else. I’m pretty swamped, as you can imagine. A dead body is a bit more paperwork than the noise complaints I’m used to writing up.”
*
Once Abigail was alone again with Grandma, she cocked her head at the diminutive woman. “So you really think the rivalry has nothing to do with anything?”
Grandma smirked. “I do. But old Willy likes to think the best of people, so I thought it might be better if we investigate that ourselves, don’t you?”
It took Abigail a moment to catch on. “Oh, so you don’t think my suspicions are silly?”
“Not at all. I simply think two unsuspecting women such as ourselves can go around asking questions without raising any suspicions. Don’t you agree?”
“Isn’t it the sheriff’s job to be questioning people, though?”
“I could tell he had written it off before you even finished explaining the connection. I’d rather someone who isn’t so biased look into it. Like you and me.”
Abigail laughed in disbelief. “He’s not one for solving murders, huh?”
“He tries, bless his heart, but Willy’s a softy. He just can’t stand the thought of his own citizens murdering each other. Lucky for us, it doesn’t happen too often.”
“That doesn’t really sound like a good sheriff.”
Grandma sighed wistfully and looked out the window as Sheriff Wilson’s car drove off. “He used to be something back in the day. A great detective. He works a little slower now, though he does usually get the job done. Murder—well, that’s not what he’s best at.”
Abigail had that familiar feeling in the back of her mind—the impulse of a lead. She followed plenty of leads in her profession as an insurance claims adjuster, but this was more exciting. She wouldn’t be trying to save some huge company a few bucks; she’d be solving a murder.
“Where do we begin?” she asked.
“Piper Fischer, of course. Not that I suspect her one bit, but she knows every little thing about the Fischer and Lebeau family history. So she might know something about the ship in a bottle.”
“Who is Piper, anyway?”
“She’s the heiress of the Fischer estate. After her father passed, she started managing the Fischer family’s private collection of artifacts.”
“What happened to her father?” Abigail asked, all too eager to suspect foul play.
“Died of natural causes. He had her at a pretty old age. Passed away at almost eighty years old. Piper’s mother’s still kicking, but she’s too old to properly watch over the estate nowadays. She’s in assisted living now, leaving Piper with the estate.”
Abigail nodded. “I see.”
Grandma continued, “I know Piper knows something about the ship model, considering she’s tried to buy it off me before. She probably won’t be too happy when she hears about its fate…”
“I bet. So when do we begin the snooping?”
Grandma looked around. “How about now? I make my own hours.”
The two wasted no time in making sure their dogs would be good for the next few hours. They grabbed a couple of sandwiches and drinks for the road, then locked the door on their way out.
Chapter 17
Abigail drove while they snacked, following Grandma’s questionable directions. It seemed her grandmother was more concerned with showing her around town than embarking on their investigation, considering the multiple circles they kept making.
At least Abigail was getting a lay of the land. This little town had more parks than it knew what to do with. Two separate dog parks, and a cat park too for the heck of it, it seemed.
They passed by a sprawling oak tree, one of its branches hanging over the road, giving just enough clearance for her car.
“I remember when that tree was just a sprout,” Grandma said proudly.
“Erm, the sign next to it says it’s over three hundred years old, Grandma.”
Grandma scoffed. “Revisionist history, I say.”
“So are we getting any closer to the Fischer estate?”
“Oh, yes. Nearly there.” She turned to Abigail, a big smile lifting her soft cheeks. “We’re going on quite the adventure together, aren’t we?”
“We sure are.”
Grandma pointed suddenly at an unpaved road. “That’s the turn!”
Abigail barely managed to make it without flipping the car over. “Jeez, Grandma.”
“Sorry, I’m used to traveling these roads in my sluggish golf cart. The government had my license revoked ages ago. Said I was too old to drive. Can you believe it?”
“Sorta.”
They headed up the hill, taking a turn around a thick gathering of trees. Then Abigail saw it: the Fischer estate.
She would have believed it was an old plantation given the multiple Antebellum-styled mansions on the property, but then again this was too far up North. “Look at this place!” Abigail said, regarding the massive columns in front of the main house. “What’s the family business, again?”
“Whaling. I mean, back when that was a living. Since then they invested and reinvested their fortunes rather prudently in other businesses, and it’s paid off big for them.”
“Wow.” Abigail pulled up around the long circular driveway, seeing several classic cars ranging from the 20s to the 60s. “Somebody in the family a car collector?”
“Those are all cars that have been kept in the family. As fortunate as they are, they believe in keeping things running rather than upgrading to something new every year. That philosophy is why the Lafayette is still afloat, so I certainly respect that.”
“Yeah, that’s kinda awesome.”
They got out of her car, the warm sun making them feel more than welcomed. But were they? “Uh, Grandma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“We are allowed to just show up on their estate, right? They wouldn’t consider it trespassing?” In Abigail’s line of work, she had dealt with her share of disgruntled landowners who thought she was asking one question too many.
Grandma shook her head. “Don’t worry, dear. Look how antiquated they live. If they’re going to shoot us, they’ll have to prime their muskets first. That’ll give us plenty of time to scram.” She winked.
Abigail watched in disbelief as the kindly old lady took the lead, heading straight for the front door.
Grandma rang the doorbell, and after about a minute, someone finally answered, a young redheaded woman with a perky nose and wide eyes. “Mrs. Lane!” she said, coming in for a hug. She then noticed Abigail. “Who’s your friend?”
“My granddaughter, Abigail. She’s come down from Boston just to see her old granny.”
Piper spread her arms, hugging Abigail whether she liked it or not. “Abigail! You look just like those old pictures of Mrs. Lane! Only not so black and white.” She laughed, then motioned they come inside. “What brings you two down here?”
“Not good news, I’m afraid,” Grandma said, looking down. “That ship in a bottle that Ernest had gifted me b
efore he died… Well, it’s in evidence now down at the police station.”
Piper spun around. “Goodness! Why?”
“It appears to have been knocked over in the scuffle that produced the dead body I tripped over.”
Piper frowned and asked hesitantly, “Uh, dead body?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard? There was a dead body in my home. It seemed that an altercation took place in the middle of the night, in my humble little antique shop. Can you believe it?”
Piper blinked her huge eyes. “The world’s gone crazy.”
“Indeed. And the body had disappeared not long after I tripped over it, leading people to believe I was seeing things again.”
Piper snickered. “Oh yeah, like your friend Mrs. Applebaum?”
“I’ll have you know Mrs. Applebaum is very real. And so was this body. He washed up on shore just yesterday, with a bullet wound in his chest.”
Piper looked dumbfounded. “That’s insane. I don’t know how I could have missed all this news. I was binge-watching some old BBC historical dramas at home for a week. You know I’m a sucker for them, but to think even bigger drama was happening just outside my window! Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit.”
They walked down a grand hall full of giant nautical paintings, their steps echoing on the pristine black and white linoleum floors. They took a turn through a huge doorway into what looked like a museum.
Glass displays lined the walls, full of vintage clothing and nautical memorabilia. Individual lights showcased the items scattered throughout the room. The walls were recessed with shelves lined with antique books from the floor to the high paneled ceiling, with a tall floating ladder resting against one bookshelf.
Silky red drapes were pulled back to reveal long beveled glass windows. Colorful oriental rugs brought out the fall palette of the Victorian-styled furniture that rested on them. The stained glass doors opened to the courtyard below, letting in a cool breeze.
Piper took a seat on an excessively large velvet recliner. “Sit, please. I need a second to process everything.” Once everyone was seated, Piper continued, “So did they identify the body?”
