Remember Me

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “Is something inside Remember House, dear?”

  “Tobias Knight,” she mumbled.

  84

  Scott Covey urged Elaine and Adam and Menley and Henry to come back to his house for a glass of wine. “I won’t keep you, but I do want to have a chance to thank you.”

  Adam glanced at Menley and she nodded. “A brief stop,” he agreed.

  Henry declined to stop at Covey’s even for a few minutes. “Jan has been with Phoebe all day,” he explained.

  Menley was anxious to get back to Hannah but wanted a chance to ask Elaine about the reason she had switched them from renting Mrs. Chambers’ house. Dropping by Scott Covey’s place would give her the opportunity.

  On the way there she and Adam discussed the inquest. “I wouldn’t want to be Fred Hendin, with everyone listening to my fianée talk about throwing herself at another man,” she observed, “but he certainly stood up for her when he testified.”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll dump her,” Adam said, “but I hope he doesn’t. Scott’s lucky that she backed up his story, but this inquest wouldn’t preclude a grand jury being called if further evidence came out. Scott’s got to be careful.”

  * * *

  Scott opened a bottle of vintage bordeaux. “I hoped I’d be using it for this reason,” he said. When it was poured he held up his glass. “This is not a celebration,” he began. “It would only be that if Vivian were with us now. But I do want to toast you, my friends, for all that you’ve done to help me. Adam, you’re the best. Menley, I know you urged Adam to help me. Elaine, what can I say except thank you.”

  He sipped and then said, “And now I want to share my future plans with you and only with you. I’m leaving here first thing in the morning, and I’m not coming back. I’m sure you can understand. I’ll never walk down a street in this town without being pointed at and whispered about. I think that the Carpenters will be better able to get on with their lives if they don’t run the risk of bumping into me. So Elaine, I’d like you to put this house on the market immediately.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Elaine murmured.

  “I can’t disagree with your thinking,” Adam commented.

  “Adam, I’ll be on the road for a while. I’ll phone your office next week, and if you have my bill ready I’ll send you a check.” He smiled. “Whatever it is, you were worth every penny.”

  A few moments later, Adam said, “Scott, if you’re leaving early you’ll want to pack.”

  Menley and Adam said their good-byes, but Elaine stayed behind to discuss details of leasing the house.

  As they went down the walk to their car, Adam wondered why he didn’t feel more triumphant. Why was his gut telling him he’d been had?

  85

  After the inquest, Nat Coogan did not have a celebratory glass of wine. Instead he sat in the family room, sipping a glass of cold beer, replaying the day in his mind. “This is what happens,” he told Debbie. “Murderers get away with murder. I could spend the next two days citing cases where everybody knows the husband or the neighbor or the business partner committed the crime, but there just isn’t enough proof to get a conviction.”

  “Will you keep working on the case?” Debbie asked.

  Nat shrugged. “The trouble is, there’s no smoking gun.”

  “In that case, let’s plan our anniversary. Shall we have a party?”

  Nat looked alarmed. “I thought I’d take you out for a fancy dinner alone and maybe we can check into a motel.” He winked at her.

  “The No-Tell Motel?” It was a long-standing joke between them.

  Nat finished his beer. “Damn it, Deb,” he said. “There is a smoking gun. And it’s right under my nose. I know it is. But I can’t find it!”

  86

  As he drove Tina home from the inquest, Fred Hendin had the sickening feeling that he might never be able to hold up his head again. He hadn’t missed the fact that the spectators were comparing him with that gigolo, Scott Covey. Fred knew Covey was a smooth-talking phony, but that didn’t make it easier that Tina freely admitted she had thrown herself at him all winter.

  When Fred was on the stand he had done the best he could to back her up, and the judge’s decision showed that he didn’t feel that the affair between Tina and Covey had any connection with Vivian Carpenter’s death.

  Fred knew Tina better than she knew herself. A couple of times in the corridor during recess, she had glanced at Covey. There had been a look in her eye that said it all. A blind man could see she was still crazy about him.

  “You’re very quiet, Freddie,” Tina said, slipping her arm around his.

  “I guess I am.”

  “I’m so glad this is over.”

  “So am I.”

  “I’m going to see if I can take some time off and visit my brother. I’m sick of people whispering about me.

  “I don’t blame you, but Colorado is a long way to go just to get away.”

  “Not that far. About five hours from Logan Airport.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Freddie, I just want to go home now and collapse. Do you mind?”

  “No.”

  “But tomorrow night, we’ll have a nice dinner. I’ll even cook.”

  Fred was painfully aware of how much he wanted to smooth the shiny dark hair that was tumbled on his sleeve. I’m nuts about you, Tina, he thought. That won’t change. “Don’t worry about cooking,” he said, “but you can have a drink waiting for me. I’ll be there by six.”

  87

  “What made you question ’Laine about the house in Eastham?” Adam asked as they drove home from the visit to Scott Covey.

  “Because she lied about the reason for switching us to Remember House. There was nothing wrong with the pipes in the other place.”

  “From what she said, the Chambers woman who owns it would never admit the constant trouble she has with the pipes.”

  “In that case, why did Elaine rent it to someone else?”

  Adam chuckled. “I think I see the picture. ’Laine probably realized that we might be good candidates to buy Remember House. I bet that’s why she switched us. She always knew there were more ways than one to skin a cat.”

  “Including lying? Adam, you’re a terrific lawyer, but sometimes I wonder about your blind spots.”

  “You’re getting mean in your old age, Men.”

  “No, I’m getting honest.”

  They were driving onto Morris Island and down Quitnesset Lane. The late afternoon was turning cooler. The leaves on the locust trees were rustling, and a few had begun to fall. “It must be pretty here in other seasons,” Menley observed.

  “Well, in two weeks we have to decide whether we want to find that out for ourselves.”

  * * *

  Amy had just finished feeding Hannah. The baby lifted her arms joyously when Menley bent over her.

  “She’s sticky,” Amy warned as Menley lifted her from the high chair.

  “That’s fine with me. I’ve missed you,” she told Hannah.

  “I’ve missed her too,” Adam said, “but your blouse is washable and this suit isn’t. Hi, Toots.” He blew a kiss at Hannah but kept out of her reach.

  Menley said, “I’ll take her upstairs. Thanks, Amy. Tomorrow afternoon about two all right with you? After I drop off the breadwinner at the airport, I do want to get in about four hours’ work.”

  Amy nodded, and when Menley was out of earshot asked, “Did you speak to Elaine about the tape, Mr. Nichols?”

  “Yes. She was sure she had returned it to me. You’re positive you saw the right one?”

  “You were all in it. You lifted Bobby out of the pool and told him to run to his mother. He called ‘Mommy, Mommy’ and then Mrs. Nichols asked him questions about his name and where he went to school.”

  “Nertry schoow,” Adam said.

  Amy saw the glint of tears in his eyes. “I’m so glad you have Hannah,” she said quietly. “But that is the tape you’re looking for, isn
’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. Amy, Elaine doesn’t like to admit to mistakes. Maybe you should just pick it up for me the next time you’re at her house. It sounds like petty larceny, but it is ours, and I can’t insist that she has it without perhaps causing trouble for you.”

  “I’d rather do it that way. Thanks, Mr. Nichols.”

  August 16th

  88

  At six o’clock on Tuesday morning, Scott Covey loaded the last of his bags into the BMW and made one more inspection of the house. Elaine was going to send someone in to give it a thorough cleaning, so that was not his concern. He looked again through the drawers in the bedroom and the closets for anything he might have missed.

  Wait a minute, he thought. He had forgotten the eight or ten good bottles of wine that were still in cartons in the basement. No sense leaving them for the cleaning woman.

  One thing nagged him, however—the pictures of Vivy. He wanted to put everything that had happened this summer behind him, but it might look callous to leave them here. He carried them to the car too.

  He had put out the garbage and recycling bags. He wondered if he should rip the picture of Remember House out of the frame and completely tear it up. Then he shrugged. Forget it. Garbage pickup was in an hour.

  Yesterday at the inquest, he had asked Vivian’s lawyer, Leonard Wells, to handle her estate and probate her will. Now that the judge had cleared him, the family couldn’t delay the transfer of assets. Wells told him he would have to sell a chunk of securities for taxes. The government certainly wanted plenty of other people’s money.

  I guess no matter how much you inherit, you feel that way, Scott thought.

  He drove the car out of the garage and around the house. He paused for an instant; then he stepped on the accelerator.

  “Good-bye, Vivy,” he said aloud.

  89

  They spent Tuesday morning on the beach, just the three of them. They had brought the playpen down for Hannah and kept it under the shade of the umbrella. Adam lay in the sun and read the papers. Menley had magazines in her beach bag, but she had also brought a sheaf of papers from Phoebe’s file.

  The papers had a rubber band around them and didn’t seem to be arranged in any particular order. Menley was getting the impression that, as the Alzheimer’s disease started to make inroads, Phoebe’s research became progressively more disorganized. It seemed as though she must have been gathering material and simply dumping it into the file. There were even recipes, clipped a few years ago from the Cape Cod Times, attached to stories of the early settlers.

  “Tough sledding,” she murmured.

  Adam looked up. “What is?”

  “Phoebe’s most recent notes. They date back about four years, I think. It’s obvious she was having real problems then. The pity is she must have realized she was losing her faculties. Many of the memos to herself are so terribly vague.”

  “Let’s see.” Adam glanced through the papers. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “There’s a reference to this place. ’Laine told me it got to be called Remember House because during a storm the house acts like a bellows. The way the wind whooshes against it sounds like someone calling ‘Remmmmbaaaa.’ ”

  “That’s what Jan Paley told me.”

  “Then according to this, they’re both wrong. Here’s a copy of a town record from 1705. It records the birth of a child to Captain Andrew Freeman and his wife, Mehitabel, a daughter named Remember.”

  “The baby’s name was Remember?”

  “And look at this. It’s a town record from 1712. ‘Said property known as Nickquenum, a dwelling house and chattels and homestead bounded easterly by ye bank or clift to the salt water, southerly by the land of Ensign William Sears, southwesterly by ye land of Jonathan Crowell and northerly by ye land of Amos Nickerson by the will of Captain Andrew Freeman was passed to his wife and if she be deceased to his descendants. Mehitabel his wife having predeceased him, the sole heir is a daughter Remember listed on ye record of birth in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and five. The whereabouts of said child being unknown, ye dwelling that has come to be known as Remember House is to be sold for taxes.’ “

  Menley shivered.

  “Men, what is it?” Adam asked sharply.

  “It’s only that there’s a story about one of the settlers in the late sixteen hundreds, a woman who knew she was going to die when her baby was born and directed that it be called Remember so it would always remember her. I wonder if Mehitabel knew of that. She may have suspected she was going to lose her child.”

  “Then if we do buy the house, maybe we’d better change its name back to the original. Have you any idea what Nickquenum means?”

  “It’s an Indian word that in essence means ‘I am going home.’ In the days of the early settlers, if a traveler was passing through hostile territory he only had to say that word and no one impeded him on his journey.”

  “You must have learned that from your research.” Did I? Menley wondered.

  “I’m going for a quick swim,” she said. “And I promise I won’t go out too far.”

  “If you do, I’ll rescue you.”

  “I hope so.”

  * * *

  At one-thirty she dropped Adam at the Barnstable airport. “Here we go again,” he said. “When I get back Thursday, we are starting a real vacation. No more work for me. And if I mind her nibs during the morning, will you be ready to be a beach bum or do some exploring in the afternoon?”

  “You bet.”

  “We’ll save Amy for a couple of dinners out.”

  “Alone, I hope.”

  * * *

  On her way back from the airport, Menley decided to take a quick run to Eastham to see the Tobias Knight house again. “Now, Hannah,” she instructed, “you must promise to behave. I need to get another look at this place. There’s something that I don’t understand.”

  * * *

  There was a different volunteer, an older woman, Letitia Raleigh, at the old house’s reception desk today. It had been a quiet afternoon, she told Menley, and she had time to chat.

  Menley offered Hannah a cookie. “It’s as hard as a dog biscuit,” she said, “but it feels good to her because she’s teething. I’ll make sure she doesn’t drop crumbs.”

  Content, Hannah settled down and Menley opened the subject of Tobias Knight. “I can’t find very much about him,” she explained.

  “He was a bit of a mystery man,” Raleigh confirmed. “Certainly a wonderful builder and ahead of his time. This house is nice, but I understand the one he built in Chatham was a showplace for that period.”

  “I rent it,” Menley said. “It is beautiful, but the rooms are smaller than those in this house.”

  “I don’t understand that. The dimensions are supposed to be the same.” Raleigh rummaged through the desk. “There’s a bio here we don’t usually pass out. It’s not too flattering of him. Here’s his picture. Presentable if pompous, don’t you think? And something of a dandy for those days.”

  The drawing was of an even-featured man of about thirty with a whisp of beard and longish hair. He was wearing breeches, a doublet, a cape and a high-collared ruffled shirt, and his shoes had silver buckles.

  She lowered her voice. “According to this bio, Tobias left Eastham under a cloud. He got in trouble when he became involved with a couple of the good-wives, and a lot of people were sure he had a wrecker business going . . . that’s a mooncusser, you know.”

  She skimmed the brochure and handed it to Menley. “Apparently in 1704, a few years after Tobias settled in Chatham, he was questioned by the Crown when all the cargo from the Thankful was missing. Everyone was sure he was guilty, but he must have found a way to hide his loot. He disappeared two years later. The theory is that it got too hot for him around Chatham and he took off to start fresh somewhere else.”

  “What was the cargo?” Menley asked.

  “Clothing, blankets, househ
old goods, coffee, rum —the reason it caused so much trouble is that it was all headed for the governor’s mansion in Boston.”

  “Where did they usually hide all the cargo?”

  “In sheds, buried on the shore, and some of them even had hidden rooms within their houses. These rooms were usually behind the fireplace.”

  90

  On Tuesday morning, Nat Coogan left for work earlier than usual. As a matter of curiosity, he drove past Scott Covey’s house to see if there was any sign of his getting ready to clear out. Nat had no doubt that now that the inquest was over and the decision favorable, Covey would shake the dust of the Cape from his shoes.

  But early as he was, he could see that Covey was already gone. The shades were drawn and there were a couple of garbage bags on the side of the house for pickup. You don’t need a search warrant to go through stuff that has been left for disposal, Nat thought as he parked his car.

  One bag contained cans and bottles for recycling as well as sharp fragments of broken glass. The other had garbage and trash, including a frame with the rest of the broken glass stuck in it and a picture with long crisscross scratches. Oh my, my, Nat thought. There was the original aerial photo of Remember House, the one that had been in the real estate office window. Even in its mutilated condition it was clearer than the duplicate Marge had shown him in the office. But the section with the boat had been torn out. Why? Nat wondered. Why did he try to destroy it? Why not just leave it if he didn’t want to be bothered carrying it? And why did he tear the boat out of the picture? And why was it missing from the copy print as well?

  He put the mangled photo in the trunk of the car and drove to Main Street. Elaine Atkins was just opening up. She greeted him pleasantly. “I have that picture you want. I can get it framed if you like.”

  “No, don’t bother,” Nat said quickly. “I’ll take it now. Deb wants to take care of the framing herself.” He reached for the print. He studied it. “Terrific! That’s great photography!”