by Eve Calder
“I’m thinking this might be a good time to do a little reading on the Bly family. Why don’t you doze, and I’ll just leaf through a couple of Claire’s books?”
Seemingly satisfied, Oliver nestled his head against the coverlet and closed his eyes. Soon his regular breathing alternated with a soft whistling sound.
As Kate flipped through the hand-bound book, she marveled at the sheer scope of the volume. The family had letters going back to the sixteenth century. After her move from Manhattan to Coral Cay, she was doing good to find any of last year’s Christmas cards.
The first few pages of the book were an introduction to the Blys. There were family trees showing various branches. And recent pictures of Marleigh Hall, as well as several that appeared to be taken in the 1920s or ’30s. Claire was right. The place was enormous.
There were also photographs of various family portraits. Including one of the current duke.
He was rather good-looking. Kate wondered if he resembled his great-uncle the pirate.
Turning pages, she saw that some of the letters were grouped as conversations, with the responses included. Others were simply stand-alones, clustered by date and family branches. The book was thick. And just glancing through, Kate could tell Claire was right about something else: she did recognize many of the names.
It seems the Blys had some very distinguished friends and family members over the years. Could that be why Sir George was expunged from the records?
Claire said that George Bly wasn’t in this book. But his brother Henry was. Kate resolved to start there.
She turned the pages, looking for his name. Luckily, the man had a large, proud signature. Unfortunately, in an age before computers—or even typewriters—she had to work to decipher his scrawly, cramped handwriting in ink that had faded considerably over almost four hundred years. And even the magic of modern copiers could only do so much.
Kate scanned the letter, which was really more of a note. It was dated 1634 from Tuscany.
My Sweet Jayne,
I thank you verily for sending word of my beloved father. Though it is sad news indeed, I am most grateful in knowing that he did not suffer in his last earthly moments. I rejoice that he enjoyed a most long and fruitful life. Yet I do grieve that you endured his passing alone.
Father is with my dear brother—and truly I feel his absence all the more sharply.
I shall speed my journey back to Marleigh. It has been only weeks—yea, though weeks too long—since last I beheld your fair countenance.
Though I have been parted from England’s green shores for lo these many years, I see it—and you—always in my dreams.
Your loving husband,
Henry
It sounded as though Henry had been living abroad, too. So George wasn’t the only one who’d left the bosom of England and the family home. Why?
It also appeared that Henry had a soft spot for George. Otherwise, why assume that his “beloved father” was spending the afterlife with his “dear brother”? And Henry’s grief for George seemed genuine. If not, why mention him at all?
Perhaps the scandal—whatever it was—hadn’t yet been discovered by the Bly family?
Claire recounted that, when Henry had moved into Marleigh Hall, he’d had George’s portrait removed and had never spoken of him again. So what happened between the time Henry sent this note and the time he reached England?
Kate turned the pages gently and studied the family tree in the front of the book. In 1634, George’s brother would have been in his seventies. And the late duke would have been a hundred or more. In an age without vaccinations—or even basic hygiene—that truly was an achievement.
She checked the birth and death dates, calculated the math in her head—then did it again. Just to be sure.
It seems that Henry Bly took after his father in more than just name. The man had been 101 or 102 when he died.
While the tree listed birth and death years for Henry Bly senior and junior, as well as junior’s mother and several sisters, Kate noticed there were none for his brother George. Nor were there listings of any marriages or children.
Was that because there weren’t any? Or because his family didn’t know of any?
It seemed Sir George Bly wasn’t simply a mystery to the residents of Coral Cay. He’d also been a bit of a mystery to his own family.
Chapter 23
Maxi carried the tray carefully through the doorway and set it on the table. While it was a warm morning, a strong breeze off the bay cooled downtown Coral Cay and carried the smell of salt water. And the promise of a storm.
Following a long walk through downtown followed by a romp around the backyard of the Cookie House chasing his favorite flying disc, Oliver was stretched out on the porch of Flowers Maximus at Kate’s feet. She reached down and rubbed his back. His hair was like silk. Curly, fluffy silk.
“Two hours’ sleep calls for extra caffeine,” Maxi said, as she poured café cubano into delicate yellow china cups.
“Definitely,” Kate said, flipping open the bakery box she’d brought. “Even Sam was dragging this morning. And he had yesterday off.”
“I know,” Maxi said smiling. “But even in the kitchen last night, did you notice he had just a liii-itle bit of a tan? Mi padrino looks healthy good. Ay, chocolate icebox cookies—muy deliciosas!
“He does,” Kate agreed, reaching for the china bowl full of frothy coconut cream. “And he seems happy. Although I know he’s worried about you guys.”
“Not as much as Peter is. Mi amor is usually super positive. But lately? Mr. Grouchy Pants.”
Stationed between them, Oliver followed the back and forth conversation with his eyes.
“Those two guys last night got me thinking,” Kate said, setting down her cup. “About Alvin, I mean. I really believe that whoever put him in your yard had to be from Coral Cay.”
“Why? Peter called Ben this morning. Those two bobos are from Hibiscus Springs.”
“Yes, but think about it. They came here, to a place they didn’t know, because that’s where they thought the treasure was buried. They didn’t have any choice in the location. And they got caught in record time. But what if you had the opposite problem? What if you had something you wanted to bury, and you could go anywhere?”
“You’d go somewhere you knew you wouldn’t get caught,” the florist added, cradling her cup. “Somewhere super private.”
“Somewhere you felt comfortable,” Kate added. “Somewhere you felt at home. And you’d know the spot well enough to do it when there was no one around.”
“Why not bury it at your home? Why come to my place?”
“Well, maybe they wanted to avert suspicion from themselves,” Kate said. “In case Alvin was ever found.”
“Or throw suspicion on someone else. Like me.”
“Maybe whoever it is couldn’t bury it at their home. Nosy neighbors? Doesn’t live alone?”
“Has a smart dog who digs up the yard?” Maxi ventured, grinning.
“Exactly,” Kate said.
Oliver straightened, looking very proud of himself.
Kate retrieved a gingersnap from her pocket and offered it to him. The pup took it politely from her hand.
“So that could be a clue,” Maxi said.
“Who do we know who couldn’t bury Alvin in their own yard?”
“Anyone who’s married, corizon. A wife won’t put up with that stuff. ’Specially if she wants him taking out the trash, cleaning out the garage, and painting the spare room.”
Kate smiled. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“I’m telling you, something’s up with Peter,” Maxi said, leaning forward and putting her cup on the saucer. “Something weird.”
Oliver stretched, circled a few times and curled up at Kate’s feet.
“What do you mean? Peter seemed fine last night. Well, except for the sleep deprivation.”
“He was talking on the phone this morning. In the bedroom closet.”<
br />
“Maybe it was for a case?”
“I got curious. So I juusst happened to need a different bag. But the minute I opened the door, he got this funny look on his face and hung up.”
“What did he say when you asked him?”
Maxi shrugged. “He said it was the office. But I saw the phone. For just a little bit. It was a 407 number. That’s not his office. Something’s up. That much, I can feel.”
“So talk to him. Take him to lunch. Sam’s at the bakery this morning, so I can keep an eye on things here.”
“Nope, not yet,” Maxi said, shaking her head. “For now, I let him—what is it you foodie people say?—‘Stew in his own juices.’ Besides, we need to find out what happened to Alvin. You really think it’s someone in Coral Cay?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. The scary thing is, if it’s true, it has to be someone who knows the place pretty well.”
“Everybody knew I was out of town in February. I mean, even a tourist at the resort could have overheard someone over there talking to me. It wasn’t exactly a secret.”
“Yes, but they wouldn’t know how to find this place. Much less that it had a big backyard. I mean, when I hear the phrase ‘flower shop,’ I think of a little shop. Surrounded by other little shops. This is, well, amazing.”
“Es fabulosa, no?” Maxi said, grinning.
“Si, muy buena!” Kate said.
“Ay, look at you. We’ll make a cubana out of you yet.”
“Seriously, only a local would know that there was a nice, undisturbed yard out back. And only a local would know how to get here. I mean, it’s at the end of the block.”
“And only a local would know about Sam’s annual trip,” Maxi said, taking another cookie.
“Exactly. And, as we foodies say, ‘That’s the icing on the cake.’”
“So what do we do?” Maxi asked. “It’s not like we can go door to door asking, ‘Hey, did you happen to lose Mr. Bones? ’Cause we found him, and we want to give him back.’”
“There’s one other thing I was wondering about.”
“Just one? Corizon, I got a lot of questions.”
“No one’s missing in Coral Cay,” Kate said, looking down at Oliver, whose eyelids were getting heavy.
“You think Alvin is a tourist?”
“I don’t know about a tourist. But I definitely think he’s from out of town. And, wherever he comes from, either they haven’t noticed he’s missing—or the police haven’t made the connection between that missing person report and our Alvin.”
“So maybe we give them a little help,” Maxi said, refilling Kate’s cup and then her own. “But how?”
They sipped the inky coffee in silence, both of them turning the question—and the myriad of new complications—over in their minds.
“I don’t know that I have an answer,” Kate said, suddenly sitting forward. “But I think I might know who we can ask.”
Chapter 24
That afternoon, Kate picked up the red slimline phone in her bedroom and dialed a familiar number.
“Stenkowski Investigations. Leave a message at the beep, and one of our agents will contact you today.”
“Manny, hi, this is Kate McGuire. When you get this, just give me a call.”
She left her number and prayed Manny wasn’t on vacation. Or a more interesting case.
Kate had met Manny after she first moved to Coral Cay, when Evan hired the P.I. to keep tabs on her. And help her out if she needed it—but without letting her know.
Luckily for Kate, while Manny turned out to be a first-rate investigator, he wasn’t exactly practiced at tailing people. So after she’d discovered him following her—and learned who was footing the bill—she’d convinced him to help her track down information on the late and unlamented Stewart Lord. On the Q.T., of course. As far as Evan Thorpe was concerned, she and Manny had never met.
Kate also had a soft spot for Manny’s beagle, John Quincy, a former cadaver dog with a bad case of burnout. Manny and his ex-wife had rescued the dog, who was now a pampered family member. And the P.I. took him almost everywhere.
Suddenly, Kate heard yelling.
“I don’t care who you are, I was here first! So they’re mine!” A woman’s voice. Angry.
“Look, lady, my kid’s having a birthday party,” a man hollered in response. “His tenth birthday! That doesn’t happen every day. And a kid’s birthday party comes first!”
“Quiet!” Sam’s voice sliced through the din. “Cut the nonsense. Both of you.”
Kate raced down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the shop to find a crowd of people jammed into the small room like sardines. Directly in front of the bakery case, a man and woman were facing off.
“You people don’t knock it off, no one’s getting cookies,” Sam said evenly. “And I mean no one.”
“But there’s only a dozen left,” the woman whined. “And I was here first.”
“Is it your birthday?” the man hissed. “’Cause it’s my kid’s birthday. And he wants those cookies.”
“When’s your child’s party?” Kate asked smoothly.
“This afternoon,” the man said. “Four o’clock.”
Sam shook his head, sadly. “Sarah, you wanted sourdough?” he asked, moving on to the next customer in the crowd.
“Where are you staying?” Kate asked, sizing up the man’s new leisurewear and the pink sunburn across his nose.
“We’re at Coral Isle Resorts. We’ve got four kids and another four adults. Josh had some of those icebox things this morning, and he loves them.”
“OK, if you have eight people, you’re going to need more than a dozen cookies. And I’ve got more in the oven right now. So how about you let this nice lady take these, and I’ll drop off, what, four dozen at the front desk of Coral Isle by three thirty. Would that work?”
“Could we get five dozen?” the man pleaded.
“Of course,” Kate said, grabbing a pad from the counter and jotting down the order. “Anything else to go with it?”
“Well, a cake would be nice. Chocolate with white icing? That’s Josh’s favorite.”
“Happy Birthday Josh,” Kate said matter-of-factly, scribbling it on the pad. “What’s the birthday boy’s favorite color?”
“Orange. Lady, that would be great. You’re saving my life.”
“Not a problem.” She glanced at her notes. “Five dozen chocolate icebox cookies and a birthday cake—chocolate with white icing, orange writing, and candles. Delivered to Coral Isle Resorts by three thirty today. Will that be cash, or may I put it on your credit card?”
* * *
“Never had nothing like that when we just sold bread and rolls,” Sam said gruffly, after the shop had finally emptied.
“I don’t know—everyone in town raves about your sourdough,” Kate said. “I’m guessing you had at least a few fistfights over the last loaf in the shop.”
“Woulda rather tossed ’em both,” Sam replied. “Bunch a’ troublemakers.”
“Look at it this way, instead of a dozen cookies, we sold six dozen, plus a cake, plus a delivery charge. And now we know those icebox cookies are a hit.”
Sam shrugged. “Got a point there,” he admitted, heading into the kitchen.
When the shop bell tinkled, Kate looked up. Evan.
He looked over and smiled broadly. Kate always teased him about the grin—calling it his “five hundred-watt smile.” Often, it meant he wanted something. And most of the time, he got it.
Evan turned, talking to someone behind him—out on the porch. “Come on in. I want to introduce you.”
“Nah, I’ll just wait out here,” an unseen man’s voice mumbled.
“No, come on. She’ll want to meet you. She’s great—I promise.”
Manny Stenkowski stepped through the door, a sheepish look on his face.
“Hi, Evan, what’s up? And who’s your friend?” Kate asked, nodding toward the private detective.
&nb
sp; “Kate, this is Manny Stenkowski. He works in security and investigations. Look, I heard about the problem last night. At your friend’s place. And I felt bad about it. I mean, the foundation is funding the search for Gentleman George—and that’s ratcheted up the whole treasure hunting thing. So I’ve asked Manny to help us out. You know, sort of keep an eye on things. And I know what you’re going to say…”
“Nice to meet you, Manny,” she said, extending her hand across the counter. “I’m Kate McGuire. I’m one of the owners of the Cookie House. Before you go next door to meet my friend Maxi, would you guys like to come into the kitchen and have a snack?”
* * *
After she got Evan and Manny settled with coffee and a big plate of chocolate chip cookies, Kate picked up the phone. And pointedly ignored the questioning looks she was getting from Sam each time he wandered through the kitchen.
“Hi, Maxi, it’s Kate. Just wanted to find out if you could come over for a minute. Evan’s here, and he’s got an investigator he’s hired to keep an eye out in case any more of those treasure hunters show up.”
“Are you OK? You sound weird,” Maxi said.
“No, I don’t think you’ve met him. His name is Manny Stemkowski.”
“Stenkowski,” Manny corrected from across the kitchen.
“Excuse me, Manny Stenkowski,” Kate said into the phone.
“Yowza,” Maxi said.
“Exactly,” Kate replied, cheerily. “So, you know, just pop in whenever you have a sec.”
“Are you kidding?” the florist said. “I’d pay money to see this. I’ll be right over.”
* * *
After another round of “introductions,” Evan outlined his plan: Manny was going to stake out the block at night, and alert the police if there were any more unwanted visitors. And, as time permitted, he would also use his skills to assist them with the search for the real Gentleman George.
“Uh, what’s that?” Evan said, pointing to where Oliver perched by the bakery’s back door.
“That’s Oliver,” Kate said. “He’s the town dog, but he lives here. With me.”