* * *
The morning’s land-warmed, northerly breeze was a fond memory as a cool south wind sped Owl across the sound. A big yawl with all her sails spread, and a huge multicolored spinnaker pulling her along, crossed Sarah’s bow. Five people in the cockpit waved as the yawl raced by. Close to shore, one of the ubiquitous fleet of lobsterboats was working a line of traps. Further out, a speedboat tossed spray as it bounced off the wave-tops. Ahead, the Borofsky’s new pier jutted into the sound, reaching out to her, luring her in.
Sarah put on her windbreaker against the cool air. A light haze added a translucent glow to the sunlight, heralding fog. Fog was a fact of life along the Maine coast, especially in early summer when the seawater was still cold. Guessing that it would be thick in two or three hours, she decided to keep her excursion short.
Eventually, the Borofsky’s pier would have a float on the end, but at the moment there was just the L-shaped structure, a row of pilings with decking on top. A ladder was bolted to one of the pilings and Sarah brought Owl up to the shelter inside the L. She made a clumsy landing, because she wasn’t used to this manoeuver, and nearly scraped her precious shear plank. She tied Owl to a piling with the end of the anchor line, lowered and furled the sails.
Being Saturday, the Borofsky’s nearly-finished house was deserted as Sarah stepped onto the lawn. Most of the trees had been cleared between the house and the water, leaving only a few large, well pruned specimens. The building was three stories high, with turrets and balconies in what Sarah could only describe as a Neo-Victorian-Castle style. To her left, the manicured, freshly sodded lawn abruptly collided with Myra’s tangle of fir and spruce.
A huge oak tree stood at the edge of the lawn, up against Myra’s scrubby woods. Sarah pulled out the William Tell picture that showed Marlee Sue pretending to be skewered against the tree. The shape of the branches appeared the same as the photograph, though bigger after forty years, and the curved limb that arched over the Borofsky’s new lawn looked the same. Sarah moved until the other trees lined up with the picture. This was where Myra had stood, and the oak was the one where Marlee Sue had posed with the arrow.
Sarah walked to the tree and found a newly driven iron rod decorated with orange paint just beyond it. Along the shore, closer to the Borofsky’s mansion, was another big oak. That must be the one Myra had claimed to be her property line, as there weren’t any other possible candidates. The old woman had certainly laid claim to a hefty portion of her new neighbor’s land.
But if Myra believed that she owned to the farther tree, then what was the purpose of the William Tell picture, which showed the actual property line? Surely,the photo suggested that she knew her claim about owning to the other Oak tree was wrong and she was blackmailing the Borofskys under false pretenses.
Sarah wondered if she had guessed wrong about Myra’s motives entirely, and the photo had nothing to do with the boundary line after all. Maybe these photos were simply a random assortment from Myra’s collection and had no special significance, in which case Sarah was wasting her time.
She walked along Myra’s shore front in search of the monument, site of the Heathen Brats picture. Surely that was a marker for the other property line.
She found the monument at the edge of an area of freshly cut brush and saplings. It was wrapped with orange tape. Okay, she thought to herself, the two snapshots showed on the ground what the old deed described on paper, but so what?
Of course, the Heathen Brats picture might be showing more than just a property line. She took the photo out of her pocket and studied it. A twin-trunked pine tree showed in the picture, just behind the monument, between it and the water’s edge.
The same tree stood off to the left of the stone as Sarah faced the water. Had the monument been moved after all? If so, why move it to the right and give Myra another ten feet of land? Unless, she though bleakly, Brian had moved it so Myra’s land would have enough frontage to split into two lots. But surely a surveyor would catch that kind of tampering.
It only took a moment for Sarah to realize her mistake. Myra must have stood off at an angle in order to get both girls into the picture. Sarah shifted over until the monument and the tree lined up, moving onto Grinshnell’s land in the process. She looked around. If Myra stood here, then Marlee Sue must have been lying right in front of where Sarah was now standing.
Someone, probably Grinshnell, had been cutting saplings and young trees to open up a view of the water and had piled brush willy-nilly around the area in waist high tangles. One of those tangles covered the spot where Marlee Sue had been lying, making her Halloween face, when Myra clicked the shutter. Sarah tried to poke through the brush pile, but couldn’t see anything through the maze of branches. She wondered if Oliver’s radar device would work here.
Had Myra been trying to extort money from Grinshnell as well as Borovsky? If so, what did the Missing Ring picture mean? She would explore the vegetable garden next while she pondered all this.
Sarah started towards Myra’s burnt out house, visualizing the Missing Ring photo in her mind’s eye: The smell of freshly turned earth, Myra bemoaning her lost ring, Sarah digging in the sun-warmed dirt. A sudden realization came to her just as she tripped and fell over something hidden under the layer of pine needles, leaves, and twigs. She sat on the ground nursing her bruised shin and discovered that she had fallen over a headstone, or more accurately, half of a headstone.
She kneeled and brushed away the debris. The stone’s top edge had a break that looked like a match to the piece hidden in Cathy’s boat.
That was why the location of Gerhard Burndt’s grave had been kept a secret all those years—it was located on Squirrel Point in the middle of Huggard land, not on Oak Hill in Burndt territory. The grave site had probably been neglected and then forgotten after the Huggards bought up the land.
Sarah couldn’t see any inscription. It must be on the other side. She heaved the stone upright and stared at the dead leaves and pine needles underneath where it had lain.
She had her proof. The freshness of the leaves and pine needles meant the stone must have been dug up this spring and moved well after Cathy took the top half away last fall.
A voice shot Sarah to her feet. “I was afraid you’d figure it out sooner or later.”
Chapter 28
“The old woman where my wife is staying said she’s here,” Claude announced, indicating Sarah’s Explorer with a casual wave of his hand.
“I didn’t know you were still married,” Oliver said from the doorway.
“Semantics.” Claude did a double-take and stared, frowning, at the SUV’s tortured bodywork. “Is she around?”
“She’s out sailing her boat,” Oliver replied. Pearly, still seated in his chair, watched the unfolding scene like a nightclub patron anticipating an especially lively floor show.
Claude tore his gaze from the battered Explorer, glared at Oliver, and advanced menacingly. “Are you the one who is messing around with that old wreck of hers?”
Oliver’s dislike of Claude was growing fast.
“There’s nothing wrong with that boat,” Pearly said stoutly.
Claude stopped, glanced at Pearly and Eldon, and regained his composure.
“When’s she coming back?” he demanded.
Eldon wandered over to the Porsche and stared down at it.
“She packed a lunch,” Oliver said.
“But it’s foggy out there. She could get lost,” Claude protested.
“That’s nothing,” Pearly said from the comfort of his chair. “Wait until later.”
“I think I saw her heading across the sound about an hour ago,” Eldon said.
“Isn’t she required to file a sail plan or something before she goes out?” Claude asked.
“This isn’t an airport,” Oliver pointed out.
Eldon circled Claude’s car, peering at it as though the Porsche was a cherry bon-bon.
“But you don’t even know where she is.” Claud
e’s head rotated back and forth as he tried to split his attention between Eldon, Oliver, and Pearly.
“We don’t know where a lot of people are,” Pearly said reasonably.
Eldon leaned over and peered through the driver side window. His hand brushed the door handle and it looked for a second as though he was going to try and get inside. Oliver figured his curious young friend would need to tear the roof off to succeed.
“She never answers her cell,” Claude complained distractedly as Eldon kneeled and looked underneath the vehicle.
“Maybe she keeps it turned off,” Oliver said with approval.
Claude looked aghast. “Why would she do that?”
“To get some peace and quiet?” Pearly suggested.
The Porsche creaked faintly as Eldon lifted the back end off the ground to get a better view underneath.
“Hey—”
“You pay much for this thing?” Eldon inquired, putting the car back on all four wheels.
“She’ll be back before dark,” Oliver said.
“I can’t wait here forever. I’ve got to get back to Freeport.”
Eldon sauntered around to the Porsche’s front end, leaned over, and rested his hand thoughtfully on the hood.
“Look,” Claude said hurriedly, “just give her a message. She asked me to check on this Grinshnell character. Tell her the guy claims to be a financial adviser, but he’s a phoney, strictly a small-time operator. He doesn’t own that land any more than I do. He and a lawyer up here named Kincaid are fronting for somebody. I haven’t found out who yet.”
“How did you learn all that?” Oliver asked.
“I’m a tax attorney for the IRS. I know how to get answers out of people.”
Oliver stared out at the sound. “Clever,” he murmured.
“Can you remember all that?” Claude said, anxious to leave.
“We certainly can,” Pearly assured him.
“Damn,” Oliver said. “I should have seen it before. That’s why Cathy was killed.”
Eldon abandoned his study of Teutonic automotive design. “You think Kincaid killed Cathy?”
Pearly lurched to his feet. “Whoa—”
“No, I don’t,” Oliver said “But I suspect Kincaid is passing information to Grinshnell, and whoever does own the land.” He turned to Eldon. “When was the last time Myra saw Kincaid?”
“Cathy took her over right after I got Cathy’s car running, first of the year. I figured Myra was going after Borofsky some more.”
“I think it was more than that,” Oliver said.
“Like what?”
“We need to know who really owns that land.”
“I bet Kincaid can tell us,” Eldon said grimly. “Let’s pay him a little visit.”
“Not so fast,” Pearly protested.
Oliver, who had been looking preoccupied, turned to Claude. “You didn’t mention Sarah to Grinshnell, did you?”
“Of course,” he said proudly. “I told him to watch his step with my wife because I was keeping an eye on him.”
“That’s bad.” Oliver said as he frowned at the haze creeping up the sound. “I knew she shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“Come on,” Pearly said, “there are boats all over the place.”
“She might have been heading towards Myra’s place last time I saw her,” Eldon said. “Could have landed at Borofsky’s pier.”
Oliver turned to Pearly. “Got a boat I can borrow?”
“You mean she’s in danger?” Claude said, appalled. “Where are you going? I’ll take my car.”
* * *
“God, you scared me half to death,” Sarah exclaimed.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t resist watching you play detective. Once I saw those photos, I knew it was just a matter of time.”
“You discovered the gravestone when Myra took the Heathen
Brats picture. That’s what you were lying on. That’s why the Halloween face.”
“I remembered the gravestone when I bought the land.”
“So this really is your land,” Sarah said, her heart pounding.
“I had Kincaid set it up so Grinshnell would look like the owner. Kincaid called him a straw man, or something like that.”
“You didn’t want Myra to know it was yours?”
“You always were her favorite,” Marlee Sue complained. “She hated me, so I figured it would cause less trouble if she didn’t know I was her new neighbor. You know how she plagued Borofsky. Just imagine what she would have done to me.”
It was true. Myra would have taken special pleasure in thwarting Marlee Sue, just as Marlee Sue had taken pleasure in trying to put one over on Myra. It had been almost a game between the two of them. A game based on mutual dislike. She looked down at the broken piece of stone. “Is it really Gerhard Burndt?”
Marlee Sue gave a dismissive shrug. “Who cares? It was in the way, so I moved it onto Myra’s land this spring before I had the brush cleared. The witch took the top half last fall.”
“What did Myra and Cathy want?”
Marlee Sue glanced at the brush pile as though Gerhard Burndt might rise up out of the ground. “They told you about it?”
“I expect Cathy was going to, but she died first,” Sarah said, trying to figure out how to talk her way out of the trap she had stumbled into.
“Myra and her goddam pictures. She sent Grinshnell photos of the stone lying there last fall, and said she’d notify the town about the grave if he didn’t pay her off. On top of that, the crazy old bat wanted him to make a ‘proper graveyard’ for Gerhard Burndt.”
Marlee Sue waved at the brush pile. “Can you believe it? Nobody would pay good money for a piece of land with a graveyard taking up a big hunk of the front lawn. I had to move the stone. I only took a few feet of the witch’s land. What else could I do?”
Sarah felt a surge of protectiveness towards Burnt Cove’s founding father. “I can’t believe you would—”
“For god’s sake, Irish, I wouldn’t kill her over that. She would have died in a few months anyhow, and I could have gotten a court order to move the grave. The trouble was, she wouldn’t leave well enough alone. The gravestone wasn’t enough for her. She wouldn’t stop at that. The bitch went too far.”
“But she was just trying to protect Gerhard’s—”
“You know perfectly well there was more to it than that. You must have wondered why Myra kept that wreck of a boat all those years, and why she decided to give it to you last fall.”
“Myra kept Owl for sentimental reasons,” Sarah said.
Marlee Sue gave a short, bitter laugh. “She didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body. The only reason Myra would keep Owl is if it was worth more for her to hang onto the boat than to sell it. And the only thing that would make the boat valuable was if she hid something in there. Something she wanted you to have.”
“How did you dream all that up?” Sarah said, trying to keep her voice light.
“I started to wonder as soon as you told me that Owl belonged to Myra and not the Merlews. At first I thought she was just getting rid of it, like Cathy’s car, but she gave Owl to you before she redid the will. What made it so special? Why give it to you?”
Marlee Sue gave Sarah a triumphant look. “Then I realized nobody would go looking for something hidden in the boat, except maybe you, after you thought about those pictures.”
It almost made sense, when Marlee Sue put it that way. Owl might seem like an ideal hiding place to an eccentric old woman who didn’t trust in banks or safe deposit boxes, or lawyers. Who would think to look there? Cathy probably knew, and would have told her if she had lived.
On the other hand, Owl had been in the Merlew’s barn, and out of Myra’s reach, for years. “What in the world would Myra hide?” Sarah said.
Marlee Sue eyed her suspiciously. “I bet Myra used the fool boat to hide all kinds of stuff. The question is where?”
“Maybe the flotation tank.” It was one place Sarah hadn�
�t taken apart in her repair work.
“Flotation tank?”
Sarah reminded herself that her companion thought of boats as though they were cars—something that one drove without understanding the innards. She had always ridden in the Whaler.
“The front end is sealed off to keep the boat afloat in case it swamps,” Sarah explained.
“How would you get into it?”
“There’s a bronze cover on the deck. You can unscrew it to pump out the tank. The hole is pretty small though. I’m not sure you could even get your hand through.”
“You never found any papers in there?”
“Papers? I never looked. Besides, they’d get wet.”
“Nice try, Irish. If you didn’t find anything, then why were you checking up on Grinshnell? What clued you in?”
Sarah swore under her breath. Claude was an idiot. No, she was an idiot for calling him and thinking her ex could be discrete.
“Your Halloween expression in the Heathen Brats picture for starters. It suddenly occurred to me that you looked like a dead body, lying on a grave—Gerhard’s grave,” Sarah replied. “The rest was guesswork. Myra’s snapshots and her old deed got me thinking about the property lines. She had plagued Borofsky, why not Grinshnell? He supposedly bought the land about the same time you moved here.
“On top of that, it seemed like an awfully big coincidence to encounter you on the streets of Belfast like that,” Sarah went on. “I began to wonder if you knew Kincaid, and he told you I was coming, so you arranged to bump into me and find out what I was up to. He handles a lot of real estate transactions around here, and you knew right where is office is.”
“That’s all it took? I suppose we could look around Owl.” Marlee Sue said thoughtfully, as she fumbled under her sweatshirt. “On the other hand, it might be safer if you and Owl were lost at sea. Your boatbuilder friend probably missed a bunch of rotten planks.”
Gravely Dead: A Midcoast Maine Mystery Page 19