“I just hate it when stories begin this way,” Faith cringed. “I certainly don’t like being the one to enlighten you.”
“What is it?”
“I just feel uneasy when I’m introduced to a place and the introduction begins with, “aside from the murder, it’s a lovely place.” You know, like your ancestral home. I wasn’t there an hour when someone thought to mention that the original owner woke up and decided it would be a fine day to chop up his wife and sister. You grew up wondering just where it was Grandpa hid Grandma’s body.”
“Yeah, good times. No one said anything about there being a murder on the island. Are you telling me there’s been a murder? How could I not know that?”
“That is because you didn’t do your research.”
“Yes, I did. I researched, the construction of the existing buildings, the rainfall, the snow fall, the wind and how strong it blows and it what direction. I took samples and tested the soil before I checked the rocks along the cliffs. And so much more. Everything I would need to know in order to do my job.”
“Not everything,” Faith taunted her. “You didn’t find out why the good people living in this village forty-six years ago, rowed across the bay and burned the main house to the ground.”
“No, it was struck by lightning. A fact I used when designing the buildings,” her voice trailed off. “They what? Any particular reason why?”
“A fisherman and his family had been living on the island,” Faith slowly began her explanation. “He came home from the sea one day and set about slitting the throats of his wife and children. Apparently, it was part of some demonic inspired sacrifice.”
Delia sat there with a blank expression. Faith sipped her coffee and waited. She was in no hurry, she even had the waitress top off her cup more than once.
Deciding that she had waited long enough, she called the waitress over. “Meg, would you mind telling my friend about Mr. Conklin?”
“Terrible thing,” she began with a tremble in her voice. “The family was living on Muraille Island. Mr. Conklin came back from a fishing trip and killed the whole family.”
“You’d think that would be the type of thing someone would mention,” Delia choked out. “Meg, do you serve alcohol here?”
“No, but there is McClury’s across the street. They have all the local brews.”
“Thank you,” Delia whimpered. “When you get a chance, I’ll take the check.” She hated that Faith sat back not saying a word while she settled things up with Meg.
“Buy you a drink?” Faith finally offered.
“Oh, God there’s more isn’t there.”
“Of course there is.”
Cape Point, ME
Later that day
Delia remained strangely quiet even after they had bought their drinks and found an empty booth. Finally, she took sip of Allagash. She released a frustrated sigh.
“I knew there had to be something,” she finally began. “That’s why I called Shawn. It’s just that I thought I had finally put all of this behind me. Having grown up with this and then it was finally over. Now, I get this dream job and it’s starting all over again. The weird noises, touches and the people around me changing. How is it that you know so much about the island? My call to Shawn wasn’t all that long ago.”
“Happenstance,” Faith confessed. “A friend of ours had just spent time out there. She’s a photographer. Strange things started happening, so I did what I do. I researched the island.”
“Tell me everything.”
“Well, the Conklin massacre wasn’t the first shall we say, unnatural death on the island.”
“It’s been inhabited since before the Europeans arrived. It has to have some history. I just didn’t expect, Daddy comes home and decides that what the family needs to be sacrificed.”
“True, even in the disturbing times we live in, mass murder is still shocking,” Faith conceded. “My friend, the one who camped out on the island, told me that a lot of the villagers feel that cause for the darkness is a Native American curse.”
“They were forced off the island.”
“And most everywhere else in this great land of ours,” Faith quickly dismissed the theory. “Here is a brief history of the island. The Maccaw people lived there peacefully probably since the dawn of time. A general from the Revolutionary war decides he deserves a reward. He claims the island. Because he can. It stays in his family for about one hundred years. The Muraille family buys it from his heirs. This is before the upper crust decided that Newport was the place to vacation. At some point, Phineas Muraille, who was the driving force behind the Arts Foundation, bought out a lot of the family members.”
“He built a little cottage,” Delia offered. “It is on the east side of the island. He liked to paint. It’s the one structure I’m not allowed to touch. Don’t tell me he used to sit there painting the ocean then go and torture animals or some other strange crap.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Faith chuckled. “To the best of my knowledge, he simply liked to paint and enjoy the tranquility of the island. Time goes on and another member of the family, Phineas’ great granddaughter, decides she wants the island for herself. She buys out the rest of the family. She modernizes the island to a point. By all accounts Temperance Muraille was kind and generous lady who allowed the good folks of this town to use the island.”
“So, far this all sounds fairly benign.”
“It was until 1952, when Temperance Muraille dies under suspicious circumstances.”
“She was murdered?”
“It’s unclear. I could only find out so much,” Faith reluctantly admitted. “Initially, her death had been ruled an accident. However, the family began to question things. At the time of her death, she had a couple of houseguests. Two men who claimed to be brothers. When she died, she was alone with them on the island. Right after she died they tried to lay claim to her estate. She had only known them for a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t raise any red flags.”
“It did with her family. They claimed that Temperance left all of her private assets to her assistant, who might have been engaged to her brother at one point Ella Westbrook.”
“My employer. I’m guessing that these gentleman were exposed.”
“To say the least,” Faith leaned forward eager to reveal what she had discovered. “During the legal wrangling over Temperance’s estate, it was revealed that the Jordan brothers weren’t brothers. They were a couple of Nazis.”
“What? She was Nazi sympathizer?”
“No, that’s one of the truly bizarre things,” Faith asserted. “Temperance Muraille, had assisted three or four families out of occupied territory. She also saved a lot of artwork from being plundered kept it here in the States and returned it to its rightful owners after the war. Someone who does that isn’t going to harbor a couple of Nazis.”
“She was duped?” Delia theorized.
“Probably,” Faith agreed. “So, everything is exposed. The Sheriff decides it is time to get rid of these guys. He and his men storm the island and find the Jordan brothers dead; murder, suicide.”
“I guess they didn’t want to go to prison.”
“Who knows,” Faith pondered the question. “Somehow, I get the feeling that prison was the least of their worries. I don’t know the full story, yet. Like I said, her death was suspicious and for some reason the island sat empty. Then, in 1972, the Conklin family fell on hard times and were about to lose their home. Ella Westbrook being the nice lady that she is offers the family use of the island. That’s when the locals decided it was cursed.”
“And now, I’m expected to build a research and educational center there. I’m surprised the locals are allowing it. Unless, enough time has gone by and people don’t buy the curse theory.”
“I don’t buy the curse theory,” Faith snorted. “I also don’t buy that the locals have forgotten. You grew up in a small town. Tell me what did the kids do on a Saturday night?�
��
“Partied,” Delia shrugged.
“At home?”
“No, in the woods.”
“Right, no parents, no cops. You hope,” Faith beamed. “Think about it, you’re a teenager in this little village.” She pointed to the window which granted them a dim view of the island. “You have that, just sitting there empty. No parents, no cops and a cozy little cottage just in case you’re feeling romantic. All you have to do is row across the bay and get baked. Tell me did your crew find any beer cans, liquor bottles, condoms or pipes? Any vandalism of any sort?”
“No.”
“That’s what my friend Ro, said. The place was untouched. Which begs the question, why? Face it, a place like that is a teenagers wet dream and yet no one goes out there.”
“Or they have and something scared them off,” Delia surmised. “It’s like Whispering Pines, people use to go out to investigate or party all the time. Each and every time something scared them off. You know, you’ve been there.”
“Yes, and I got bitch slapped in the kitchen.”
“You’re still hanging on to that? Seriously?” Delia scoffed before deciding to finish her beer. “You know you might be wrong. I did hear something whispered in my ear. It was just one word, Jagermeister.”
“Find any Jager bottles?”
“No,” Delia grumbled. “Maybe it’s that thing you and girlfriend talk about? You know when an emotion or event keeps playing in a loop?”
“Residual energy?”
“It could be that. Or maybe, it’s just a ghost who wants to do a shot?” Delia knew she sounded ridiculous but she went with it. “I know I could use one right about now?”
“Feel free,” Faith encouraged.
“I will, so what’s our next course of action?”
“We need to find out what is on the island? Then we can figure out how to get rid of it. For my part, I’m going to do, what I do. Research. How far is Acadia National Park, from here?”
“What am I going to do?” Delia mumbled.
“For now, hire a female crew. Lucky for you, I have some free time. Shawn and I arranged for some time off to go to a wedding in London.”
“Not going?”
“Thankfully, my sister chose to elope?”
“Carey, got married. That’s nice. Was it to, Dr. Kapoor?”
“Yes.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Delia snickered. “You and I are related now.”
“What? Oh, crap I forgot you and Rishi are related.”
“Hello, cousin.”
Chapter 17
Cape Point, ME
September17, 2017
Faith was lying on her bed when her cell phone chirped to life. “Hey there,” she purred into the phone. She loved that she had a project to work on but hated being away from Shawn.
“Hey yourself,” Shawn cooed in response.
“Have you slept or did you hit the ground running it the moment the plane landed?”
“What do you think?”
“I think our lives were much easier when Althea was simply a producer and the money wasn’t coming out of her pocket.”
“Isn’t that the truth? But if we can nail this, her new company is solid.”
“How are things in Fall River?”
“Same,” Shawn chuckled. “Abby’s kicking up her heels. Got a couple of things on tape. Althea is thrilled.”
“Still think Lizzie did it?”
“Yes, and no I don’t have any proof. Neither Abby or Andrew saw it coming.” Shawn explained. “There was something off with that family dynamic, which went way beyond we don’t like our Step-Mommy and Daddy is a cheapskate. Enough about the Borden’s and their dysfunctions. How is Portland?”
“Beautiful,” Faith murmured. “But I’m actually just north of there. To get to the place where Delia is working you need to take a ferry from Cape Point. The place is gorgeous. I love this time of year. Can’t wait for you to get here.”
“Me too,” Shawn sighed in agreement. “See anything noteworthy?”
“No, just an oppressive feeling,” Faith explained. “Did you know that this is the same place where Ro Graskey was working?”
“Yes, kind of an odd coincidence.”
“A coincidence? Since when do you believe in those?”
“I don’t. Other than the oppressive feeling is there anything else that concerns you?”
“I need to do a little more investigating. Could you swing back home before you come up here? There’s a woman I need you to talk to.”
“Is she cute?”
“Possibly,” Faith chuckled. “But I’m guessing she’s over ninety at this point.”
“Oh, an older woman.”
“Her name is Ella Westbrook; she owns the island. You know the model employee.”
“Don’t tell me anymore other than how to get in touch with her,” Shawn cautioned. “I’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you Honey,” Faith. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“I miss you too.”
Cape Point, ME
The following morning
Faith sipped a cup of coffee as she sat in the quaint little restaurant waiting for her guest. She didn’t have long to wait. When he walked in everyone greeted him, like he was the home town hero. The bonding that happens in small towns was something she missed living in a large city.
“Miss Charles?” He nodded politely once he reached her table. Faith smiled as he waited for her to invite him to join her.
“It is very nice to meet you, Sheriff Dunklin.” She graciously offered once he was seated. The waitress rushed over and placed an ice tea with two sweet and low packets down before he had ordered.
“Thank you, Hannah.” He thanked the young girl for his tea. “It’s Chuck.” He offered his hand to Faith, which she accept without hesitation. “What is it?”
“I forgot places like this existed. I’ve been living in New York.”
“We’re just a small fishing village, Portland gets all the action. Did you get a chance to look over the menu?” He added with a sly grin.
“Are you kidding me?” She practically squealed. “I thought the price for the lobster roll was a typo. I have to be honest with all of this fresh seafood on the menu I almost started without you.”
“It doesn’t get much fresher,” he boasted turning around. “Hannah, what’d they reel in this morning?”
“Bobby’s trawler hit the mother lode on stripers,” she hedged. “That’s not all, they got some mighty fine looking shark. Dad, had to do some haggling.”
“That wasn’t on the menu,” Faith noted as she allowed Chuck to order a couple of grilled shark steaks with side salads.
“You have to ask. It all depends on what they pulled out of the water. I take it you like your seafood.”
“I like food,” she confessed. “My girlfriend is a vegetarian so there’s always a debate at dinner time.”
“Is she with you? Hannah’s mom does this amazing black bean burger-“
“She’s joining me later this week.” Faith cut him off. “Chuck, thank you for meeting with me. I know it’s kind of odd having a stranger ring you and ask you out to lunch.”
“Not as odd as you would think,” he quickly quieted her fears. “I have a confession, I’ve seen you on TV.”
Faith instantly assumed that he had seen one of news broadcasts years go.
“My favorite, was that house up in Canada.”
Faith nodded realizing that he was talking about her work hosting paranormal shows. “That was a freaky place.” she confessed with a shy smile. “You got a thing for the paranormal?”
“Around here, the newest house is probably two hundred years old,” he barked with laughter. “Everyone has someone or something rattling around the attic. I’m guessing you’re here because of the island.”
“Yes, I am.” She admitted as Hannah delivered the largest shark steaks and salads she had ever seen. “Wow. Amazing.”
“Dig in,” he encouraged. “And ask me anything. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“And you were the Sheriff for over fifty years.”
“That too.”
“How do people feel about the school being built on the island?” She wanted to ask him about how the locals felt, since she hadn’t ruled out man made interference being behind the troubles Delia was experiencing. “Melts in your mouth.” She murmured with delight after taking a bite of her food.
“Everyone’s all for it,” he nodded with a hint of hesitation. “But no one thinks it will get built.”
“Why is that?”
“There is something wrong with that place.”
“Do you think, that maybe one of the mainlanders might try to throw a monkey wrench in things?”
“No,” he quickly dismissed the thought. “Everyone around here loves Miss Westbrook. She’s done a fine job keeping up Miss Muraille’s legacy. This town has one school. I went there. I wouldn’t have graduated from there if not for Temperance Muraille. The town couldn’t afford to keep the doors open, never mind buying things like books. Plan was, to have us all take a bus down to Portland. One late night meeting with the school board and Miss Muraille was all it took to keep the school open. We got new texts books the following week. No one knows the details. But, rumor has it, she did a lot more than just write a check. Terrible thing when she died.”
“You were around when she died?” Faith sputtered.
“I was a teenager,” he explained before sipping a bit of tea and taking another bite of his lunch. “My Daddy was on the force when it happened. Terrible thing.” He repeated. “Everyone liked her and felt bad for Miss Westbrook.”
“Oh?”
“What? Just because we’re some little fishing village we don’t know what’s what,” he laughed. “Here, as long as you’re not hurting anyone we just feel it is better to live and let live. A lady like Miss Muraille has a way of catching your attention. At first everyone assumed it was an accident. I remember my Dad saying that something dark had come to the island. Used to be such a fun place. At the end of every summer they’d open up the place throw a big clam bake for the town.”
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