by Kathi Daley
I nodded. “I do know that Baron’s wife is named Ainsley, and they have three grown children: Sophia, Harper, and Henry.” I finished adding the names to my list in my phone app. I wasn’t certain how much help it would be to have all the names, but giving names to these long-ago Chadwicks did help me to fill in a few of the blanks. I paused and looked at the man who appeared to be ending the task he’d set out to do given the full duffle bag he’d been putting objects into. “How is it that you can recite six generations of Chadwicks from memory?”
“I’m a historian and have written several volumes detailing the history of this area. I did an entire chapter on the Chadwick family a couple of decades ago, so I guess you could say I am a bit of an expert.” He closed the cabinet he’d been sorting through and zipped up his bag.
“Do you teach history?” I wondered.
“I did until I was forced to retire due to my age.”
“They forced you out? That seems wrong.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “It is wrong. I might not be able to climb Mount Everest any longer, but I can still stand in front of a group of students and give a lecture.”
I raised a brow. “You’ve climbed Everest?”
“Twice. When I was younger, and my body had fewer aches and pains. I realize I’m getting old, and I know I can’t do what I once could, but I’m still fully in charge of my mental faculties.”
Patrick seemed like a proud and intelligent man. It was sad that he’d been reduced to looking back on his life. “I can see that you’re still very much in control of your mental faculties. There is no way I would be able to remember all those names even if I had researched the family decades ago. Have you climbed other mountains?”
“I have. But mountain climbing isn’t my first love.”
“What is your first love?”
“Uncovering ancient ruins.”
“So, you’ve participated in archeological digs.”
He nodded. “Too many to mention. My favorites were those in Egypt, although there was one dig in Guatemala and another in Campeche, Mexico, that were quite interesting.”
I had to admit I was impressed. Very impressed. “That’s really amazing. I can imagine how fascinating it must be to participate in such a thing. And to work out there in the desert with only echoes from the past to keep you company.”
He smiled. “You really are a writer.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I guess echoes from the past is a flowery way to indicate memories amid silence, but it must be amazing to be out there in the middle of nowhere knowing that while ancient cultures used to live in the very location where you are standing, now all that is left are cactus and tumbleweeds and a few stone buildings.”
“It is amazing,” he agreed. “Although the digs I’ve helped out on have been handled by teams of archeologists and graduate students, so I was never really alone. But I will admit that standing under a night sky with no lights from the city to dull their brilliance is one of the most perfect experiences of my life.”
“It seems the experience would be somewhat surreal.”
“It is. But it’s also hot and dusty, and the work is back-breaking. Water is limited, there’s even less shade, and at times, the days can seem endless. It is definitely a young man’s game.”
“I suppose that’s true. I’ve been fascinated poking around in the Chadwick house. I suppose that might be a bit like going out on a dig. The house has all these rooms that seem to be connected, and yet they aren’t. And there is the mystery of the secret room.”
“Secret room?”
That seemed to have gotten his attention. “There appears to be a space on the blueprints behind the bookshelves in the library. It isn’t a space that appears to be accessible from within the house. At least we haven’t found access, although there has been speculation that a secret door or entrance might exist.”
“Have you tried to find this secret access point?” he asked.
“We have, but so far we’ve been unsuccessful. Lonnie is going to refurbish the bookshelves, and while most of what he has planned is cosmetic, there is one section that has water damage, and he’s actually going to need to remove the wood and replace it. Luckily, for my curiosity, the section he needs to replace is along the wall where we think the secret room might be located. Lacy and I have been working for weeks boxing up the thousands of books on those shelves so Lonnie can do his thing. We’re nearly done, so I have a feeling my curiosity will be assuaged shortly.”
“It does make sense that Ozzie would have built a secret room into his home. He was, after all, a sea captain and a lot of sea captains back then dealt in both legal and illegal goods.”
“So you think Ozzie might have used the house in Maine to store smuggled illegal goods?” I asked.
“It would make sense that he might have. The port in Boston is a busy place, but this part of the coast of Maine, especially back then, would allow a ship to anchor and offload goods without anyone noticing. If this is, in fact, the purpose of this secret room, I think you will find the access on the outside.”
“I looked around and didn’t see one.”
“I’m thinking the access would originate at the water and then tunnel up to the house. An underground passage of sorts.”
I paused to consider this. “I guess that would make sense. The area below the cliff is rocky. If there is an entrance to a cave type system, it probably wouldn’t be noticeable from the sea.”
“You may find the entrance to only be accessible at low tide to further camouflage its location. Are there stairs from the house down to the water?”
“There are. They’re old wooden stairs, in disrepair, so I’m not sure they’re accessible at this point, but it seems as if at one point in time, it was possible to get from the house down to the sea.”
“If I had to guess, the stairs lead to a point near the secret entrance. It would be interesting to poke around sometime and see how everything is laid out.”
I had to admit that Patrick’s theory made a lot of sense. “The mystery of the secret room has really captivated me. There is intrigue, of course, but there is also an element of romance. I’ll let you know what we find.”
“I’d appreciate that. When is the interior wall leading to the room due to come down?”
“Later this week; Thursday, I think. If there is a space behind the wall as we suspect, maybe we’ll be able to backtrack and find the entrance.”
“Perhaps.”
Patrick moved onto the next display case, but he only looked and didn’t take anything. I wasn’t sure how he knew which items to remove and which to leave behind, but he did seem very discriminating as he worked.
“I know you must miss being able to go out on digs and chase your own adventures, but it’s nice that you’re able to volunteer here at the museum where you can talk about your work and help others with their investigations. Do you work here full-time?”
He shook his head. “No, not full-time. I have many interests, so I divide my time.” He paused and looked around. “I do enjoy my time here at the museum, and I’m always thrilled to have the chance to speak with others as interested in history as I am, and while I’m happy we’ve had this chance to chat, I’m done here and really need to go.”
“I understand. You’ve been very gracious.” I handed him my business card. “If you think of anything that might help me, will you call me?”
“I guess I can do that, but if you need additional information, do check out the books on local history in the library. They have a very good reference section, which includes the books I’ve written.”
“I’ll do that, and again, thank you so much for taking the time to speak to me even though you were closed today. Maybe I’ll come back when you’re open.”
“Please do. You know,” he added. “I do have something that might interest you. A box filled with old letters. I don’t know for certain that any of the letters were written by or pertain to the Chadwick family, but I woul
d be willing to lend them to you for a few days.”
“Really? That would be awesome.”
“They’re in my car. Follow me out, and I’ll get them for you.”
I got up and headed toward the door, then stopped and turned back. “Just one more question. You said that Catherine sank into a depression from which she never did recover after her father sent the man she loved away. It sounded as if you didn’t know what happened to Sebastian, but I’m curious. Do you know where I might find information relating to the man? It seems to me if he had been truly motivated, he would have found a way to return to his one true love.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know of a source where the man is referenced. Most assume that once he returned to England, he fell in love, married, and had children of his own. Others, however, think he tried to get back to Catherine but was unable to. I suppose at this point, we’ll never know.”
“No,” I said sadly, “I guess not.” I turned back toward the door. Patrick picked up the duffle bag he’d used to store the items he’d selected to take with him and walked me out. He opened his trunk, set the duffle bag inside, handed me the box with the letters, and then closed the trunk.
“Thank you again for letting me borrow these. I’ll take good care of them.”
“I’ve enjoyed speaking to you. Enjoy your research, and please do let me know how things work out with the secret room. I’ll be in touch later in the week.”
“I’ll call you. Lonnie isn’t working today, but I’m sure he mentioned Thursday as the day he planned to tackle the wall in the library, so expect a call from me then.”
I watched Patrick pull out of the paved lot and then headed home to the inn on the bay. As I drove home, I thought about the copies of the journals I’d photographed and uploaded to my computer before returning them to the Chadwick house. I hadn’t been sure if I’d need the copies, but I wanted to be sure that I could access the documents any time I wanted. Now that I knew the thoughts that had been shared in the beautifully penned books belonged to Richard’s sister, I was glad I’d done so.
After I got home, I logged onto my computer and then pulled up the file named Chadwick Journal. I began a search of the documents, looking specifically for the name Sebastian. I couldn’t remember the content offhand, but I did remember Catherine writing about a man named Sebastian. When I’d read the passage, I remember thinking it must have been written by a young teen. I had to assume that if the Sebastian in the journal entry was the same Sebastian who Patrick spoke of, the journal entry must have been written before they’d fallen in love. It took me a few minutes, but I eventually found the journal entry I was looking for.
“Sebastian came by today. What an arrogant cuss. As if I’d ever be interested in someone so self-involved.”
I smiled as I ran my finger over the elegant cursive. If this Sebastian and the Sebastian Catherine would eventually fall in love with were one and the same, it seemed as if that arrogant cuss must have tamed the fiery beauty at some point along the way.
Chapter 2
I’d stayed up late the previous evening, rereading the journal entries I’d copied. Ever since I’d found the journals, I’d been obsessed with finding out what came next. The first really interesting entry I’d found in the first journal I’d looked through appeared to have been penned early in the summer the same year Will and Diana visited, and Olivia died. The entry described someone named Robert, who appeared to be a good-looking maintenance man of sorts who both the author and Richard’s mother, Olivia, spent more time watching than they really ought to have. The reason I suspected the journal was written the same summer Olivia died, was because the author, who I suspected was Richard’s older sister, Catherine, wrote about Diana and Will coming to visit and how their visit would break up the monotony. Of course, I supposed it was possible that Diana and Will had visited during more than one summer and the entry I’d found, which happened to be toward the end of a volume, had actually been written at some time before the summer Olivia fell to her death from the bluff.
“Meow,” my cat, Rufus, said as he rubbed his head against my ankle.
I smiled and looked down at him. “Are you feeling abandoned since Georgia took the dogs out, but didn’t invite you?”
“Meow.”
“I was planning to go out and work in the garden. Would you like to come along?”
Rufus trotted toward the door, which seemed to indicate his agreement.
“I just need to get a hat. It’s sunny today.”
After I slathered on some sunscreen and grabbed a hat, I headed out onto the deck that lined the back of the cottage. Since the deck was situated away from the inn, it was private. There was a much larger deck and grassy area behind the inn where guests tended to gather, and events were held. My friend and employee, Jeremy Slater, had done a fantastic job with the garden, creating eye-catching color combinations as well as paths that wound through the beds of flowers and shrubs, but it was still my little deck off the cottage, which directly overlooked the sea, where I ended up the majority of the time.
Today, however, my plan was to weed the flowerbeds that were closer to the inn, so I grabbed my tools and headed toward the pathway that would take me to the area of the yard where I planned to work. After I laid my tools out and settled in for what I knew would be a hot and dirty job, Rufus settled onto a nearby hammock and drifted off to sleep.
As I worked in the flowerbed, I paused every few minutes to glance out toward the sea. My best friend, roommate, and business partner, Georgia Carter, had taken the dogs out for a walk, and I expected her back at any moment. I wanted to ask her about the scheduled arrivals and departures for the week while I had the subject on my mind. Georgia ran the inn, and she did a very good job staying on top of things, but as the owner of the inn, I liked to stay informed. I’d just started working on my second flowerbed when Georgia and the dogs appeared on the horizon.
“How was your walk?” I asked when she neared the spot where I knelt, pulling weeds.
“It was really nice. What a completely gorgeous day to get out and enjoy the fresh air.”
“Did you head to the north or the south?”
“North. I wanted to go by Tanner’s place to say hi and play with his puppies. When we arrived, he was just finishing up a session with a group of his advanced trainees, so I sat and watched for a while.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It was, but the whole time I was there, my mind was on something that happened along the way.”
“What happened along the way?” I asked.
Georgia turned and looked back toward the bluff. “A woman was sitting on that old bench someone built near the rocky outcropping along the bluff trail. She wasn’t really doing anything other than looking out toward the sea, but she had white hair and a hunched back and looked to be well into her senior years, so it seemed odd that she was sitting there alone. I was afraid she might be lost or disoriented or something, so I stopped to talk to her. When I first introduced myself, she did seem confused. She looked at me like she was trying to make sense of me being there. Like I was the one who didn’t belong. I sat down next to her and told her my name. I asked her how it was she came to be on the bluff, and she told me she was waiting for someone named Michael. I didn’t notice anyone else around, nor did I notice a vehicle or a means of transportation, so I asked her if she needed help of any kind. She said no. She told me that while she appreciated me stopping to check on her, she just wanted to be alone while she waited, so I reluctantly continued on my way. I didn’t plan to be at Tanner’s long, and I figured I could check on her on my way back, but when I arrived at the bench less than an hour later, she was gone.”
“Maybe Michael is her grandson or her caretaker. Maybe he brought her to the bench at her request, and perhaps he arranged to pick her up. It’s possible that the bench has a special meaning for her. Maybe she just wanted some time alone with her memories.”
“Yeah, maybe. I mean, I get wantin
g to have quiet time to remember, but the woman seemed so startled when I first arrived. I suppose she might be hard of hearing and hadn’t realized the dogs and I were walking toward her.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I assured my friend.
“I hope so.” She looked down at the dogs. “I should get them some water.” She filled their bowls with the hose and then glanced toward the hammock in the shade. “It looks like Rufus is comfy.”
“He hasn’t moved in the ninety minutes I’ve been out here, but he was at the inn earlier, and I think he’s tired after having played with Annabelle, Hannah, and Haley all morning.”
Annabelle was Jeremy’s niece. She lived with him in the basement apartment we’d built for just that purpose. Hannah was Annabelle’s best friend and came by to play often, and Haley was the five-year-old daughter of a woman named Christy, who’d moved to Holiday Bay to be close to Haley’s grandparents after Haley’s father died.
“Did Christy say what time she’d be by to pick Haley up?” Georgia asked after pulling up a chair and settling in to watch me.
“About three. Christy actually gets off at one today, but Haley wanted to be here when Mylie arrived, so Christy agreed to pick her up later.”
Mylie Sanders was a guest who’d stayed with us in December and was checking in for a second stay this summer. When Mylie had stayed with us in December, she’d come to Holiday Bay to find her one true love after a psychic told her she’d meet him if she stayed at The Inn at Holiday Bay. Mylie had a childlike spirit and a trusting heart. She’d met a man named Riley Camden during her visit. Riley wrote a travel blog, and in the course of writing that blog, he traveled widely. Initially, Mylie was looking for a man with whom she could settle down and build a family, but she seemed to have chemistry with Riley, so against her own better judgment, she set off with him on a grand adventure. Apparently, the adventure, while fun at first, had grown tedious, and she was back to reevaluate her life choices.