Percy was finally breathing easier when the docks came into view, where three of his good mates were waiting for them.
“Smithy, Peter, what are you two handsome lads doing strolling about at this hour?” Celeste teased.
They both stammered a response, and had it been daylight, they surely would have been glowing like summer roses. Celeste had that effect on men.
“And Michael O’Connell, you must have skipped the pub last evening to be here before the crack of dawn. Does Mattie know what you’re up to?”
“I’m as tight-lipped as a man without a tongue. We wanted no trouble getting you to your launch.”
Someone’s lips had been loose, however, for somehow, Robert Toomey had learned of their plans. From an alleyway now he pounced, taking the group off guard.
“Trying to pull a fast one on me, are ye?” He rammed Percy in the stomach, and they both sprawled down to the ground with a thud.
“Stop this foolishness,” pleaded Celeste as the two men wrestled in the dirt.
Peter and Smithy were quick to pull Robert away and pin him down while Michael did his best to usher Percy and Celeste away from the scene and to the boat awaiting them.
They were still within earshot when Robert Toomey spit out his curse.
“May your sons all die young, and your grandsons, and any generations to come whilst mine will thrive, knowing the seed of Percival Mitchell shall never endure.”
~
Present day
Percy died believing the curse had come true, as all three of his sons were young men with promising futures when they were killed. Ambrose died in the Navy, and his two older brothers had died at sea during a storm, crashing into—of all places—the rock formation for which the town was named.
“The curse mentioned in Edgar Faust’s book?” Ashley looked at me.
I merely shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about the lighterman’s curse today with Ashley and Vince. It was all so complicated. Was our long family history of tragedy somehow tied to a century-old curse? It seemed implausible that a superstitious spell was responsible for wiping out an entire family’s bloodline. And frankly, this talk was venturing too close to the question I was avoiding regarding my reckless night with an irresistible old boyfriend.
“Such a long way to travel to seek revenge.”
“I’ve often wondered what Robert Toomey’s intentions were in coming here. But that is destined to remain one of life’s unsolved mysteries.”
“No charges were pressed for setting the fire?”
“He was questioned, but there were no witnesses, no proof.”
“No Percy or Celeste to refute his story.” Ashley sighed lightly.
“Only circumstantial evidence. Not enough to prosecute.” More legalese from Vince.
“But enough for the town to turn against him. Nobody would hire him, and he didn’t have enough money to leave. What little money he had left, he apparently drank away in the town tavern. Granny Fi herself witnessed the man’s rapid descent into madness, then death.”
Vince read the inscription again. “Harsh sentiments.”
“At first there was a simple flat marker engraved with his name and date of death, but it was replaced with this stone in the early 1990s. One day when Granny Fi was visiting Ambrose’s grave, she noticed it had been changed, but nobody ever knew how or why.”
“My goodness. Look at all these tiny grave markers.” Ashley bent down to inspect them more closely. They each said the same thing—“Mitchell Boy”—followed by a date. “Seven?”
“My brothers.” Four died between Zoe’s birth and mine, and three died after I was born. “Most were late-term miscarriages. One stillbirth. Another lived only a couple hours.”
I pointed out the nearby marker of Ambrose and those of his two brothers, Edwin and Jerome, who died in a freak boating accident. “There are many sad stories here.”
Ashley ambled over to the only other grave not belonging to a Mitchell. Her shoulders slumped as she read the inscription and rested her hand upon her heart.
Vince noticed and moved to her side. “What is it?”
She nodded to the marker and grasped her husband’s arm, leaning into him.
I knew how it read: “Bless this unknown boy who washed upon our shores.”
They hadn’t asked, but the silence was unsettling, so I began telling them the story behind the sad little grave.
“My father was the one who first spotted the boy’s body. He’d been moving a sailboat that day. The coast was too rocky to approach, so he sailed to the nearest inlet where he could dock and run for help. He guided the sheriff and a rescue crew back to the location on foot.”
“How old was the child?” Vince asked.
“Fiona said he was probably five or six. The old timers still refer to him as ‘Barnacle Boy.’ ”
Ashley grimaced. “Nobody ever claimed him?”
“There was a widespread effort to find out who he was, where he came from, how a child could’ve drowned and never been reported missing. But nothing ever came of it.”
“Why was this little boy buried in your family’s private cemetery?”
“It was the same year my parents bought back our house, and since my father had been the one to find him, they arranged to have the child buried here. Granny Fi took charge of the funeral. Nearly everyone in Whale Rock turned out for it.”
We stood in silent reverence until Ashley said, “It’s an idyllic resting place for an unclaimed soul.”
My young friends had apparently had enough of the cemetery tour and begged off for an afternoon at the beach. I stayed behind to pay tribute to those who had lived and died before me. The gravestones of my great-grandparents, their sons, my grandmother, and my parents were all shaded by the cedars and faced out to sea. Percy’s large stone with the lighter boat etching, was engraved with his last words: “I am not finished.” Celeste’s was slightly smaller. “Femme Celeste, his lady true.” My father’s: “A Mitchell born, a Mitchell died.” And my mother’s: “Our Beloved Queenie. Rest her fragile soul.”
Two leaping dolphins flanked either side of Fiona’s headstone. It bore the fitting inscription: “Her heart was as large as her life.” The woman who’d done so much to help others had no special requests for herself. As her death drew near, she’d told me, “What does it matter? I’ll be gone from here. Do what you think best.” So I threw a party on Percy’s Bluffs in honor of the unofficial town matriarch.
I turned toward a twig-snapping sound. My scalp crawled with the feeling of being watched again. I marched in the direction of the trees bordering the graveyard, but whatever—or whoever—had been lurking there hastened away.
I was still unsettled when I arrived back at the house. Vince and Ashley had not yet left for the beach, and my sense of foreboding intensified when I overheard their conversation as I passed underneath the kitchen window.
A bottle cap popped. “Sip?”
“Honey, it’s not even noon,” I heard Ashley say.
“I know. But I’m a little freaked out.” Gulping sounds followed by a beer belch.
“You don’t seriously think he’s still around?”
“It’s unlikely, right?” The sound of another gulp. “We still don’t know why he was here.”
“I guess.” She sounded unconvinced.
“And we can’t be sure he said anything.”
“True.”
“Hey, are you okay?”
“That little boy’s grave, it just …” Ashley said cryptically, “made me a little shaky, but maybe we came upon it for a reason. It could be a good place.”
A good place for what? I pressed my body flat against the house, not wishing to be caught in the embarrassing act of eavesdropping.
“I dunno. We need to be certain it’s not a risk.”
“Let’s at least consider it for a while.” She sounded serious, gloomy almost, a striking contrast to her usual cheerfulness.
“Not too long, babe
. We don’t have the luxury.” The beer bottle, now presumably empty, clanged onto the table. “Let’s get out of here.”
I laid a hand over my racing heart and slid down to the ground as all kinds of scenarios began whirling around in my head. Did they suspect more about whoever had been hiding out in the woods than they were telling me? If so, chances were it wasn’t just a harmless camper.
The bitter odor had pursued me from the graveyard and was now so pervasive I’d begun to cough. I pulled my shirt up to cover my nose and fled to the barn in hopes of shaking free of the nasty smell. But it was not to be. The haunting odor had now invaded my sanctuary. Was there nowhere I could go to escape it?
7
Mid-July ~ six weeks before the disappearance
Ever since the cemetery visit, there’d been a melancholic cloud hovering over Ashley and Vince. Although I remained anxious about what I’d overheard that day, I decided to bide my time and hope whatever was troubling them would resolve without my interference.
There were no more indications of anyone hanging about in the woods, so I’d been able to talk myself down from the panic, convincing myself that whatever had been hiding in those trees was most likely a deer or coyote. It’s amazing how the distance of time can sway perceptions.
Good progress continued on the carriage house, and it was a bittersweet realization that the project was nearing completion. Even though my two lodgers had become withdrawn of late, I dreaded the looming goodbyes.
When not working, Ashley and Vince took off on their bikes and often didn’t return until evening. For the first time since they’d arrived, I felt lonely. Making it worse was the absence of Percy and Celeste’s reassuring aroma, now replaced by the stench that had haunted me since the day at the cemetery.
“The new closet doors are in,” Vince announced one morning as he scraped the last bit of eggs from the frying pan. “Can you pick them up this morning?”
It was selfish of me, but I’d been looking forward to spending time in my studio. “Why don’t you take the truck and go? Maybe pick up some paint chips while you’re there?” I suggested, to save me yet another trip to Home Depot. Facing summer Cape traffic in sweltering heat was not an appealing prospect.
“I’ll come with.” Ashley stood and began clearing the breakfast dishes.
“No. You stay here.” He cut her off but softened his tone when he noticed her wounded expression. “We need to start prepping the walls, babe. You can work on that while I’m gone.”
Shortly after Vince departed on his errand, a familiar Whale Rock PD cruiser pulled up the drive. With two coffee mugs in hand, I met Brooks at the door and motioned for him to take one of the porch rockers.
“I was worried you’d forgotten about me.” I handed him one of the mugs. “Or have you finally come to the realization that Vince and Ashley aren’t trying to rob me blind?”
My old friend frowned. “There’s a lot going on in the Rock.”
“Anything interesting?”
“If you could bother to drag yourself away from the docks for a real visit now and again, you might learn something.” I was getting the gist of his visit: a scolding for keeping my distance.
My absence from Whale Rock social circles had little to do with the hours I’d been keeping. I was still smarting over being the butt of local gossip, but mostly I wished to steer clear of Billy as I continued to shove away anxiety over an unplanned pregnancy.
“You know as well as I do that the summer crowds are so thick, nobody would even notice if I were there or not.”
“I noticed,” he said before taking his first swig of coffee.
“So what’s up, my dear Chuckles?”
His initial scowl morphed into a reluctant smile when he realized I was using the nickname affectionately.
“A lot of vandalism in the National Sea Shore, even in the preserve here.” He pointed to the land trust bordering The Bluffs. “Brush fires from kids starting campfires and leaving them unattended.”
“Any major damage?”
He shook his head. “Fortunately, they were quickly contained.” He took another gulp of coffee. “And we’ve got ourselves a party house this year. A group of young punks crammed into a beach house and causing lots of late-night disturbances.”
“Close to town?”
“Yep. And someone stole one of Johnny Hotchkiss’s Mercury boats.” In addition to whale watching and sightseeing boat tours, my boss also owned several small sailboats used as rentals.
“When?” Johnny had finally hired someone to crew full-time, which left me out of the loop. Rubbing at calluses from being relegated back to limited hours of stinky grunt work, I pondered this new information.
“Yesterday.”
“Are those boats docked now?” That would make them fairly accessible.
“No, they’re still moored out in the harbor. Whoever stole it would’ve either had to swim out or be dropped by another boat.”
Never, to my recollection, had there been a boat theft from Whale Rock Harbor.
“It’s kind of hard to hide a sailboat, even a Mercury. Any leads?”
“I’m hoping to connect the theft to our party-house occupants so we can evict them.”
I picked up his empty mug. “Time for a refill?”
He nodded and followed me into the kitchen. “You okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” I waved away his concern.
His phone rang, and as he listened, his hand shot out over the top of his mug. “Sorry—gotta run.”
I waved him off, having failed to tell him about the unidentified camper who may have been hiding out in the nearby woods. It might have helped him make a connection to the vandals who’d been wreaking havoc on his summer.
I decided to take a walk out to those campsites to see for myself if there’d been any recent activity. At the site closer to my property, there were a couple cigarette butts I didn’t recall from before, but any inconsiderate hikers could have left those. There were no signs anyone had been hanging out at the alcove further into the woods. As much as I wanted to believe it was a group of rebellious teens who’d been loitering near my property, there’d been none of the normal partying paraphernalia, like food wrappers or beer bottles, left behind.
* * *
Around noontime, I sought out Ashley in the carriage house. It was time to break through the strange force field that had been erected.
She was bent over her notebook, so intent in her focus that she didn’t notice me until Whistler stood and whimpered a greeting.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” She jolted alert and quickly shut the notebook to hide what she’d been writing.
I waved away her apology. “I often lose myself to my painting. I suppose you do the same when you write.”
She fixed me with a confused look, then followed my gaze to her notepad and shook her head. “Yes. Of course. Happens all the time.”
“I made some sandwiches.” I held up a small cooler. “Want to take them down to Percy’s Bluffs?”
“Sure.” She looked at her watch, brow furrowing. “Wonder what’s taking Vince so long?”
“He’s probably stuck in traffic.” A perpetual problem on the Cape in the summer. “Yesterday there was a three-mile backup at the Route 6 light.”
“I’ll just call him quickly to check.”
I squatted down to pet Whistler while she made the call.
“Straight to voicemail.” She bit her lower lip, as was her tendency when puzzling over something.
“If he’s still in Home Depot, he won’t get service.”
“That’s true. Maybe they misplaced the doors like they did with your vanity.”
“Or he’s become hypnotized by the Glidden color wheel.” I smiled, then made a beckoning gesture.
“I’d better leave him a note,” she said, still chewing that lip.
“I expect he’ll figure out where we are.”
“You’re right.” She hesitated before ripping a
sheet from her notebook. “But still, I wouldn’t want him to worry.”
She jotted With Cassie, then tacked the paper to the door.
“It’s the perfect day, isn’t it?” I said as we walked toward the water.
“I’m really going to miss it here.”
“And I’m going to miss you when you have to leave.” We smiled at each other regretfully, amiably bumping shoulders. “You never did say where your internship is.”
“Actually, I’m not certain of the exact location yet.”
This struck me as odd, especially since she had earlier implied it wouldn’t be near the Cape. “I misunderstood. I thought you already knew.”
“I’ll know fairly soon. They haven’t made the assignments yet.”
“They?”
“It’s a, um, start-up online media company.”
Two questions immediately came to mind. Since it was an online company, why couldn’t she work remotely? And start-up or not, wouldn’t they have established a business location?
My confusion must have shown, for she quickly expounded. “They’re going to set up satellite sites, and I had to agree to be flexible.”
“I admire you for that. Not knowing would drive me crazy. How does Vince feel about waiting?”
“Waiting?”
“To look for a job.”
“Oh, he’ll find something. As you know, he’s pretty handy, and there’s always a need for carpenters and odd-jobbers.”
“Isn’t he eager to start teaching?”
Her perplexed look had me questioning my memory. I was positive he’d mentioned education as his area of study, having just finished his master’s.
“High school psychology? Or was it history?”
Ashley nodded. “That’s right. History. But, um, he hasn’t finished his thesis yet.”
The dog ran ahead of us. “So did the two of you get Whistler together?”
“He came as part of a package deal.” She peered at her phone.
“Is it two years you’ve been married now?”
“Almost. Gosh, we’re practically an old married couple.”
“Hardly.”
“My parents wanted us to wait until after we finished graduate school, but Vince thought it would make it easier to concentrate on our studies if we were settled.”
House of Ashes Page 7