Lu stopped stock still. “What are these?”
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to move them.” I chewed on my thumb, pondering where to store them once we started renting the space. The loft would be too cold in the winter, so until I had money to install a heating and air conditioning system, there was no other choice but the house.
Lu circled the barn slowly. Then she startled me by clapping her hands.
“I have the perfect spot for them.” She was beaming. “My gallery.”
I must have looked at Lu as if she were speaking in tongues, for she took hold of both my arms and said, “I’m not kidding, Cass. We are finally going to exhibit you.”
She returned to the canvases, weaving through them, shaking her head in a disbelieving but joyful way.
“I knew you had talent, but rarely do I fail to notice a genius in my midst.”
I turned to assess the images, trying to see what she did. It had been weeks since I’d worked on these; ever since Ashley and Vince had crated up both mine and my mother’s more disturbing canvases, I’d avoided the barn, only recently venturing back in for brief stints at the easel.
“There must be a part of you that would like your work to be recognized,” she coaxed.
“I guess I never thought about it much.” Never thought I was good enough. “It’s always been my escape.” I pretended to rub Whistler’s neck, but really I was trying to hide my shame.
“Well, I’ll be blunt. You’ve had plenty of reasons to want to escape during these past few years. You’ve had more than your share of disappointments. Ethan?” She shook her head and made a sour face that spoiled her prettiness.
I let go of Whistler and stepped closer to Lu, touching her arm gently. “Not now. Please?”
She covered my hand with her own and said, “Right. We must look forward. And I am excited by what I see. The seascapes are exquisite. And your landscapes have an Andrew Wyeth quality, only fresh, more vibrant.”
Lu clicked her tongue in exasperation. “If that sister of yours had ever gotten the courage to come home? Well, we would have made a star of you in the art world long ago.”
I was about to ask why Zoe would need courage to return to Whale Rock, but wasn’t given a chance. “Besides, timing is everything. It’s just as well these have been preserved for a more advantageous time. Otherwise, Ethan would have spent all your earnings, and you’d be back to where you are now.”
This time I didn’t even try to hide my misery. “Does everyone think I’m a total loser?”
“Of course not. And I do apologize, sweetie.” She hooked her arm in mine. “Let’s have a closer look at these paintings.”
During the more thorough inspection, Lu uncovered two other canvases I’d managed to hide from Ashley and Vince—portraits of them I’d planned to give them as parting gifts.
I stared intently at their likenesses, searching for a clue in their expressions. What happened? Where are you? Are you safe?
“You’ve captured something with these.” Lu tapped a perfectly varnished index finger against her chin. “There’s an interesting merging of qualities—mystery, sadness, innocence—but with universal appeal.” Lu chewed on her lower lip before adding, “We can’t forget there’s some notoriety attached to them. You may or may not want to capitalize on that aspect. But I think we should include these as well.”
“Let me give it some thought.” I was torn. I had no interest in prospering from the situation, but perhaps exhibiting their portraits would be a way of keeping them in the forefront of peoples’ minds as the search continued.
“Why have you never finished any of these?” Lu had turned her attention back to the land and seascapes.
It was a good question, for which I had no answer.
“Never mind,” she said after taking a hard look at me. “I think you have some work to do. Are you up for it?”
“I am up for anything if it will help me save The Bluffs.”
“Good. Then let’s go back to the house and compare our calendars. I want to set a date.”
Lu also promised to make a call to her client who might want to rent the carriage house, at least for October and possibly November too. That would be a big help with the looming mortgage payment.
Reading my expression of relief, she said, “We shall request payment in full up front.”
“Are you going to tell Zoe about the exhibit?” I asked.
“Of course. She’ll be thrilled. Unless—?” Lu peered at me as if evaluating a piece of art. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”
“No.” Though I couldn’t decide if I was more worried my sister wouldn’t show up or terrified that she would.
I walked Lu to her silvery-blue BMW convertible. When Whistler nudged her hand, she glanced uneasily toward the house. “I expect it’s comforting to have a canine companion now that you’re living out here alone.”
“Whistler’s great company. I’ll miss him when …” I was too superstitious to speak the words.
“I don’t want you to think I’m rude for not asking about the young couple in your portraits.”
Why couldn’t people call them by name? It’s not as if the people in this town didn’t make it their business to know everything about everyone.
“Ashley and Vince.” My tone was sharper than I’d intended, causing Lu’s face to flush.
“Right. I heard from Brooks that there’s been no new information. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to snap. I just can’t get over it. You would think there’d be some trace, some lead, but there’s been nothing.”
“While you’re talking to George about the writers’ group, maybe you should also have a word with Evelyn.”
“About?”
“Isn’t that where your—?” She checked herself. “Didn’t Ashley and Vince stay at Hilliard House before moving in with you?”
“They did. But surely both George and Evelyn have already been questioned? By Brooks as well as the FBI.”
“Yes, she mentioned your, ah, friend stopping by.” Lu’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and her face brightened with a wry smile. “But you know Evelyn.”
“You mean her flair for the dramatic?”
“She is a bit of a drama queen.” Lu looked to the sky, making her own theatrical display. “Lord, the fuss she made over having been the first to meet the missing tourists, hinting that she knew things from their stay.”
“Then she’s probably told everything she knows to the authorities.”
“Maybe. But don’t forget, Evelyn interprets everything quite literally. If they didn’t ask the right questions in the proper way, they weren’t likely to get a helpful answer. Perhaps you’d be better at drawing out some hidden clues.”
“I’ll give anything a try.” I had to think the FBI were trained at getting information from even the most difficult sources, but also didn’t want to sound dismissive to the person who was offering to help me save my home.
I watched Lu’s BMW disappear round the curve before walking to the carriage house to check on the progress. I’d have to press Steve to finish by the end of the month if I was to have a tenant in October, and Lu was confident I would. I’d also have enough money to pay his bill and make two mortgage payments. It seemed solitude was going for a rather high price these days.
I was pleased to see all that remained to be installed were the finishing touches like window treatments, moldings, and hardware. As I walked toward the stairs, I glanced down into the trash receptacle, empty except for a knotted piece of rope at the bottom. I reached in to retrieve it, thinking it might have been discarded by Vince and could offer another link to my theory of a code. I noticed a corner of ruled notebook paper with familiar handwriting stuck fast to the bottom. It appeared to be a letter; I tried to make sense of Ashley’s scribbled words, but could only see the beginning of three lines. Sorry we … a rush … trust. What was she apologizing for, and why were they in a rush? But most importantly, to whom had she writte
n this message? Had she torn up the letter after thinking better of sending it? Not wanting to risk compromising the legibility by trying to pull it free, I ran to the big house and grabbed my digital camera. Out of breath by the time I climbed the stairs to the loft, I was thrilled by the possibility of a new clue.
After downloading the photos, I sat before my laptop, then took a deep breath and reached for the phone.
18
A day later
I was feeling embarrassed about the voicemail I’d left for Daniel, reporting on the scrap of paper I’d found with Ashley’s handwriting, sure I sounded like a thirty-something Nancy Drew wannabe. Worse yet, he hadn’t returned my call.
To shake off the nervous energy, I took Lu’s suggestion and ventured to town for a lunch date with George and Evelyn. I parked toward the end of Harbor Drive so I could admire the beautiful waterfront homes on my walk to the large wharf area at the heart of Whale Rock. I strolled to the end of the pier and filled my lungs with the intoxicating salt air and waved off one of the Mitchell Whale Watcher Tour boats as it left the harbor. I hoped never to have to go begging a job from Johnny Hotchkiss again.
I turned my gaze to the quaint village. Whale Rock was a quintessential New England harbor town. Restaurants, mom-and-pop merchants, boutiques, and antique shops were interspersed between private homes, churches, and municipal buildings on the three-tiered streets of the town. A few of the clapboards could use a fresh coat of paint, and here and there shingles were missing, but to my mind it was perfect.
Hilliard House was a focal point, its tidal basin blue color standing out amid the many traditional white clapboards. The three-story Victorian offered stunning harbor views with a fabulous turret room. I checked the time on the large seaman’s clock at the center of Harbor Drive. With a few minutes to kill, I popped into the post office.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Cassandra!” I was greeted warmly by my favorite postal employee. Tommy Turner reminded me of the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. His cheerful outlook and animated smile, complete with dimples, coupled with a quick wit made him hopelessly appealing.
I was relieved Tommy was on duty. He’d be more helpful than Postmistress Sylvia Trask, who was steadfast in her duty to uphold the privacy rights of every American citizen.
“Since you’ve gone part-time, I’m not always lucky to see you.”
“A stepping-stone to a condo in Boca. I’m easing into retirement.” He made a gliding gesture with his hands.
“Don’t break my heart. What will I do without you?”
“Frigid winds, snow drifts, wicked cold.” He pantomimed a scale. “Warmth, sunshine, and unlimited golf days. You’ll manage.” He winked at me. “Whatcha got for me today?”
I laid a photo of Vince and Ashley on the counter.
His forehead crinkled, and he kept his gaze on the photo. “Your young couple?”
“Yep.”
“Since you’re showing me this, I assume they’re still missing.” He gazed at me over the top of his cheaters.
I nodded. “But I’m still hopeful. And you might be able to help if you have a good memory.”
He tapped his index finger to his balding head. “My best feature.”
“I have reason to believe one of them sent a letter not too long ago, and it would be helpful to know where it was headed.”
Tommy’s expression dashed my hopes. “If either of them came in here, I’m sorry to say it wasn’t while I was working. I only recognized them from the news. Sylvia would have waited on them. The good news, hard as it is to believe, is she’s got an even better memory than I do.”
“But will she help?” I was doubtful.
“I’ll work on her. She’ll be in tomorrow.”
“You’re a peach, Tommy. Call me if you learn anything?”
“You betcha.”
~
Eighty years ago
A month before the fire at Battersea Bluffs
Celeste ran to the porch when she heard the horn of the Plymouth. It was Samuel Lawson, Whale Rock postal service.
“Good afternoon, Samuel.” What couldn’t wait for Percy to pick up on his way home? A stop at the post office first, and then a quick one at the tavern. That was his ritual.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Mitchell.” He waved an envelope. “Special delivery for you.”
She grasped the railing for support. Bad news about Ambrose?
“All the way from London, England.”
Her hand went automatically to her heart. Thank goodness. Ambrose was safe. But who could have sent it? Her parents had died years ago, and Percy’s family was in Wales now. Special delivery was too dear for her old friend Mattie O’Connell, and besides, she’d just had a letter from her last week.
Samuel handed her the letter with all the special stamps.
“Thank you for making the trip out here.”
“Don’t mind at all, Mrs. Mitchell. One of the prettiest spots on Cape Cod, if you ask me.” His gaze turned out toward the cliffs. “It’s a wild one out there today.”
Celeste pulled her sweater tighter. “It is at that. Since you’ve gone to the trouble, can I tempt you to stay for a cuppa and some freshly baked oat cakes?”
“I could smell them as I rounded the bend. It pains me that I can’t stay. Deadlines, you know. But you wouldn’t have to twist my arm to take one with me for the trip back to town.”
Celeste had a reputation for her delicious baking. Her cakes and buns and cookies were always first to be snatched up at church bazaars and holiday bake sales.
She sent Samuel off with a few cookies, leaving her alone to confront the mysterious letter. She sat at her desk and opened the envelope with shaking hands. Her breath caught when she read the signature: Robert Toomey.
The first paragraph was enough to distress her. Robert Toomey was coming to America.
She hadn’t a chance to read further when there came a timid knock on the front door.
“Why, it’s Fiona Patrick.” Celeste tried to be gracious, though her mind was preoccupied with reading the unfinished missive. She gazed beyond the young girl to see if someone had driven her.
“I walked.” Fiona said.
“Well goodness, come in child. And what brings you all the way out here on such a blustery day?”
The girl crumpled into a tearful mess. “I’m in awful trouble, Mrs. Mitchell.”
Celeste ushered Fiona back into her library, where she quickly folded up the letter and placed it in the tin box Ambrose had given her last Christmas. It would have to wait until this child’s problems were heard.
When Fiona finished the telling of her predicament, Celeste was overcome by emotions that ranged the spectrum from sheer joy to bone-chilling fear. But she maintained her composure for the sake of the frightened young woman, who sat knotting her handkerchief with worry.
She clasped her own hand over those young, twitching fingers. “Never you worry, Fiona. You have two families now.”
“Ma and Pop might be so mad that they’d ship me off to live with an old maiden aunt somewhere in the hills of Kentucky.”
Celeste forced back a smile, doubting the Patrick family had any relations west of the Massachusetts border.
“They’ll do no such thing.” Though she remembered her own parents’ plans to dispose of her along with her sullied reputation to the nearest convent. “But if they threaten to do so, you may come live with us.”
“Mr. Mitchell won’t think me”—she lowered her eyes—“a tart?”
“Mr. Mitchell will be thrilled when I tell him. But I won’t just yet.”
Celeste made a pot of tea, and the two women, confident they would one day be mother and daughter-in-law, chatted about baby cribs and nappies and the like until Fiona checked the captain’s wheel clock and stood hastily, nearly stumbling over her chair.
“I must be getting back. I was to help with the afternoon delivery, and look—it’s getting on two o’clock.”
“That clock needs to go t
o the shop. It’s running a quarter hour fast.”
“Still, I’ll be late.”
“Can you ride a bicycle?” When Fiona nodded, Celeste trotted her out to the barn. “This is Ambrose’s old bike. It’s rusty, but the tires are good.”
She watched as the pretty young woman pedaled away, turning once to offer a wave of gratitude.
Celeste knew what she had to do now. She would face the words of Robert Toomey, and then she would try to make peace with the man. It might be the only way to put an end to that dreadful curse, and she had a grandchild to think of now. It was up to her to make it right for them. Percy would never be able to see the logic, for his pride and anger stood like fierce sentries against reason. She would write her reply today and get it in the post tomorrow. She would welcome Robert Toomey to America, to Whale Rock, to her home.
~
Present day
“Hello?” I called out in the cozy but unusually empty lobby of Hilliard House.
“Oh, Cassie, love.” Evelyn bustled in from the back, a dusting of flour on her shirt, but that didn’t deter her from taking me into an affectionate hug. She released me and pushed me gently away for inspection. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay, Evvie.”
Evelyn pursed her lips and gave a slight unconvinced shake of her head. “You’re too thin.”
I couldn’t argue and followed her toward the large dining alcove.
“I’ve got a pot of chili and a batch of corn muffins in the oven. Everything should be ready by the time we brew up a fresh pot of coffee. Or would you prefer something else?”
“Coffee’s good.” I needed something to take the chill off after my walk.
Sitting at one of the tables were the affable George Hilliard and Lizzie Davis, another of Zoe’s high school cronies. Lizzie had been a fixture at the inn’s front desk for as long as I could remember. She and George were sharing an amusing report from the Whale Rock Weekly, which could claim no higher level of journalism than a newsletter.
“Cassie’s here,” Evelyn sang out excitedly.
“Baby Cass!” George stood and opened his arms wide. As a huge fan of the Mamas and Papas, he’d christened me with the nickname when the gang used to babysit for me.
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