I knew he was right, but I’d been hopeful for any kind of lead. “Did he give you any other helpful information?”
“Not really.” Brooks blew a breath into the receiver. “I don’t think he knows anything.”
I thought back to the night when I’d asked Teddy if he’d ever hung out with Ashley and Vince. He hadn’t answered because we’d been interrupted, but I wondered if there was something more to be learned. It was definitely worth a little more digging. I’d see what I could learn on my own before sharing those details with Brooks.
“You’re right. I’ve no doubt he’d help us if he could.”
Again, Brooks went silent.
“Does he remind you of anyone?” I asked.
“What? Who?” The shuffling of papers made me think he was perhaps only half-listening.
“Teddy. Sometimes he makes this expression that reminds me of someone, and I just can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s an actor.”
“Probably. He has one of those classic looks.”
“He is a nice-looking kid,” I agreed. “One day it will come to me.”
“What will?”
“Are you busy?”
“Yes. And we have more important matters to think about right now. The FBI agreed to do a DNA test to determine if the cap is a match.”
“Oh, goody,” I mumbled, wondering—but not about to ask—if Brooks had spoken directly with Daniel.
“What’s that?”
“Good work. Hopefully, they won’t lose it.”
“It’s our only option. I don’t have a large budget, and besides, I’m working on this case unofficially, remember?”
“Yep.” Still, it really got under my skin that we had to entrust another piece of evidence to the sloppy hands of the FBI.
“Enough of this for today. Might I remind you there’s an art exhibit opening tomorrow?”
I checked the captain’s clock. “Speaking of which, I’m expected at the gallery. Lu wants to make sure I’m happy with the flow. Can you imagine? I’d never imagined having my work shown, let alone being consulted on how it should be staged. It’s all so surreal.”
“Nervous?”
“The more you ask me, the more nervous I become.”
“How many times have I asked?”
“At least a dozen. You are going to be there.” This was a command.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“It’s good to have someone to count on. You’re the closest to family that I’ll have there.” Not that there was any other family besides Zoe. We were, after all, a dying bloodline.
“Don’t be so hard on her.”
“Sure, take her side.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side.”
Whistler began barking an alert, and seconds later the doorbell rang.
“Hold on a sec.” I rested the phone on the counter and returned with a large vase of gorgeous autumn wild flowers. I plucked the card from its holder and picked up the phone again. “Are these from you?”
“Are what from me?”
“I guess that’s my answer. I’ve been sent flowers.” I opened the card and the persistent aroma of Percy and Celeste overpowered the scent of the bouquet. The inscription on the card read: All the best. You deserve that and more. Affectionately, Daniel.
“Zoe sent you flowers?”
“Hmm? Yes.” It was a truth of sorts. There would be an enormous arrangement from my sister and Oliver, prominently displayed by Lu at the gallery, letting it be known to all of Whale Rock that they were there in supportive spirit.
“So you see? She does care.”
I tried but failed to tamp down a sardonic reply. “She cares enough to send the very best.”
“I’m sure glad I have a brother. Sisters bring way too much drama.”
“As Papa used to say, ‘I need a break from the emotion commotion.’” I flopped down into one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly zapped of energy. Whistler nudged my hand for a pet, then nestled contentedly at my feet.
“Don’t laugh,” I said, looking down at the black-coated beauty.
“Have I ever? No, wait. Don’t answer that.”
I smiled at his attempt to cheer me.
“Okay, I promise not to laugh.”
“I’m not sure how or why, but I have a strong feeling Whistler is somehow a link to solving this whole mystery.”
Brooks kept his word and didn’t laugh, but he also said nothing, a sure sign he rejected my hunch. The silence was becoming painfully embarrassing when finally he said, “You said that about the rope too.”
“I still believe there’s a message there. Can’t there be more than one link to the truth?”
“This whole case is like a broken cobweb, with too many drifting strands to chase after. Let’s tie up one before we get sidetracked by another. I’ll see if I can track down Cindy. In the meantime, take the weekend off. Concentrate on enjoying your big night. We can hit the ground running on Monday. How does that sound?”
“It’s a fine plan.” I needed to take a break from my new, exhausting sleuthing avocation. If only my mind would cooperate.
I fingered Daniel’s card thoughtfully. Maybe he deserved another chance.
23
The day of the exhibit
On the kitchen desk before me, my laptop again came to life of its own accord, or perhaps at the hands of a mischievous old spirit. There was that photo again of Ashley and Vince. The burning sugar fragrance had been persistent the past few days, and I’d written it off as Percy and Celeste enveloping me in their haven of good will as I prepared for the exhibit. But the sudden appearance of this photo only served to confound me. Whatever they were trying to tell me would have to wait until Monday. I shut down the computer and picked up my keys.
I’d had a fitful night, with strange dreams invading the few moments I’d actually slept. Was it nerves? Or was it all the unresolved fragments of Ashley and Vince’s disappearance floating aimlessly in my head? One sliver I was able to grasp onto was that I’d never heard back from my favorite postal clerk.
Fifteen minutes later, I was waiting in line for my turn at the post office. When Tom Turner saw me, his usual cheerful expression turned woeful.
“The old bean surely failed me this time.” He shook his head in dismay before turning to the formidable postmistress. “Remember when we were talking about that missing couple the other day?”
Silvia Trask nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help to you, Cassie.”
I mistook this as an unwillingness to cooperate until she continued.
“I wish I could remember where the letter was heading.” She frowned. “If my daughter went missing, I’d hope anyone in a position to do so would help however they could.”
“It might come to you,” Tom encouraged his boss. Then he turned to me with a hopeful wink.
“All I can remember is that the young woman did post a letter shortly before they disappeared. It was a busy day, and I recognized her because she’d been in a few weeks earlier to buy some of those touristy Whale Rock prestamped postcards, and we’d chatted a bit.”
“Do you recall the conversation?” I was eager for any clue.
“Mainly pleasantries.” Sylvia held up her finger. “She did mention wanting the postcards to send to her little brother.”
It was a small detail, but I grabbed on to it, since the only other aspect I knew of Ashley’s personal life was that her father was a Baptist minister.
“Maybe if you go through it step by step you’ll remember something else from that last time,” Tom suggested.
Sylvia closed her eyes in concentration and narrated her recollections. “She waited out in the lobby for the longest time before coming in. She was gabbing on her phone, and I remember thinking she should do her business before the lunchtime rush. But it wasn’t until it got crowded in here that she made up her mind to come in. She asked to have the letter weighed to make sure it was light enough for a regular stamp.”
“A
nd was it?” I asked.
Sylvia nodded. “Well under, in fact. It was already stamped, so I tossed it right into the bin without a glance at the destination. There was a line behind her.”
Was it possible Ashley had used the letter weighing to divert Sylvia from looking at the destination? I rubbed my forehead. But why not just put it in a postbox or mail it from somewhere else, like Eastham or Orleans? She could’ve mailed it while they were out biking. Unless Ashley hadn’t wanted Vince to know she was sending something …
“Did anyone from the FBI question you?” I wondered if Daniel had thought to check.
“No, should they have?” Sylvia looked concerned.
Tom cleared his throat, prompting Sylvia to turn her glowering eyes on him. “Thomas?”
He scratched his head and smiled sheepishly. “I may have forgotten to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Sylvia fixed him with a stern look.
“There was a gentleman from the FBI, stopped in one day when you were off.”
Sylvia was still glaring at him.
“I know.” He was flustered. “I should have told you.”
“No harm, no foul.” I jumped to Tom’s rescue. “He didn’t know anything.”
“I guess you’re right.” The postmistress softened. “But I’m hoping you’d see fit to call me if Bruce Springsteen happened to wander in one day.”
Now I got it. To have missed the appearance of the FBI must have been a disappointment. To keep Sylvia on my good side, I leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Did you hear that Cindy, the housekeeper at Hilliard House, left town without a trace?”
Sylvia’s eyes twinkled. “Not exactly.”
* * *
On my way back to the car, I passed the window of Coastal Vintage Wares, feeling a twinge of sadness to see an old Pinocchio doll in the spot occupied for years by the bronze Winnie the Pooh. When I was little, my mother would bring me here as a treat, to look for special treasures.
The tinkle of the doorbell brought the eager proprietor from the back room.
“Well, look who the wind blew in. Why, I barely recognized you.” Mr. Stanfield came around the counter to greet me with a fond hug. “Little Miss Cassandra Mitchell.”
Archibald Stanfield was a fastidious and effeminate man. As teenagers, we’d assumed he was gay until he shocked us by marrying our high school principal, Miss Peeper. It had seemed preposterous at the time, but that was nearly twenty years ago, and they’d remained quite happily together.
“Not so little anymore.” I picked up an old-fashioned letter opener with a mother of pearl handle engraved with an ornate “M,” turning it over to check for a price.
“I’ve been holding on to that for you. The woman who brought it in to be consigned said it once belonged to the infamous Celeste Mitchell.”
“How did she come to have it?” I fingered it lovingly.
“It was apparently uncovered during an estate sale. The letter opener had the original newspaper article about the Battersea Bluffs fire folded around it. Probably one of those items that walked away, just like the crystal and the silver.” He winked at me and walked his fingers across the display glass.
“If it weren’t for you, Granny Fi would never have gotten back any of those treasures.”
“Glad to have helped.” He waved away the thought. “Anyway, I persuaded the woman to let me return it to its rightful heir. I’ve just been waiting for you to come by the store.”
I pulled out my wallet to pay him.
“Put that away! It’s yours.”
“Thanks, Archie. I’m always grateful for another keepsake.” I told him about the recent good fortune in finding Percy and Celeste’s portraits at the library.
“Wasn’t there a clock too?” he asked.
“That’s right. Still hanging in the kitchen.” The captain’s wheel clock had been out for repair the day of the fire. Fiona had saved up all her pennies from working at her parents’ shop to buy it. She’d wanted at least one memento from the Mitchell family for her son. At the time, she couldn’t have guessed he’d one day be owner of The Bluffs.
~
Eighty years ago
One month before the fire at Battersea Bluffs
It was six weeks after Ambrose left when Fiona Patrick walked out to Battersea Bluffs. She was pregnant and desperate.
When she arrived, Mrs. Mitchell had been reading a letter and appeared distressed. Fiona fingered the beautiful letter opener while Ambrose’s mother made them tea. She was glad she had told Mrs. Mitchell about the baby. She’d been so kind, and the news seemed to chase away the sadness that had been upon her when Fiona arrived.
“Will you tell Mr. Mitchell?” Fiona had asked.
“When the time is right. But you leave that to me. You must send word to Ambrose at once. And your parents must be told.”
But she had done neither. She wrote a letter to Ambrose but never posted it. As for her parents, she had yet to find the courage. And on the single occasion Mrs. Mitchell stopped into the store, Fiona ducked into the storeroom so as to avoid a questioning glance. Have you told them yet, Fiona? She hadn’t wanted to disappoint. She had also been afraid to tempt fate. If she admitted to Ambrose a child was on the way, would he be more vulnerable to that awful curse? Would their unborn child?
~
Present day
“Let me wrap that for you.” He busied himself with the tissue paper and ribbon.
“Thank you, Archie. I will treasure it always.”
He gave a small gallant bow.
“I miss seeing Pooh in the window. I’m surprised it never sold before.”
He stopped his fussing and smiled impishly. “It was never for sale.”
“Then how?”
He nodded. “I see you already know who acquired it.”
“And they did something very special with it.”
He leaned an elbow onto the counter next to the antique cash register. “Well then, do tell.”
I hoped sharing the story would open him up to reciprocating with some details helpful to the case.
“You remember the unknown boy who was found drowned in the Cape years ago?”
“Barnacle Boy?” Like Evelyn, the shop owners on Main Street Whale Rock made it their business to know all the local folklore.
“That’s right. For some reason, Ashley and Vince took a particular interest in the child. One day I was up in the cemetery, weeding, and I noticed they’d planted a perennial garden around the gravestone and placed the statue of Winnie in the center. It’s really quite special.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Stanfield dabbed the corners of his eyes. “I’m rather pleased to know old Winnie’s watching over a young soul.”
“I’d love to know what made you decide to sell after all these years.”
“Oh, I didn’t sell him.”
“You gave it to them?” I tried not to sound too surprised, but it did seem rather generous.
He made an indignant snort. “Nonsense. They were mere strangers.”
“They didn’t buy it and you didn’t give it to them, so …?” I lifted my hands in question.
“They traded for it. Your young couple had an item I couldn’t resist.”
I was stunned. What was so special that he’d give up his precious Winnie the Pooh? My first thought was of the emerald ring, but the timing was off. Plus, there was a risk that Archie would’ve recognized Fiona’s ring.
“What did they trade for it?”
He pursed his lips and strummed the counter with his fingertips. “Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to tell you.”
I was stung at the thought, and the hurt must have shown, for he reached over and patted my hand.
“I am not to reveal to anyone what I received in trade. That was the condition, and I must abide by it.”
“What’s the point of owning something you treasure if you can’t show it off or share it?”
“It’s only temporary. I agreed to keep the item s
ecreted away for six months.”
Was there a significance to the six months? Another tactic came to mind for drawing a hint from those exceptionally tight lips.
“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but since you know the Jacobsons are missing, don’t you feel compelled to mention that you’re in possession of an item that might offer a clue?”
He looked at me shrewdly. “Rest assured. I did contact the authorities.”
“Who did you speak with?”
“As if you didn’t know.” He waved his hand in the flamboyant manner he had.
“Agent Benjamin.” It wasn’t a question. I tamped down my annoyance for Daniel withholding yet another significant detail. “When was this?”
“A couple weeks ago. Peeps and I were out of town when the couple went missing. We didn’t hear about it until we returned and were catching up on the back issues of the Times. I got to thinking maybe someone in authority should know about the”—he stopped, tapping steepled fingers to his lip—“our little exchange.”
Daniel had likely stopped by on a day that coincided with one of our dates. It steamed me to think I was just a convenient stop after official business had been conducted.
“Did they examine it? Take fingerprints?”
He shrugged. “I imagine that’s what they’re doing with it.”
“The FBI still has it?” This was an unexpected little detail.
“They do.”
“Is the item insured?” I asked casually, not wanting to alarm him.
“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. It had been locked up in my safe until your agent friend took it. The way I see it, my little treasure is in the hands of the premier protection agency of the United States. Where could it be safer?”
Where indeed? I hadn’t the heart to tell him about the misplaced evidence files.
“So, it’s truly valuable?”
“I’m not one to brag,” he answered with a self-satisfied smile.
24
The exhibit
“Perfect!” Lu exclaimed when I walked into the gallery. At her suggestion, I’d dressed conservatively. A simple but elegant little black dress and my mother’s triple-strand pearls.
“You want the patrons to notice you, but not be too distracted. The focus needs to be on your art.”
House of Ashes Page 21