I became slightly nauseated as Brooks walked toward the house.
“Hello, Cassandra.” He nodded at me then reached his hand to Daniel. “Agent Benjamin.”
“Chief Brooks.”
The two men maintained a challenging stare before releasing their grips.
“Cassie, may I use the restroom?” Daniel asked, walking toward the door. He then added, no doubt for Brooks’s benefit, “I know the way.”
“What, may I ask, is he doing here?” Brooks hissed his rebuke after the door closed.
“I might ask you the same thing.” I tried the defiant approach.
“Lu called me because you weren’t answering your phone, and she was worried because you were out here alone with two strange men.”
“Well, I was on my way in to call her when Daniel showed up.”
“Out of the blue?” He looked at me suspiciously. “He just happened to drive all the way from Boston, a second time in under twenty-four hours, no less?”
Now was not the time to share details about Daniel’s possible stopover at his buddy’s cottage on the Cape.
“I didn’t know he was coming.” That part was true.
“So this is a personal visit?” he asked.
I looked away. “Not exactly.”
“And thus, I repeat my question. Why is he here, Cassie?”
“Oh, all right.” I gave him my most withering look. “When I got home last night Cindy was here.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought she left town.”
I’d also forgotten to pass on the information I’d learned from Sylvia Trask.
“Evidently she’s been hiding out, and somehow she heard that I’d been asking about her.”
“And who would have relayed such a message to her?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” It was a lie to protect Cindy and Sylvia, but I also didn’t want to give Brooks any more reasons to be angry with me. “But that’s not relevant.”
“For your information, we’ve been trying to locate Cindy on an unrelated matter. But it’s good to know you’re the one determining what’s germane to Whale Rock police investigations these days.”
I brushed aside the affront. “She was able to identify the red bird. It’s the mascot for Temple University.”
“I see. And instead of calling me with that crucial information—?” He looked pointedly toward the house.
“I did call you. I phoned your home number and your cell phone and left two messages.”
He pulled his phone from a front jacket pocket to verify. “That was at six this morning. Didn’t you think I might be sleeping? You couldn’t have waited another hour or two before bringing in the big guns.” He practically spit out those last two words.
“When you didn’t answer or return my calls, I thought you were—” I paused, assuming he’d grasp the inference.
He tilted his head. Was he really going to make me say it?
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I thought you were mad at me about last night and probably avoiding me.”
He shook his head disdainfully. “You sure do rebound quickly, though, don’t you?”
I decided to ignore the unkindness and give his bruised ego the benefit of the doubt.
“Look, I needed to get somebody working on this lead. You were not available. Besides, it was your suggestion that we consult with the FBI again.”
“I suggested I consult with them. You are not supposed to be involved in any type of investigation. And, lest you forgot, you agreed never to withhold any information from me. It was a clearly stated provision of my reopening the case.” He lowered his voice. “However, our little deal seems to have conveniently slipped your mind.”
“I wasn’t going to keep this from you, and I didn’t see the harm in contacting Daniel. You said it yourself: the FBI has the resources. Isn’t that why you have them conducting DNA testing on the ball cap?”
Brooks didn’t have the chance to respond because Daniel’s footfalls could be heard crossing the creaky kitchen floorboards.
“I should be going,” Daniel said when he came back out to the porch. “I hope to have some answers to you soon.”
“Actually, call Chief Kincaid the minute you know anything. He’s the one you should be dealing with on this case, not me.” I concentrated on petting Whistler, to avoid looking at Daniel. “I only called you because Cindy appeared at my door, and you told me I could call any time, day or night, with information. I probably should have waited to pass on the details to the chief so he could have contacted you in an official capacity.”
There: that should set things right again with Brooks.
When I finally brought my gaze up, it was to Daniel’s wounded eyes. “Whatever you say, Ms. Mitchell.”
Touché.
Daniel turned to Brooks. “I guess you’ll be hearing from me in a couple days.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Brooks sent me a self-satisfied smirk while patting Daniel on the back and guided him away from the porch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
The two men spoke for several moments and then got into their respective vehicles and drove away without either one giving even so much as a farewell glance in my direction. The message was clear. I was officially out of all loops, personal as well as investigative.
I trudged wearily back into the house only to face the overpowering force of my great-grandparents’ sweet aromatic communiqué.
“Which one would you have me choose?” I shouted. Then I withdrew from the cupboard a giant bayberry-scented candle, usually reserved for the Christmas holiday centerpiece. I lit it in hopes of masking the scented message from my ancestors. “I’m begging you for a little peace today.”
I reached for the phone to call Lu. I’d relinquish my role in the missing Ashley-Vince puzzle for a day or two while the dust settled. In the meantime, I had the distraction of the new mystery that had presented itself in the way of one J. Aaron Welkman.
* * *
“Montana?” That was where Michael Bernard had instructed Lu to ship the paintings.
“Bozeman, to be specific,” she added.
“I’ve never heard of it. What’s in Bozeman?” I flipped open my laptop to begin a Google search and staring back at me was that same photo of Ashley and Vince in the cemetery, which I promptly closed while cursing Percy under my breath.
“Evidently, J. Aaron Welkman.”
“That is a very long way to travel to see a small-town art show.” When she didn’t respond, I thought to add, “Nothing against your ability to draw people in.”
“No offense taken.”
“Can you give me the exact address?”
“Five-five-five Industrial Parkway, Building eleven.”
My heart sank as I wrote down the information. “Is there a name of a company?”
“No. I’m to send the shipment in care of J. A. Welkman.”
“A storage facility.”
“I certainly hope it’s climate controlled,” Lu added, always keeping the integrity of the paintings at the forefront.
If the paintings in fact made it to Bozeman, I sensed they would never again see the light of day.
“Bozeman. Fourth largest city in Montana. Beautiful surrounding mountains and scenery.” I perused the Wikipedia listing of notable residents. “Well, what do you know? J. Aaron Welkman, renowned photojournalist.”
“At least you have some backup that he is who he says he is. What was he like?”
“Um, to begin with, he’s blind.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard right. The man can’t see. Or rather, he is in the process of losing his sight.”
“That explains why he didn’t attend the exhibit. Did he tell you why he’s interested in your work?”
“He said the paintings were a gift for someone with fond memories of the Cape.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m not sure what to believe at this point.”
“ ‘Curiouser
and curiouser,’ ” Lu mumbled.
“Yes, but do I want to go down this particular rabbit hole?”
“Your initial instincts might be right, Cassie. I’m also starting to get the feeling there’s more to this than a case of an eccentric art collector. His assistant, Michael, was quizzing me about the paintings we’d already sold.”
“In what way?”
“He wanted to know who the buyers were.”
“Did he offer any kind of reaction when you told him?”
“I did not give him those details.” Lu took umbrage at the suggestion. “I have my clients and a reputation to protect. The sale of art is a private matter. If the buyers wish to share, that’s up to them.”
I was reminded of Brooks’s insistence he’d purchased only the harbor scene painting. “Did Brooks buy just the one painting last night?”
“He bought one for himself and one as a gift. But you didn’t hear that from me.” So much for protecting the buyers.
A gift? For who? For his father, who had a great love of Whale Rock Harbor? I hoped it wasn’t for Zoe; that would be a slippery slope.
“Your handsome Agent Benjamin was all set to buy a painting of the Queen Jacqueline until a call came in on his cell and he departed quickly. But not to worry, I set it aside in case he comes back.”
Highly unlikely, after the shabby treatment I’d dished out earlier.
“So, what are you going to do about your prospective buyer?” Lu asked.
“I’ll have to come up with a new plan.”
“Maybe Brooks could offer some help?” Lu’s suggestion sounded innocent, but who knew what she and Chuckles discussed. Their friendship was over three decades strong.
“He’s a busy man. I don’t want to involve him just yet.” Maybe never, if he stayed mad at me.
“Edgar Faust called me this morning, begging for a peek at anything else you might be working on. He and Jimmy are genuinely interested in your talent.”
“That was a very touching gesture, not to mention generous. Those were the three most expensive pieces Jimmy purchased for Edgar.”
“Don’t be fooled by who wrote the check.”
“I’m not following.”
“Without Edgar, Jimmy would be as poor as a church mouse. In fact, he was bussing tables down in West Palm Beach when Edgar stepped in and rescued him from poverty twenty years ago. But Edgar didn’t want anyone judging Jimmy as a gold digger, so he created, and has continued to perpetuate, the illusion that Jimmy abandoned a posh Palm Beach lifestyle for the sake of love.”
“What would it matter?”
“To you or to me? Not a whit. But there are plenty of snobs in this world, especially the world into which Edgar was born.”
“Why are you telling me this if it’s not for public knowledge?”
“It’s not really a secret anymore. These days, anyone with an interest and internet access could find out. Besides, most everyone in Edgar’s circle already knows about Jimmy’s meager beginnings, but he’s so charming and fun and good to Edgar, people just play along and accept the story. I would even go so far as to suggest that anyone who ever knew the truth, including Edgar and Jimmy themselves, have probably forgotten all about it by this point.”
“It makes me like them even more.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Edgar mentioned something to me about wishing to return some Mitchell family correspondence he’d recently come across in his files.”
“I didn’t give him anything.” The only correspondence I had was the letter Ambrose gave to Granny Fi when he shipped off to the Navy. “Where could they have come from?”
“I’d imagine your sister.”
“Zoe?” I was incredulous. What correspondence could’ve been in her possession that I didn’t know about? Add one more sisterly secret to the heap guarded closely by Zoe.
“Come now, Cassie, you’re not the only descendent of the infamous Percy and Celeste Mitchell. Edgar talked to Zoe too.”
“When did she tell you this?”
“She didn’t. Edgar mentioned it to me back when his book was published.”
I was still trying to figure out how Zoe came to have any Mitchell family letters without my knowledge, when Lu added, “Look, you need to cut Zoe a break.”
This only served to inflame my resentment.
“My sister tells me nothing and has an impenetrable fortress of friends protecting her secrets. No matter how much digging I do, instead of coming closer to the truth, I end up more confused.”
“ ‘Stop digging and climb higher. You don’t have to climb too far up the mountain to get a clearer view.’ ”
“I didn’t expect you to get all philosophical on me.” Although I had to smile. Lu was quoting another of Granny Fi’s gems. As a kid, Lu spent more time at our house than her own and had often heard Fiona spouting her sage counsel.
“Maybe Zoe confided something to Edgar when he was interviewing her for the article. You should ask him.”
“That was years ago, and how many articles since written? He’d have to have an excellent memory.”
“He does. And I know he keeps impeccable records and never tosses out a shred of his notes or research. According to Jimmy, he keeps all his notebooks in a vault. What do you have to lose?”
Nothing, except for time. And right now, time was not a luxury I had. It’s what Vince had said to Ashley not long before they disappeared. However, I would make the time to set up a meeting with Edgar to at least retrieve the letters I hadn’t known existed. Perhaps they would somehow open up a new door to understanding the Mitchell family legacy.
“All right. I’ll do a little climbing.” I was still scanning the Wikipedia entry about Bozeman when something grabbed my attention. “Speaking of climbing …”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. I think I’d better see what more I can find out about our prospective buyer and his sidekick.”
“Keep me apprised.” Lu said and rang off.
~
Eighty years ago
Christmas Eve ~ eleven days after the fire at Battersea Bluffs
Less than three months after Ambrose shipped off for the Navy, triple tragedy struck the Mitchell family in the form of his and his parents’ deaths. Fiona Patrick coasted about in a haze of private grief while rumors and allegations spun amok in Whale Rock. Working in her parents’ market, Fi was privy to every aspect of small-town chin wagging, especially the whisperings about the stranger who’d traveled from England to exact his revenge on Percy and Celeste. Now she understood why Ambrose’s mother had taken the oath seriously, fearing—quite rightly—she might be bidding a final farewell to her last remaining son the day he left.
Fiona walked the three miles from town to Battersea Bluffs. The tire had fallen off the rusty old bike Mrs. Mitchell had lent her the last time. She could have asked for a ride, but then she would have had to offer an explanation. How could she explain the need to mourn the death of the husband she would never have? The father whom this baby she was carrying would never know? The in-laws who would never have the chance to spoil their grandchild? The holidays they would never share? She could make herself crazy listing all she had lost when that house was set aflame. She hadn’t even known at the time that Ambrose had been killed. The official documents made it to Whale Rock a few days later, and she’d lived with the awful truth for a week now. But the messenger who delivered the cable on the day of the fire said Percy had read the news in his presence and reacted with deep anguish. So he’d died knowing his last remaining son had been killed—but not that Ambrose had left behind a child. Would it have made any difference?
When she reached the top of Lavender Hill, Fiona was out of breath. A coyote was digging at something in the rubble. She tossed a rock in the vicinity of the wild animal to shoo it away. The animal stopped its rooting, stared benignly as she approached and then reluctantly trotted off. She rested on the rock wall that meandered through the estate. When the stones were origi
nally laid, there was probably some sense to their placement, but now it seemed incongruous to the property. Fiona admired the charred but still proud framework of the house. She truly was a grand dame, her magnificent bones still standing in defiance to the fire. Of course, nearly everything inside had been ruined by smoke. She walked around this house of ashes and sniffed the air, her nostrils filling with a strange scent.
A brief flicker of sun through gray clouds glinted off a shiny object near the foundation. She pushed aside debris to uncover a tin box. After brushing away the ashes, Fiona pried it open and quickly flipped through the contents. They were Mrs. Mitchell’s letters, and Fiona knew she’d keep the tin, knew she would read the letters.
A white speck landed on her cheek, and soon the flakes became larger and fell faster. The first snow of the winter. It didn’t seem cold enough, but maybe she was just numb. She tucked the tin box under her arm and, with one last solemn glance about the ruin, took her leave. On the long walk back to town, Fiona contemplated the striking contrast to just weeks ago, when she’d confided her news to Mrs. Mitchell. She had been filled with such optimism that day.
Though she’d managed to keep her pregnancy a secret thus far, it couldn’t go on much longer. She reckoned she had another three months at best to plan and prepare. Her hope was that her parents would happily accept the baby as Mrs. Mitchell had. But what if they didn’t? More than her parents’ wrath, she feared the consequence of being sent away from Whale Rock.
Fiona withdrew her hand from her pocket to admire the lovely emerald ring. Besides the child she was carrying, it was all that remained of the man she loved. She vowed to keep them both close to her always.
26
Two days after the exhibit
Chatham was a charming harbor village with beautiful ocean views, delightful shops, and unequalled dining to attract the summer crowds. However, after the tourists and seasonal residents departed in the fall, Chatham resembled a ghost town. But Edgar and Jimmy loved the serenity of the off season, and after indulging in the party atmosphere between the obligatory days christened Memorial and Labor, they tucked in like clams. Of course, their home was no ordinary clamshell.
Jimmy met me at the front door of Alcyone.
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