House of Ashes

by Loretta Marion

  Thank you, Percy and Celeste.

  How many Southern towns could there be that boasted a statue of Vulcan? Only one, according to Google—on Red Mountain in Birmingham, Alabama. As I was considering how this information might be useful, the phone rang again.

  “That was quick,” I said to Brooks.

  “Viola Welkman-Prince, J. Aaron Welkman’s daughter, was killed in a crash with her husband, Alex Prince, back in 2003, when the plane Prince was piloting crashed into Whistler Mountain.”

  “Whistler Mountain? Where’s that?”

  “It’s in Canada. British Columbia.”

  I looked down to where the German shepherd was sleeping at my feet. I thought back to the story Vince told me about how he had named Whistler. It had not seemed authentic at the time, and now I was certain it was a fabrication.

  “Could you find an obituary? Did it mention children?”

  “No obit I saw, but I was able to find a tribute article to Alex Prince in a skiing magazine. Prince, Americanized from Alexis Princolas, was a former Olympic skier, originally from Greece. They were survived by one child. A son named Jason.” JJ. Jay. Jason.

  The mounting parallels between Vince Jacobson and Jason Prince were adding credence to my theory. “I feel we’re getting close to breaking through this mystery.”

  But then Brooks threw a bucket of ice water on my enthusiasm.

  “Agent Benjamin called. The FBI has closed the case.”

  * * *

  Less than five minutes after ending my call with Brooks, the phone rang again. I wasn’t surprised to see who was calling. Daniel confirmed the bad news.

  “Why would you close a case that’s still unsolved? Is there nothing you can do? Even unofficially?”

  “My hands are tied.”

  “Well, mine aren’t.”

  “Be sensible, Cassie. You need to step back.”

  “Give me a good reason.”

  In a quieter voice he pleaded, “You have to trust me on this.”

  “Like I trusted you with the evidence you lost?” My anger had me pacing the floor.

  “I didn’t lose it. And only a portion of the evidence was misplaced by a tech. It will show up.” This was a different version from his earlier story.

  “Why did you lie to me about the ring they pawned?”

  “I didn’t lie to you. I wasn’t at liberty to discuss details of the case. Besides, we hadn’t determined its relevance.”

  “How about Archie Stanfield?” It was the thought that popped into my head when Brooks was telling me what he’d learned about the phoenix coin. Given the possibility of Vince actually being Jason Prince, his Greek heritage made it feel even more plausible.

  “What about him?”

  “He trusted you with a valuable Greek coin. Did that get misplaced as well?”

  “How did you know about the coin?”

  “I didn’t. You just told me.” Gotcha!

  “You were guessing?” He snorted in exasperation.

  “An educated guess.”

  “Cassie. Let it go.”

  But I couldn’t, so I pressed on with another guess. “What about Cindy? She trusted you, and now she’s in trouble.”

  “What are you talking about?” This bluff hadn’t paid off. Daniel seemed genuinely bewildered by this claim. “What kind of trouble?”

  “She’s gone into hiding. She tried to sell one of the same coins Mr. Stanfield had. I presume there’s a connection between those coins and Ashley and Vince’s disappearance.”

  “You should not presume anything. You shouldn’t even be involved. This is not a television crime show, for crying out loud. It’s real life.”

  “I agree. And the real lives of two people I care about are at stake.”

  “I can’t say anything more about it. Trust me when I tell you to walk away from this. Please.” His was the voice of reason.

  I inhaled the sweet scent of burnt sugar. “I wish I could.” I truly wanted to.

  I hung up feeling disheartened. All the conversation with Daniel had done was save me a trip to Coastal Vintage Wares to question Archie Stanfield. I checked the captain’s clock and realized that Daniel should have been on a plane right now. Had he been lying to me about that as well?

  28

  The next day

  Barely twenty-four hours before Aaron Welkman would return, and I still had several issues to resolve. And more bad news from Brooks, who told me he’d been ordered to cease any investigative work on the Jacobson case also.

  “I thought you were working unofficially.”

  “Someone found out.”

  Had Daniel ratted him out?

  “Why were you told to stop?”

  “That was my question to the Massachusetts attorney general.”

  Pretty high up the ladder of command. “And?”

  “I was told my place was not to ask questions, but to follow orders. This comes from the powers on high.”

  “We’re getting close to something big,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Brooks replied, “but it’s something I’ve decided we should back away from. You in particular.”

  I sat down heavily. “I can’t, Chuckles.”

  “You have to,” he barked into the phone. He took a breath and softened his tone. “You have to because I can’t be there to protect you.”

  “Do you really believe I’m in danger?” From the onset of this whole mess, I’d only been frightened for Ashley and Vince.

  “I can’t say for sure, but it’s possible. And the risk is too great.”

  Changing the subject slightly, I asked, “What about the paintings? Do you think I should sell them?”

  “Yes. Give the man what he wants. Take his check, thank him, and then wave bye-bye.”

  I said nothing, hoping he’d take my silence as acceptance.

  “Promise you’ll let it go.”

  “I’ll do what you say.” And I would, to a point. I’d already decided to let Aaron buy the paintings. But there were still some questions he’d need to answer as additional payment for them.

  “Good girl.”

  * * *

  “I’ve been deserted on all fronts.” I was talking to Whistler as we walked up to the Mitchell family cemetery. “You’re all that’s left on the team, boy.”

  And he didn’t let me down, heading straight for Barnacle Boy’s headstone. I remembered seeing Ashley running toward the graveyard right before the call came in from my attorney about the divorce, the day she and Vince had disappeared.

  “Good job, buddy.” If I hadn’t been looking for something, I wouldn’t have noticed the slight disturbance of earth around the Winnie the Pooh statue.

  I heaved the bronze figure aside to find an obvious burial site. However, after several minutes of digging, I determined whatever had been buried must have since been retrieved. Now it was clear why Ashley and Vince had done all the landscaping work in the cemetery. It’s the right place. But why here? And what had they hidden? The coins, perhaps?

  Whistler was nosing around one of the other graves so I went for a closer look. It was Fiona’s, but nothing looked amiss save for one of the yews that had been chewed by deer.

  “Don’t pee on that grave. That’s my granny, dontcha know.”

  The dog scampered off toward the house, and I followed quickly behind him. It was time for the second task on my to-do list for the day.

  * * *

  I waited in the merchandise corner of the post office lobby, pretending to select some postcards of beautiful Whale Rock Harbor until the crowd cleared out.

  Sylvia Trask eyed me suspiciously. “What’s up, Cassie?”

  “I need to get a message to a certain somebody who presumably left town.”

  The postmistress’s face brightened, and she responded in her own code. “I might know of a person who delivers in that area.”

  “I need to talk with her.”

  I turned at the sound of the door opening behind me. It was Mrs. Kr
uk, owner of the small grocery market next door, famed for its high prices and for being another hub of Whale Rock gossip.

  Sylvia peered at Mrs. Kruk over her half-glasses and said, “I can take you first, Stella.”

  “Oh no. I wouldn’t think of it.” I held a grudge against Stella Kruk; she’d been one of the less kind merchants in town when I started having my financial struggles. She’d had the nerve to call Zoe and demand payment of my bill, which not only humiliated me but had also been the first tip-off to my sister that I was in trouble.

  “It needs to arrive tomorrow.”

  “That soon, huh?” Sylvia frowned and looked down at her computer screen.

  I lowered my voice. “It’s fairly urgent.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll send it Express.” She winked, clearly enjoying her dabble in the covert discussion.

  “What do I owe you?” I asked, subtly tilting my head toward the meddlesome shopkeeper.

  Sylvia was quick on the uptake. “Overnight delivery would be eighteen dollars.”

  I handed her a twenty and she stealthily returned two tens along with a phony receipt. I thanked the postmistress and turned to leave, but Mrs. Kruk was a large woman and easily blocked my egress.

  “Where’ve you been keeping yourself, Cassandra Mitchell?”

  Could the woman be so obtuse?

  “And don’t give me the starving artist excuse.” Her voice had turned syrupy sweet as she waved a playful finger at me. No doubt she’d heard the positive reviews of my exhibit and was eager to have me back as a paying customer.

  A million sarcastic replies were bursting to be released, but the sensible angel won out over the vengeful devil.

  “I promise to stop in soon.” I sent a wave to Sylvia before rushing out.

  As I walked purposefully to my car thinking of the next item I had to tackle, a familiar swagger rounded the corner a couple blocks ahead. Billy Hughes. I froze for a second before realizing I was standing in front of Hilliard House and escaping into its safe haven.

  It was mid-morning, quiet time for the usually bustling inn. I found Evelyn alone, tidying up the dining room.

  “Hey there, Baby Cass.” She took me in a warm hug that allowed me to inhale her cozy smell of cinnamon and lavender. “George and I so enjoyed your showing. Is it true it might be a sellout?”

  I waved my crossed fingers.

  “What brings you here this morning?”

  I decided to be completely honest. “I was ducking Billy Hughes.”

  She mouthed, Oh, and gave a dramatic and knowing nod of her head.

  “Evelyn, does Zoe know about Billy and me?”

  “Not from these lips.” She made the motion of zipping them shut.

  “But you knew.” Who’d spilled the beans?

  “Honey, we all knew.” She took the chair beside mine. “But we wouldn’t have told her. She’d’ve been crushed to know the truth.”

  “I’m her sister, not her daughter.” I flared at the implied judgment. “She should have had her own brood instead of inflicting all that mothering on me.” Albeit long distance.

  And I didn’t stop there with my venting. All the frustrations of recent weeks had accumulated to an eruption.

  “She should have married Brooks and stayed here in Whale Rock and had a dozen kids. I could have been a favorite auntie who spoiled all my nieces and nephews. I might never have married Ethan if she’d stayed.”

  Evelyn was staring at her hands. She stood and walked toward the antique sideboard. “Cuppa?”

  “Sure.”

  She set two filled mugs on the table, along with a sugar bowl and pitcher of cream, before sitting wearily.

  “Sorry, Evvie.”

  “What you just described? That’s exactly what Zoe always dreamed of for her future. But circumstances sent her down a different path.” Evelyn sent me a sad smile. “She could hardly stand to be in that house. She had this crazy idea that Robert Toomey’s spirit was haunting her.”

  Not so crazy. Except it wasn’t Robert Toomey who was haunting her; it was his curse.

  “I often wondered if your sister would have stayed here in Whale Rock if it hadn’t been for those awful hallucinations.”

  “What kind of hallucinations?”

  “These terrible smells only she could smell. She said it was horrible, like—”

  “—like burning flesh,” I whispered. “She told me that part,” I added quickly.

  Evelyn peered at me, askance, and lowered her voice to ask, “The stories about Battersea Bluffs—they are just stories, right?”

  I couldn’t go there right now, so I simply rolled my eyes. Despite being the person who’d done the most to perpetuate and embellish the tales of spirits haunting my home, Ev actually looked relieved.

  “Well, anyway,” she continued her story, “Zoe wanted to quit school and move away from home. She was making plans to go to New York, but your parents talked her into taking the semester off and staying in Whale Rock to think things through before making any rash decisions. But she was becoming more and more depressed and withdrawn. Then there was a terrible falling out between her and Fiona.”

  “What about?” I asked. There’d always been a lot of drama in our house as it concerned Zoe, but I’d been too young to be included in the family discussions.

  “I don’t know, but it was serious.”

  I thought about the journal pages waiting to be read, hoping they’d hold a clue.

  “Anyhow, your folks were beside themselves with worry. As spring break approached, your mother arranged a trip to Mexico with a group of Zoe’s sorority sisters. That’s where she met the dashing Oliver Young. None of us thought she’d actually marry him. We all still held out hope she’d get back with Brooks, but you know how that chapter ended.”

  I nodded, even though I was positive there was much more to the story than I’d been told. But for now, I had no choice but to let it go.

  We sipped our now-tepid tea in silent reflection before I asked, “Do you think she’s happy with Oliver?”

  Evelyn lifted her shoulders in a dramatic shrug and made a face. “Through the years, your sister has remained consistently ambiguous on the subject of her marriage.”

  “And Brooks?”

  She raised one eyebrow and said, “I believe you might hold the more accurate barometer on where Chuckles stands.”

  I scowled at her.

  She lifted her hands. “Gossip. It’s the one drawback of living in a small town.”

  The bell at the front desk tinkled, and Evelyn dashed to the front hall. I carried my cup to the kitchen, where she met me with a chagrinned look.

  “An early check-in.”

  “I should be going anyhow. Appreciate the save.”

  “You mean Billy? Anytime.” She walked with me to the lobby. “One more thing about your sister. Her intentions are always the best. Especially when it comes to you.”

  “I’ll try to remember that, and I promise to be more patient.” I made a scout’s salute.

  She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Ah, Baby Cass isn’t a baby anymore.”

  I left Hilliard House having learned nothing more about Zoe and her secrets. Just as well since I needed no further distractions before Aaron Welkman arrived on my doorstep tomorrow.

  As I descended the porch steps, I noticed the bad boy of Whale Rock waiting for me on a bench in front of the hardware store.

  I pretended not to see him and crossed the cobbled street to where my car was parked.

  He called out, “Hey, Babe!”

  “Piss off, Billy,” I yelled back, which instigated some hearty guffaws from a few of the locals in earshot. After all these years, was it possible I’d finally grown that spine and become immune to the charms of Billy Hughes? It was a long time coming, but I had to admit, it felt good.

  * * *

  The high from giving Billy the brush-off was short-lived. By the time I arrived in Provincetown, my mind had clouded again with thoughts of all that
could go wrong in the next few hours.

  When I walked through the door of Grand Funk Ink, I was relieved to see the unmistakable Skunk sitting behind the counter, finishing up his lunch.

  “What can I do for you today?” He wiped his mouth on a paper towel and stood to greet me.

  “Do you remember me?” I asked. “I came in a couple months ago with my friends.”

  He sized me up through slit eyes before a sly smile crept across his face as he pointed and said, “Oh yeah. The phoenix.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” He unlocked his cash drawer and removed a small brown envelope. “I believe this is yours.”

  I hadn’t even had to ask. I shook out the contents of the envelope and slipped Fiona’s emerald ring onto my finger.

  “You’re one happy lady.” His smile mirrored my own.

  “For more reasons than I can tell you.” Bits and pieces of my memory of that night had been coming back to me. I’d finally remembered taking off the ring before getting my tattoo so Skunk could take a closer look when I’d requested the eyes of the phoenix match the emerald color. “Didn’t I fill out a release form with my contact information?”

  “You’d had a few pops before coming in that night.”

  Which was probably the reason I hadn’t remembered taking the ring off.

  He pulled out the form and placed it on the counter before me. I felt my face warm as I read what I’d written for my name and address: Dorothy the Small and Meek, Yellow Brick Road, Emerald City, Somewhere over the Rainbow.

  “We’ve seen worse. But I did try to call you. You must have written it down wrong.”

  I checked the telephone number and found I’d completely mixed up my cell and landline numbers.

  “So, are you pleased with my work?”

  “Very. But I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it sober.”

  “Often the case.” He nodded knowingly. “I’m glad you weren’t pissed off at your buddies.”

  “Not at all, Sadly, they disappeared not long after that.”