Dangling by a Thread

by Lea Wait

  “It’s this King’s Island real estate deal.” Carole had stopped walking and was looking directly at me. “If the deal goes through, Jed’s percentage of the sale will be enough to keep us solvent for months, even with my medical bills. The boys won’t have to leave college, or take out bigger loans.”

  “It’s an important deal for him.”

  “Very important. At first it seemed simple: Offer that Solitary fellow enough money, which Gerry Bentley was prepared to do, and he’d sell. When he refused, Bentley flew in his cousin, Simon—you saw him over there in his fancy clothes, waiting for his lobster dinner and champagne. He and Gerry Bentley even dreamed up a plan to have that hermit declared incompetent, so Simon, as his only relative, would get control, and could sell the island.” She shook her head. “Money talks. Jed wasn’t happy about what they were planning, but in the end he’d get his percentage. All would be fine. We’d get some financial relief.”

  “But then Jesse—his name was Jesse—died.”

  “Yes. At first that seemed to answer all our problems. Simon would inherit. It was simple. But now it’s gotten complicated.”

  “Gotten complicated?” I asked. Now? The whole situation had always seemed complicated to me.

  “Seems that man who lived on the island changed his will at the last minute. Seems he was obsessed with some birds who nest there.”

  “The great cormorants,” I put in.

  “Right. He wanted to leave the island to those Audubon people. But he didn’t have enough money to leave a trust to care for it, which they needed. So he left his part of the island to the biology teacher over at Haven Harbor High.”

  “Dave Percy? Jesse left his part of King’s Island to Dave Percy?” Why hadn’t Dave told me he was inheriting Jesse’s part of King’s Island?

  “Right. That’s his name. Percy. So Gerry and Jed and Simon figured Percy would sell. But before anyone could even talk to him, he and some other people—most of them, Angie, people who work for you—started a campaign to keep the island from being sold. They want to create a bird sanctuary out there. Simon won’t be able to sell his part of the island unless this Dave Percy agrees.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Carole was more up-to-date than I was.

  “They’re your friends, Angie. You’re their boss. Please, please, get those environmental nuts to back off. Birds can live anywhere. Jed and I need Dave Percy to talk with Simon and agree to sell King’s Island.”

  Chapter 42

  “As I hope to be forever blest

  May I be industrious pious &

  Meek & benevolent virtuous wise

  Dutiful to my Parents.”

  —Stitched in 1808 by Polly Wyatt of Newbury, Vermont, when Polly was fifteen years old. Polly’s sampler was bordered with an unusual combination of vines, geometric designs, and flowers. She was the oldest of nine children.

  “Promise me you’ll help, Angie? Get your friends to stop campaigning for those birds? Dave Percy can use the money from the island’s sale to buy another island for them. But this is Jed’s and my only chance. Jed’s already talked to the Bentleys about other real estate. That island is the only one they’re interested in.” Carole was begging.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Jesse left his share of King’s Island to Dave. This is all new. I do know about the Save the Cormorants campaign and, yes, several of the Mainely Needlepointers are involved. So is Ted Lawrence. And they’ve been in touch with the Maine Audubon folks. I’ve been so busy during the past few days, I haven’t been as involved as perhaps I should be. But I have to say, I’ve been out to King’s Island, and it is a perfect place for the cormorants. I can’t understand why the Bentleys want to develop it.”

  “So you won’t help?” Carole’s voice was bitter. “I didn’t ask you to do anything complicated. Just something that will save my family.”

  “Carole, I’d be happy to drive you to chemo treatments if that would free Jed to work. Gram could arrange for the Ladies’ Guild at the church to provide meals for your family, so you and Jed won’t have to worry about those. But I can’t stop the Save the Cormorants campaign.” I took a deep breath. “And I don’t want to. I believe in that cause.”

  Carole’s face reddened. She was furious. For a moment I thought she was going to throw her orange juice in my face. Instead, she stumbled toward me, dropping her glass. I grabbed her and put my arm around her waist to hold her up.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” she said softly, crumpling in my arms. “I’m sorry, Angie. It isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”

  “It’s not your fault you’re sick,” I assured her. Together, we slowly headed back to where the others were waiting. When we were almost there Jed saw Carole leaning on me and lumbered toward us to help.

  “What is it, dear? What happened?”

  “I was a little faint,” she said, smiling at him as though nothing were wrong and our conversation had never happened. “Angie was kind enough to help me. I need my pain pills.”

  Jed put his arm around Carole from the other side, and the two of us almost carried her the rest of the way and helped her down onto her lounge chair.

  She took a pill bottle out of her purse.

  “Should I take you home?” Jed asked solicitously.

  “No, no,” said Carole. “I need to rest a little and let the pills work. I’ll be fine here. When the food is ready I’ll be able to eat a little.” She smiled at Jed. “You know I can always eat lobster.”

  Patrick came over as I stood awkwardly next to Carole, not sure of what I should do next. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, picking up on Carole’s cue. “She was a bit dizzy. We walked too far. I’ll get the glass she dropped. You don’t want anyone stepping on it, or a lawnmower running over it.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  We were out of earshot of the rest when I said, “Did you know Jesse Lockhart left his share of the island to Dave Percy?”

  Patrick frowned. “Your friend who’s in the hospital? The one who saved Bette and the other kittens?”

  “That’s the one,” I said. “He didn’t tell me.”

  Patrick shook his head. “I’d heard Jesse might have changed his will. Simon went to the police department to ask them about it. But I hadn’t heard what was in the will.”

  I stopped and looked around for Carole’s glass. It had rolled into a tall clump of goldenrod. “Carole said Gerry and Jed and Simon were planning to talk to Dave, and try to buy his share of the island.”

  Patrick shook his head. “I have no idea. I didn’t know. But I haven’t been at the big house a lot. I’m trying to live by myself. And I’ve been taking care of Bette for the last couple of days. I haven’t been paying a lot of attention to this island mess.”

  Mugs of chowder had been served by the time we got back to the others. Everyone except Carole and Jed were sitting at the wide redwood table, where trays of food and stacks of napkins were arranged. The bartender was holding a magnum of champagne, and full crystal flutes were already at our places.

  Jed had taken his food and Carole’s over to her chair, where he was cracking the claws of her lobster for her. I sat across from Patrick, between Mrs. Bentley and Simon.

  Uncle Gerry stood and toasted, “To Maine, and all its glories!” which I assumed encompassed islands and lobsters, and Skye. The table was quiet as we focused on bowls of haddock chowder, and then on platters of lobsters, clams, mussels, corn, onions, and potatoes the caterers set in the middle of the table. (A small bowl of hard-boiled eggs was there, too.) The lobsters, clams, and mussels were getting the most attention, although I noticed Mrs. Bentley was eating a piece of chicken instead.

  “You don’t like lobster?” I asked, sucking the meat out of one of my lobster’s legs. I remembered to put several legs in a napkin to take home to Trixi.

  “Allergic to shellfish,” she explained. “The caterers cooked a piece of chicken separately for me. It’s delic
ious. And I can eat the chowder, and the corn and onion and potato.”

  “When is your baby due?”

  “In a little over a month now,” she confided. “I’m going to have a little girl! The nursery is beautiful. I had my decorator paint the walls pale pink, with white lambs playing in a green field. The lampshades and rug match, too.”

  “It sounds lovely,” I said, minding my manners. I figured if you were expecting you bought a crib and a changing table and friends gave you baby clothes at a shower. Maybe you painted a room. The Bentleys’ daughter-to-be had a decorator do her room? A different world than the one I knew.

  “You must be excited,” I said, stating the obvious. “Will you be heading home soon, so you can be near your doctor?”

  “This trip has taken longer than we’d planned,” she admitted. She glanced over at her husband, who was deep in a discussion with Skye. “I’d feel better if I were at home. Gerry’s made arrangements to leave our boat with a friend of Skye’s we met in Camden the other day. His shipyard has space to winter it over. I don’t want to take our baby on any expeditions, at least until spring. Gerry likes me to be with him when he travels, so I’m not sure how long I can manage that. Having a nanny will help.”

  Of course a nanny would help. “Your first child?”

  “Yes. It’s been a long wait. We’ve been married almost three years now!”

  I glanced at Uncle Gerry. He was at least twenty-five years older than his bride. “I’m happy for you.” I meant it.

  “Do you have any children?” she asked.

  I almost choked on my clam broth. “No. I’m not married.”

  She shrugged. “It’s the twenty-first century. You don’t have to be married to have children.”

  “True,” I admitted. I should know. Mama had never married. And that had been way back in the twentieth century. “But no. No children.”

  “Soon?” she suggested. “You don’t want to be as old as I am before you try to get pregnant.”

  “How old are you?” I blurted.

  Her voice dropped. “Thirty. Almost thirty-one.”

  Four years older than I was. I felt as though I’d aged a decade or two in the last two minutes.

  “I’ve heard you and your husband want to live on King’s Island,” I said casually.

  Her voice stayed low. “Not really. We already have three homes. That’s plenty for me, especially since we can travel to other places whenever we want to. With a little one it’ll be more complicated, even with help. But I like Skye and Patrick, and it would be convenient to have a place near them. Gerry always has to have a project to keep himself busy. Right now he has this idea about living on the rustic coast of Maine, so I’m supporting him. It’s his money, his choice.” She patted her bulging abdomen. “Who knows? Our little princess may love the outdoors.”

  Mrs. Bentley wasn’t the one pushing the purchase of King’s Island.

  “You don’t mind that the cormorants will have to find new nesting grounds?”

  “I’d never heard of cormorants until we arrived in Maine. Strange black birds.” She shuddered. “They make me nervous. The way they look—with their wings all spread out—they’re menacing. As though they’re threatening other birds. Or even people.”

  I tried not to smile. “I don’t think they threaten anything but fish,” I said. “But I grew up here. They’re part of the Maine seacoast. I’d hate to see them lose their nesting grounds.”

  “They can find other nesting grounds as far as I’m concerned,” she said, selecting an ear of corn. “Once Gerry has construction going on out there, I don’t think those birds are going to feel welcome.”

  That was the truth.

  Carole and Jed joined the rest of us at the table.

  “Feeling better?” asked Skye. “Is there anything we can get for you, Carole?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said. “Weary. I had a treatment Friday. The first couple of days afterward are the hardest.” She put several clams on her plate, opened one, and dunked it in her mug of broth.

  “How long will you be staying in Maine, Simon?” asked Jed.

  Simon had been talking with Patrick. He turned around. “All the papers are signed. I need to get back to Chicago. I’m planning to fly home Tuesday.”

  All the papers? What papers?

  He looked around. “I’ve had a wonderful time with all of you, revisiting Maine. I loved this part of the coast when I was a boy, but I hadn’t been back in years. Your hospitality has made my stay memorable.”

  “What about Jesse?” I blurted. “Are you arranging his funeral?”

  Simon turned to me. “My cousin told me years ago, before he went in the army, that if he didn’t make it back he wanted to be cremated and his ashes dumped in the ocean. He didn’t want a service. I’ve left instructions here with the local police; they’ll take care of it after his body is released. I see no reason to stay around for that.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him when you were here,” I said. “He was a special person.”

  “I did see him,” said Simon. “He was a pain in the . . . Anyway, I did see him. Not that it’s any of your business. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Simon, this is Angie Curtis. She’s the head of a local needlepoint business. Jesse was a friend of hers,” Patrick explained.

  Simon looked at me again. “Sorry. I didn’t know that. I’ve had a lot on my mind while I’ve been here.”

  “When did you see Jesse?” I asked. Everyone at the table was listening.

  “Gerry took me out to King’s Island Thursday afternoon, on his launch. Gerry wanted to see the interior of the island, and I wanted to see Jesse. He and I talked for about an hour. We did some reminiscing and talked about the future of our island. We didn’t agree on what that would be, but we had a good talk.”

  The medical examiner had said Jesse died Thursday afternoon or early evening. “What time was that?”

  “Early in the afternoon. Before he was murdered,” Simon said. “In case your next question was whether I’d killed him.” He looked around the table. “For the record, I did not kill my cousin. Jesse and I didn’t agree on a lot of things, but he was family. He was alive when Gerry and I left King’s Island.”

  “Why don’t we have another round of champagne,” said Gerry Bentley, breaking the silence. “Today we should be thinking about this beautiful state, and how lucky we are to be here. A toast to my wonderful wife,” he said, raising his glass. “And to our daughter to come!”

  I sipped my champagne and tried not to ask more questions. I certainly had a few.

  A few minutes later Patrick put his hand on my arm. “Why don’t we go and get the whoopie pies?” he asked, pulling me out of my seat.

  I followed him, down the field. Not toward the dessert table. “What’s happening?”

  “Before you talked to Simon, he told me Jesse’s new will is problematic. Jesse left his share of the island to Dave Percy, yes. But Uncle Gerry has lawyers questioning whether Jesse had the right to do that if he and Simon owned the island together. Because Jesse was insistent about making his will out quickly, his lawyer didn’t check the deed to King’s Island to see exactly how it was worded. Jesse might not have known he couldn’t leave the property to Dave. It would automatically go to Simon.”

  I shook my head. “Too many details. I’m not a lawyer.”

  “Jesse and Simon inherited the island from their grandfather, whose will was made in Illinois. The lawyers need to go back and look at that will. Bottom line: I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to sell that property anytime soon.”

  “But what papers did Simon say he was signing?”

  “In case this all gets settled and he’s the full owner of King’s Island, he’s selling Uncle Gerry first refusal to purchase it. Since Maine doesn’t permit distribution of property until six months after the owner’s death, even if the island ends up as Simon’s property, no one will be building on it until next spring, at
the earliest.”

  “Which will give us time to campaign for the cormorants,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Patrick. “If Jesse hadn’t made out that new will it would be simple. Simon would automatically have inherited the property. But Uncle Gerry’s lawyers are saying Dave could make a claim to Jesse’s half of the island, since the ownership agreement isn’t clear by Maine law.”

  I shook my head.

  “If Jesse could leave his part of the island to Dave, Simon can’t sell it. Bottom line, Angie: Dave’s in the middle of a legal mess.”

  “What can we do? Dave didn’t ask for any of this!”

  “No. But he was Jesse’s friend. And he wants to help those birds, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The best we can do right now is to support Dave, and the cormorants. Save the Cormorants should continue. The worst that could happen would be King’s Island would be sold, but other Maine birds would benefit from the publicity about the need for safe nesting areas for threatened and endangered seabirds, right?”

  “I guess so.” That wasn’t what I wanted to tell Dave and the Mainely Needlepointers, who simply wanted to keep King’s Island free of construction. “I can’t believe Dave didn’t tell me about Jesse’s will.”

  “He never told you?”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t mention any of it to me. That’s strange, since we’ve been talking about Jesse and the cormorants every day.”

  “I’m surprised, too.”

  I looked over the field at Haven Harbor. The sun was setting; the sky was streaked with orange and red and purple. “It’s late. It’s been a long day. I have a lot to think about. I’ll go to see Dave first thing in the morning. He’s hoping to be released from the hospital Tuesday.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?” Patrick asked.

  I was tempted. “No. I think I have to do this myself. But I’d like you to meet Dave after he’s settled at home. I think you’d like each other.”