by Jolyn Sharp
“Do you really think we could?” Annie asked in surprise.
Hank shrugged. “We keep referring to this as a map. We should test out the idea that it could actually be used as one.”
Annie realized that, though she had been referring to the embroidery piece as a map, she still considered it primarily a decorative object, not something someone could actually use for purposes of navigation. “I just … never really thought it could be accurate enough.”
“I think it is,” Hank replied.
“But tell him the other part, Annie,” Alice finally burst out impatiently. “About the … you know.” Hank smiled and once again turned an expectant gaze toward Annie.
“It’s just speculation,” she began; then she hesitated and started over. “It’s about the coves. They aren’t just any coves, it seems, but particularly quiet and secluded ones. In fact, they are apparently just the coves that were used for … bootlegging.” She felt foolish saying it; Prohibition had been so long before her time that the very idea of rum-running seemed quaint and not quite real. On the other hand, she was aware that it had been against the law, and that a lot of time and money had been spent all over the country trying to stop the illegal trade (she couldn’t help but think of Eliot Ness and Al Capone). So it had occurred to her that Stony Point residents today might not care to be reminded that such things had once gone on in their area.
Hank, however, was beaming. “Bootlegging,” he said, drawing out the word with relish. “Well, now, that is a topic of my research: black-market economies and rural development in Maine.” He sat back and steepled his fingers as if about to pontificate on the topic, but then he noticed Annie’s look of concern and gave her a kindly smile. “I take it you’ve heard that the topic might have a personal, or I should say familial, interest for me?”
Annie’s mouth gaped open in astonishment. “What?”
Hank pulled up short. “I guess you haven’t heard after all. But it’s OK,” he quickly added in a reassuring tone. He stopped to collect his thoughts for a moment while Annie and Alice both stared at him, dumbfounded. “Yes, I’m afraid my Page ancestors were heavily involved in rum-running during the Prohibition years. My grandfather’s brother Hiram was the mastermind, but Granddad was in it, too, though he was adamant about keeping my dad out of it. I thought maybe you’d heard something about that, since you seemed so uncomfortable bringing it up.” He cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.
“No,” Annie said, “I’d no idea.” She glanced at Alice, who said, “Nor had I.”
“Yes, well, not that they dirtied their own hands with it, of course. They had other local people who did the actual smuggling. But my family provided the capital, the connections, and the distribution; they were the brains of the operation, and they supplied Canadian spirits for a fair part of Maine, collecting most of the profits and bearing little of the risk. They never personally carried a drop across the border.”
“Who did?” Annie felt like he expected her to ask the question.
Hank gave her a lopsided smile. “Oh, any number of local fishermen at one time or another. But most of the midnight boat runs were carried out by the St. Pierres and their cousins the Burkes.”
Annie was astonished all over again, but Alice gave a sly smile, as if long-known facts were suddenly seen in a new light. “Well, well,” she said.
Hank shrugged. “Yes, the St. Pierres resented being forced to take so much of the risk, but even a fraction of the trade was good money, so they all managed to keep the peace for a while. And old Hiram and my grandfather used other folks as well, of course, and still others operated on their own. There were many locals who weren’t regular smugglers but who seized a chance or two if the opportunity happened to come along. And you have to realize that those were hard times for a lot of folks.”
Hank shrugged. “I’ve got no problem admitting my own family’s faults, and I even find the whole thing fascinating from a historical perspective, but I can imagine that there are some families around—quite a few maybe—for whom any involvement in smuggling is still a big secret and who wouldn’t care to have those days brought into the light once again.”
Annie frowned. “You mean like Gus?”
Hank shook his head. “No. To give Gus his due, his own interest in history is too strong for him to cover up something like that. I’ve heard him talk about it quite openly.” He paused and added thoughtfully, “The Burkes might be less pleased to be reminded of it, but there aren’t any Burkes around here anymore. And even with the Burkes, everyone knew about their involvement. No, the people most likely to be upset are those whose families were only involved in a small way and who managed to keep it secret at the time.”
His face grew thoughtful, as if he were trying to think of families who might fit that description. “I remember my father talking about Pastor Eddy’s boat being always at the ready. Now he was a character …” They fell silent for a moment.
If Hank’s family ran the operation, Annie reflected, Hank might have more inside information about who had smuggled and who had not. But before he said anything further, they heard the front door creak and felt a rush of air. Annie and Alice stiffened and looked at Hank with alarm, as if they’d been caught discussing a forbidden topic. He stood up to investigate just as Liz poked her head in the back office.
“Just me,” she said blithely, as she set a tote bag stuffed with handheld tape recorders on the desk.
“What’s all this?” Hank inquired, plucking one out and examining it.
“This is for the oral history thing, Hank,” Liz said in a reproving tone. He nodded to signal his understanding, and Liz turned to Annie and Alice. “I’ve just borrowed this equipment from the West Waring library for an oral- history project we’ll be doing at one of the summer camps. We have about fifteen kids who have signed up to learn about local history. We’re going to set them to gathering and transcribing stories from around Stony Point.”
“With these?” Hank turned the cheap recorder over in his hands and popped open the lid to the cavity that held the tape. “You don’t think the kids will razz us about antiquated technology? Will they even know what cassette tapes are?”
“They’re adolescents at summer camp, Hank,” Liz said. “We’re hardly going to fit them out with the latest digital recording equipment. Not that the library has the funds to buy that kind of stuff anyway,” she added. “We’re lucky to have these.”
“Most of ’em will probably just use some recording app on their phones,” Hank muttered, returning the recorder to the bag.
“That’s fine too,” Liz replied easily. “Maybe it will stop them complaining about the lack of a signal out at the lake.”
“Maybe I’ll start carrying around an old candlestick phone in my pocket,” Hank said, flashing a grin at Annie and Alice. “That’ll be a good lesson for the kids too. How many of them have ever seen one?”
“I’m not sure I have,” Alice said, “except in old movies.”
“When I was a kid …” Hank began, but he was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening again.
“Hello?” called a voice, and Liz’s face fell immediately. But before she could move, Gus St. Pierre stood in the doorway of the office holding a large black case and a small white bakery box tied with festive ribbon. “Well, hello, everyone,” he said, gazing about the room. “I thought I’d only find Liz here.” He smiled uncertainly and kept his eyes averted from Hank’s. He held out the white box for Liz and said, “A little something for you, my dear.”
“Why, Gus, thank you so much!” For a moment, her face lit with pleasure; she showed the others the chocolate strawberry tartlets inside the box. “They look delicious. But, Gus,” and she now turned to him with an expression of dismay, “I’m so sorry. It never occurred to me to call and let you know.” Gus gave her a puzzled frown and she continued, “The embroidery piece has been stolen!”
****
Gus had arrived by appointment to take his docu
mentary-quality photographs of the map. But in all the excitement following its theft, no one had thought to let him know that it was no longer available to be photographed.
When he was told, Gus cast a brief, suspicious glare in Hank’s direction, as if this were some ploy to thwart his photographing the embroidery, but Hank himself looked so crestfallen that Gus gazed at the others in consternation. “Stolen?” he repeated blankly, and it seemed to slowly sink in. “Well, I’m— Well. That’s a shame. Do you, do the police, know who did it? I mean, this is a small town. There must be some lead?”
Liz shook her head. “It just happened yesterday. Or I guess I should say that yesterday was the day when the thief was finally successful.” They filled Gus in on the other attempts that had been made, and he seemed truly shocked to hear about the break-in at Annie’s home. Annie noticed that Hank was watching Gus attentively and with a thoughtful look on his face.
“But this is intolerable,” Gus exclaimed when they were done. “Breaking into your house? I’m so glad to hear that you weren’t hurt, Annie. But who would go to all this trouble and why? That embroidered map is a wonderful piece, but I don’t see why anyone would think it worth this kind of effort.”
“That’s just what we’ve been saying ourselves,” said Liz.
Hank grimaced and leaned back in his chair. “Unless it embarrasses someone—?” Hank looked directly at Gus.
“What are you suggesting, Hank?” Gus said stiffly.
“He’s not making an accusation,” Liz said quickly, throwing Hank a sharp glance.
Hank sighed and made a conciliatory gesture with his hands. “No, she’s right. I’m not. I’m … sorry.” He paused contemplatively before adding, “It’s just speculation at this point, but we suspect the map might have been used by local rum-runners.”
Gus glared for a moment at Hank, and Annie recalled what she’d just learned concerning their shared family history on this subject. His expression suggested he suspected some further exploitation of the St. Pierres by the Pages. But after a moment, his eyes grew more thoughtful, and she saw him glance down at the printout of the map that lay on the desk. His expression softened and he gazed into the distance, apparently evaluating this theory against his own knowledge of local history.
After a while, a corner of his mouth lifted slightly, and his reluctant fascination was clear. “Interesting notion,” he said slowly. “Do go on.”
19
On the dot, Annie and Alice arrived at the office of Stony Point’s police department. Small though it was, and not particularly active, it hummed with vibrant energy. A radio cackled in the background, a coffeepot was perking, and the dispatcher-receptionist was busy hammering away at a computer at the corner of the front desk. Annie and Alice looked about the small reception area as they waited for the woman at the desk to notice them.
Just as she raised her head and asked if she could help them, however, Chief Edwards emerged from an office to one side and greeted them. Seeing that her boss had the situation in hand, the receptionist returned to her furious typing.
As the chief ushered them into his office, Alice gestured with her head back toward the front desk. “She’s … pretty speedy, isn’t she?”
The chief smiled. “I don’t think she uses the computer so much as wages combat with it. The funny thing is, she knows more about our software systems than anyone else in the department. Despite her apparent hostility to the equipment, she knows a lot about it.”
“Or perhaps because of her hostility,” Annie suggested. “Know thy enemy.”
He gestured them toward two hard-plastic guest chairs in his office. “I appreciate your coming in. I know you must be getting sick of this business, but now that the … map has actually been stolen, things are more definite than when we were merely speculating. And so it seems to me that I should go over it all with you again, to see if I’ve been missing anything. Can I get you some coffee or anything?”
They declined, and Annie said, “Do you want me to just tell it to you again, or do you want to ask specific questions?”
“Why don’t you tell the story in your way,” the chief said. “Start from when you first found the map. If I have questions, I’ll ask ’em.”
Annie nodded, and once again recounted the Saga of the Map, as she’d begun to think of it, bringing the story all the way up to its theft the previous day. Then she said, “Well, and now we’ve got some new information for you as well.”
The chief raised his eyebrows in surprise, but nodded that she should continue. She described the theory that the Xs marked coves and that there might be some connection to Prohibition-era smuggling, and she repeated what Hank had told them of the era.
The chief nodded thoughtfully for a while, and then said, “So your theory is that someone whose family was involved in smuggling recognized this map and made the connection? And now they’ve stolen it because they don’t want some embarrassing family history to come to light?”
Annie and Alice shifted uncomfortably. “Hank Page also thinks it’s possible,” Alice said.
“Yes,” the chief said slowly, “it’s possible. Though I’d like a little more confirmation before I start basing any investigation on it. The idea that the Xs mark certain coves is, so far, just a guess. And the business about a connection to bootlegging is an even bigger leap.”
“We’re thinking of going out in a boat with Hank to check and see if the Xs really mark coves, and if so, what they’re like,” Annie offered.
“Well, that would help some, if we could determine that it’s really the case. Though even if it is, the connection to the smuggling is still a guess. And then, if somebody’s trying to cover up the dirty family linen, well, breaking into homes and the Cultural Center are actions that are going to attract more attention than divert it. You’d almost think they would be better off just waiting for the interest in the map to die off. This business just keeps people talking about it.”
“Maybe they panicked,” Alice suggested. “People aren’t always rational when they’re upset.”
The chief nodded. “Maybe. But if that’s the case, then they’ve been panicked for a bunch of days now, and they’ve made multiple attempts to get at this thing.” He chewed his lower lip. “I’m not dismissing your theory. At least it hangs together, which is more than my own ideas so far. But there are objections as well. And before I start making a list of everyone whose family was involved in the bootlegging trade—and that could be a longish list—I’d rather see if I can gather some more concrete evidence.
“For instance, we were able to get some fingerprints from that busted display cabinet. The state police are helping us to analyze them now. They may just turn out to belong to people who work at the museum, but I’d like to see if we could get some more solid forensic evidence along those lines before we start chasing after theories.”
The two women nodded.
The chief sighed and pushed back from his desk. “Annie, I think the chances of another break-in at your house are pretty small. I can’t afford to keep Peters outside the house any longer, but we’ll have someone driving by regularly. Are you going to be OK with that?”
“Yes, of course,” Annie said stoutly. “You can’t devote all your resources to such a slight possibility.”
But she was secretly relieved when Alice said, “She can continue to stay with me for a few days, Chief.”
Chief Edwards nodded. “That might be best. And Annie, do let me know what you find when you go out to check on those coves.”
****
That night, the phone at Alice’s rang. It was Hank, who said, “The forecast for tomorrow is particularly fine. Any chance I could interest you ladies in that boating expedition we discussed?”
And so they arrived at quite an early hour at the town docks—not, of course, as early as the professional fishermen, who had long since set out for the day, but early enough that there was very little other traffic stirring. And early enough so the air was st
ill very chill. Despite her insulated Windbreaker, Annie shivered, surprised to find how quickly she’d become accustomed to the warming spring and how quickly she’d put the cold of winter behind her.
“Good morning, good morning!” Hank came bustling up as soon as they stepped onto the quay. “Now this is sailing weather! I hope you’ve dressed in layers, because it will be pretty warm before we finish for the day.” Hank himself was dressed in shorts and boat shoes but seemed to have several layers of shirt, sweatshirt, and jacket protecting his torso. He had powerful-looking binoculars slung around his neck.
“Did you bring sunscreen?” he inquired as he ushered them along. “No matter, we have plenty. Ladies, I’d like you to meet my grandson Thomas. He has agreed to skipper our little expedition. And this is the Pandora. She belongs to my son, Tom’s father.”
Tom, a good deal taller than his grandfather, was a polite and taciturn young man, who did not seem to share his grandfather’s exuberant energy. But he radiated a comforting air of self-possession and competence. After greeting Alice and Annie, he quietly stowed away their day bags on the Pandora, while Hank pointed out the boat’s features.
While Tom was busy with ropes and sails, Hank continued chatting away about the weather and the prospects for their trip, until Annie began to wonder what they were waiting for. She had no sooner formed the thought, however, than Hank seemed to spot something over her shoulder and down the quay. In a suddenly lower voice, he said, “I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve invited someone else to join our party.” And he stepped up out of the boat to join the newcomer.
Annie and Alice turned as one and were surprised to see Gus St. Pierre. But they both quickly recovered and greeted him as if they’d expected him.