The Map in the Attic

by Jolyn Sharp

  “Well,” said Hank at last. “This is more like it.”

  Gus was gazing about with a somewhat more critical eye. “It does seem to meet the requirement for peaceful isolation,” he said thoughtfully. “So, let’s see, how would this work? You bring your boat in here and offload your cargo of liquor onto the beach. And then what? How do you get it up the hill?”

  Hank trained his binoculars on the beach. “There is a path,” he announced after a few moments. “It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think it’s as steep as these cliffs on the sides.” He handed the binoculars to Gus. “It would be work, but I think you could carry your cargo up it. Of course, it also depends on what’s at the other end of the path—how close you can get your vehicle so you’re not lugging your crates overland. But still, I think it’s feasible.”

  Gus nodded and handed back the binoculars, asking, “But what’s going on with the beach?”

  Hank refocused and examined the small stretch of beach and the rise above it. “You’re right, it’s all disturbed somehow. Maybe some animal has been digging down here, though I can’t imagine why. And it seems awfully extensive.”

  Tommy was also studying the beach with his unaided eye. “Maybe somebody’s had some equipment down here,” he suggested. “Maybe they’re trying to grade the beach. Or even expand it.”

  Hank shrugged, handing the binoculars to Annie. “Yes, probably some attempt to ‘improve’ the beach. Though I don’t know about equipment. The trail doesn’t look like anything big has been brought down. At least from here.”

  Annie studied the small beach, but she could only see the signs of digging that the others had pointed to. Who had done it or why was a mystery.

  “All in all,” Hank said, “I think our trip today has tended to confirm the theory about the map. The Xs do seem to correspond not just with coves but with a particular kind of cove. They’ve all been fairly sheltered and not terribly large. And even though some of them have been developed since the thirties, it’s at least possible that at that time they were all pretty isolated.

  “I’m not sure I’d say the theory is proven yet, but I feel more confident that this,” he held up the printout, “is a smuggler’s map.”

  21

  When they returned to the harbor, Tommy had to go home to his young family, but the rest repaired to The Cup & Saucer for dinner.

  They sat in a booth by the front window, and Annie looked out into the dusk on Main Street. She was suddenly struck by how the days were lengthening, and she smiled to think of the summer coming on. The others had the coastal chart and the printout of the map spread on the table, and Hank was pointing out other corresponding coves that he and Tommy had tentatively identified. The three locals were trying to recall what they knew of each area and whether it was built up, and if so, if it had been done since the Depression, but they weren’t having much luck.

  “Doesn’t the road travel right along the coast through here?” Alice asked, tapping a spot near one of the coves of interest. “And I think there are a number of houses through there now.” Hank murmured a distracted agreement, but he was closely studying another spot. Alice sat back in the booth and sighed. “I only know things from the shore side,” she said. “Or really, only from the road. I’m sure the coast is riddled with coves I know nothing about, and even though it seems to me that every inch of the Maine seashore has now been built up, that’s probably not the case.”

  “We should consult Davey,” Gus said, “or someone like him. Someone who really knows the coast from the ocean side.”

  “Yes, that would be wise,” Hank said, nodding, “though there’s nothing like firsthand observation as well. I think we could make at least one more trip out ourselves, like we did today. Perhaps go down the coast instead of up. If we could visit another three, that would take us to more than half the Xs on the map.” He glanced around the table. “If you’re up for it,” he said brightly.

  Then he frowned as he caught sight of Annie. “What’s the matter?” he said, quickly concerned. “Annie, what’s wrong?”

  Annie was frozen in her seat, staring out the window into the rapidly deepening gloom. She’d been idly watching the traffic and pedestrians since her limited coastal knowledge prevented her from contributing to the discussion. But she’d been listening closely and paying little attention to the activity out on Main Street. Suddenly, her eye had been caught by a particular figure, a man passing on the opposite sidewalk. With a start, she’d realized it was Goateed Man. Her companions’ voices had faded, and she’d begun to follow him more attentively.

  But the shock came a moment later when, somewhere out of sight, the siren of some emergency vehicle had suddenly wailed. The man had jerked, crouched slightly, and frozen for a moment; then he’d recovered himself, glanced about nervously, and started to hurry on. It was just then that Hank had interrupted her thoughts.

  “It’s him,” she said, softly. Then looking at her companions, she continued, “I just saw the man who broke into my house.” They immediately all craned their necks toward the window and demanded that she point him out. She did so, though he had almost reached the far end of the block by this time. Without a word, Gus jumped from his seat, ran to the door, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, where he stared intently at the man for a few moments before rejoining the others.

  As he sat down, Annie was explaining the glimpse that she’d had of the intruder in her dark living room and how his surprised posture had been the image fixed most indelibly in her mind. “And then, just now, he did it again. Everything was the same. I think even the dim light of the evening helped, because he looked just exactly as he did when I saw him in Grey Gables.”

  Alice was indignant and pulled out her cell phone to call Chief Edwards immediately, but Hank held up his hand. He hesitated and then said, “Annie, I’m sure you saw something that … reminded you of the break-in, but that’s an awfully serious charge. As you’ve just said yourself, the light is fading fast. And you’re essentially making an identification on the basis of a silhouette.”

  “He’s getting away,” Alice said in frustration, though in truth, the figure was now completely out of view. After staring intently down the street another moment, she sighed and set her phone on the table. “He’s gone.”

  But Hank was still looking at Annie with an expression of concern on his face. Annie forced herself to stop and think carefully about what Hank had said. She drew a trembling breath. “Yes, Hank, I know it seems tenuous. And I’ll be … careful in how I present it to Chief Edwards. But I am going to tell him. Because for me, it’s something much more than just an impression and a silhouette, more than just a similarity of posture. Deep down, I feel sure it was the same man that I saw at Grey Gables.” She sat up straight, and her eyes flashed with certainty.

  Hank continued to look at her with a doubtful expression on his face, but after a moment, he nodded and looked away. Annie looked around at her other companions. Alice, clearly, had never doubted her friend, and she was ready to go with Annie to the police that moment. But Gus had an odd expression on his face. “You don’t believe me?” she asked him.

  He gave a small sigh and said, “The problem is, I’m rather afraid that I do.” They all looked at him in surprise for a moment, and he added, “The man you just pointed out is my cousin Bucky.”

  “Bucky?” Hank exclaimed. “Young Lionel?” He twisted in his chair and craned his neck at the window, as if he might still catch a glimpse of the man. “What on earth is he doing here?” he continued, as a turned back to them again.

  Gus shrugged. “Who knows? He popped up a few weeks ago at the Folk Arts Center. He tried to claim that Agnes had given him one of her paintings. I didn’t believe him, but I loaned him some money myself. Apparently his wife has left him, though I’m not sure why that would bring him back up here.”

  “But who is he?” Alice demanded, while Annie looked on with keen interest.

  “Bucky Burke,” said Gus, and Alice and A
nnie both exclaimed, “Burke?”

  Gus continued, “Or Lionel, as he prefers to be called now. We all called him Bucky when we were kids, because his dad was also named Lionel. But the elder Lionel’s been dead for years, and Bucky moved away long ago.”

  “To Massachusetts, wasn’t it?” Hank asked.

  Gus nodded. “Yes, outside Boston. Worked in construction for a while; then he managed a tattoo parlor, of all things, till the business went bust.”

  Slowly, Annie said, “So, apparently this Bucky, or Lionel, also knows David Coyne. I’ve seen them talking together.”

  Gus gave her an odd look. “Of course he does. We’re all cousins; we all grew up together. After Bucky came by the Folk Arts Center, I talked to Davey about him. Apparently he had been staying with the Coynes for a while, until just before the fire, in fact, but then he’d moved on. I think he and Davey may have had words. Davey couldn’t understand why Bucky’d come back here, either, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to go home.”

  “So where did he go after he left the Coynes’?” Hank wondered.

  Gus looked down at his plate. “We don’t know for sure. Agnes has a cabin out on Waring Lake. I doubt she’d have given him permission to use it, but Davey and I figured he’d moved out there anyway once it got warm enough. After the fire, Davey certainly couldn’t take him back, and I didn’t want him, so we didn’t inquire too closely.” He grimaced. “I was thinking of calling Agnes to see what she knew about it, but I … didn’t want to stir up trouble.

  “To tell you the truth, I almost think she’d rather have him use it without permission. If he asked, she’d be torn between family duty and her knowledge that letting him stay there would be a bad idea. This way, he’s taken care of, but she doesn’t bear the responsibility.”

  “Agnes Burke …” Annie said slowly.

  “You saw some of her paintings when you came to the center,” Gus reminded her. “She’s Bucky’s sister. But she’s been more successful in life than he has, and it’s led to a certain amount of resentment on his part. They hardly speak now, and I think the last time they saw each was probably at my Aunt Yvette’s funeral.”

  “OK, so now he’s returned to the area for mysterious reasons,” Alice said. “But why on earth would he break into Grey Gables? Why would he want the map? And as far as that goes, how did he even know about it? Annie only found it a few weeks ago, and before that, nobody seems to have known of its existence. Yet here he is, and apparently he went to a lot of effort to steal it.”

  Hank and Gus looked at one another blankly.

  “There was that expert who came up from Boston,” Annie said tentatively.

  Hank frowned. “I can’t imagine what connection she’d have with Lionel Burke,” he said slowly. “Nor can I think why she’d be discussing a professional consultation with him.”

  “Because she knew he came from around here?” suggested Alice. “I mean, if she happened to know him at all, she might make that connection.”

  But Gus was shaking his head. “The timing’s not right. As far as I can recall from what Davey said, Bucky’s been in the area since before Annie found the map. Since before the fire, even.”

  “So it’s not the map that brought him up,” said Hank. “It was something else. And then he heard about the map, somehow—well, that’s reasonable enough. There was a lot of local publicity around the Historical Society exhibit.” He glanced sharply at Gus. “Did he say anything to you about the map when he came to see you?”

  “No,” Gus replied thoughtfully, “and that’s a good point. He’s not very subtle. If he was interested in the map, I think he would have asked if I’d seen it. And his visit was prior to the exhibit, so he probably had not yet learned of the map’s existence.”

  “And yet, as soon as he did learn of it,” Annie said, “it became so important to him that he went to great lengths to get hold of it. Why?”

  They all sat in thoughtful silence for a while. “Well, I’ll suggest the obvious thing,” Alice said. “Maybe he thinks it’s valuable, and he can sell it. Maybe down in Boston or someplace else where it wouldn’t be recognized.”

  Hank and Gus glanced at each other and then at Annie. “It’s not that the map is without value, either as a decorative object or a historical artifact,” Hank said slowly. “But it’s not valuable to the degree that would justify this kind of behavior.”

  “Besides, if he really wanted to sell it, its greatest monetary value would probably be right in this area because of the local interest,” Gus added. “The farther away he took it, the harder it would be to find just the right buyer for it.”

  They sat in silence for a while, interrupted only by a young waitress refilling their coffee cups. Hank drew a pen from his pocket and was idly doodling along the edges of his paper place mat. It was one of the ubiquitous ones with a cartoon rendition of the coast, the same one that helped the women of the Hook and Needle Club conclude that the embroidery piece was indeed a map of sorts.

  Lulled by the sound of the pen scratching on the paper, Annie’s attention flitted aimlessly through all the events of the past couple of days.

  “Hey,” she suddenly said, loud enough to draw the waitress back to their table. Annie clasped her hand to her heart and apologized for inadvertently calling her over. When the nervous waitress left, Annie leaned in and said, “We’ve forgotten about the initials—YSP. Hank, you were wondering if they belonged to one of the two women who ran a trading post around here in the thirties. And now Gus just mentioned his Aunt Yvette. Is that Yvette St. Pierre? Could she be the one who created the map? Might he want it because of the family connection?”

  Hank shot Gus a quick look, and Gus nodded at Hank to explain. “My line of thought went bust when I asked Gus about it after the map was stolen—none too diplomatically, I’m sorry to admit.”

  “Understandable, under the circumstances,” Gus said. Turning to Annie and Alice, he explained, “My Aunt Yvette was named for my grandmother’s sister, and she and my Grandma Mimi were two mean old cusses. Sharp businesswomen. Mimi—er, Marie to most people—smoked a pipe, about which we all said she wanted to keep her breath on fire so she could scorch anyone who tried to cheat her.”

  Hank guffawed. “That’s no lie. I think my grandfather bore a few of her scars from their time in business together.”

  “I had wondered about those initials. To be honest, I had hopes of comparing the embroidered map to a few of the handicrafts that are still left in the family to look for points of similarity or even stylistic ‘signatures.’ It’s possible; that line of the family has an artistic streak that Agnes inherited.” Gus sipped at his coffee. “Bucky didn’t, though, and I doubt he’d feel any sense of ownership if the initials did turn out to be Aunt Yvette’s. That’s not the Bucky I know.”

  “But maybe he knows something about the map that you don’t,” Alice persisted. “Something that would make it more valuable.” The two men exchanged another look and shrugged as if to say they found the possibility unlikely.

  “Though, really,” Annie said slowly, “it doesn’t matter what the actual value is. What’s important is whether this Lionel believes it’s valuable. If he does, that would explain his behavior, even if he’s going to be sadly disappointed later.” She looked at Gus. “You know him best. Do you think he might believe it?”

  Gus appeared stymied for a moment. “I really can’t say. I don’t know any reason he would think that. But Bucky was never … the brightest bulb in the box. If he had gotten hold of such a notion, I can imagine him becoming a little fixated on it.”

  “But why the map?” Hank demanded impatiently. “If he’s decided to become a burglar, there are surely easier and more valuable things he could steal. Things he could convert much more readily to cash. Why would he be so focused on this map?”

  But Gus was still musing on his last comment. “Yes, Bucky could get obsessive sometimes,” he said, gazing into space as he remembered. “And he was always susceptibl
e to get-rich-quick schemes of all kinds. That was one of the ways in which Diane—his wife—was really good for him. She was so much more grounded. Without her influence, he’d always be buying lottery tickets or investing in some ‘can’t-fail’ fly-by-night operation.” Gus chuckled. “When we were kids, he was always going to find the Burke Hoard and make his fortune that way. I’ve even heard him talk about it as an adult.”

  “Good Lord,” Annie exclaimed sharply, and they all looked at her in surprise. “Don’t you see?” she asked excitedly. “That’s what he’s doing, that’s why he came back to this area. He’s looking for the Burke Hoard!”

  Annie looked at her companions, her face flushed with excitement and triumph. For a moment, they were all completely silent, and then Hank and Gus burst out laughing at the same moment. They continued for some time.

  “What?” Annie finally demanded, a little peevishly. “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Hank said, trying to stifle his mirth. “Truly, I am. But Annie, there’s no such thing as the Burke Hoard. It’s just a story. Or at best, a fantastic exaggeration.”

  Gus looked at him. “Oh? You mean there’s something there to exaggerate?”

  Hank gestured and cocked his head. “Granddad always maintained there was no full shipment of hooch that had been stolen and sold by the Burkes. But he also said he was pretty sure the Burkes had engaged in a certain amount of skimming: keeping a few bottles of liquor for their own use or to sell privately.” He shrugged. “My great-uncle just thought of it as a cost of doing business, part of their compensation. As long as it didn’t get out of hand, he turned a blind eye. The Burkes were only going to be selling to their neighbors, not to the big buyers that he dealt with.

  “So, yes, the Burkes stole a bit, but there was no stolen shipment leading to a fortune. I’m sure they immediately spent the money they made in their private sales. In fact, my grandfather used to say that was a bit of a problem: The Burkes spent the money they made from the smuggling a little too freely. My great-uncle felt it called attention to them and made people wonder where they got that money during hard times. Or at least, people who didn’t already know.