"You seem like the type of teacher that parents would be happy to have teaching their children," Derek said, employing his smile.
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Cole. Do you have any children?"
"I don't," he said. "My wife was killed before we could start a family."
"I'm terribly sorry," Melissa said. "How awful."
"Thank you," Derek said. "I know this whole subject bothers you and I can understand why. But I hope that you don't mind if I ask more about Robby and maybe even get your thoughts on what he is going through?"
"I suppose," Melissa continued, "that if I can be of help to one of my children, despite my reservations about his family, then I am obligated to help. Please, what other questions do you have?"
"You said that you feel that the only thing that may be wrong with Robby is his parents. What did you mean by that?"
Melissa leaned back against her chair, dropped her eyes to the kitchen table. "Let's just say that things are rumored to not be as they appear in the Bryant home."
"Rumors?" Derek questioned.
"Please understand that I am not one to spread or to even acknowledge rumors. It's just in my position in this small community, I am often told things about others. I do my absolute best to keep things quiet, but some rumors seem to take on a life of their own. It's fairly well known that Jack Bryant is, how shall I say, liberal with his time. His job has travel demands during the warmer months, but I've been told that he is often away from home no matter what the weather may be. I've also heard that he spends an awful amount of time with a certain young woman up near Portland."
"People think that he is having an affair?" Derek asked.
"Call it what you will and, again, I am not a member of this town's rumor mill, but, the whole town is talking about it. Honestly, though I would never condone such behavior, considering his wife, I hardly could blame him if he is involved in something elicit."
Derek felt a tug in his gut. A feeling of mixed emotions pulling him in different directions. He knew that rumors were as reliable as a knock-off watch bought on the streets of New York City and listening to rumors and giving them credence was a great way to lose track of case's objectives. But when Melissa mentioned Maggie in the suggestive way that she had, Derek felt compelled to follow wherever the rumor would lead him.
"What about his wife?" he asked, his voice flat and intentionally void of emotional interest.
"I really shouldn't discuss the parents of one of my students with a complete stranger, but you are an investigator, after all. And a good investigator should know all there is to know about his case. Am I correct?"
"All that's relevant."
"I told you that I am not surprised that Robby Bryant is having some emotional challenges. I said that because his mother has her own set of challenges, or so I'm told."
"Challenges?" Derek pressed.
"She is not from here, Mr. Cole. I believe she was born and raised in Virginia. She moved up to this area after college to open her portrait studio. Smart girl, I'll give her that. Do you have any idea, Mr. Cole, just how many tourists are more than elated to pay someone to take their picture standing in front of the beautiful views we enjoy in this area?"
"I imagine quite a few," Derek said.
"More than a few," Melissa said. "She did quite well I'm told, at least she did during the tourist season. But every year around September or October, the tourists go away and with them, their money. What I've heard about Margaret Bryant is that if she isn't snapping photographs of paying customers, she gets quite depressed. I'm not suggesting that she is clinically depressed, mind you, just sullen enough to give people pause."
"Not sure if being a bit down really qualifies as being challenged," Derek said.
"Agreed," Melissa said. "We all feel a bit down from time to time. But it's how we respond to those times that matter. And what I've heard is that Mrs. Bryant either stays cooped up in her rooms or is partaking of alcohol. Carolyn Jeffries and her husband Bill own a very profitable and successful liquor store in town. Carolyn has reported that Mrs. Bryant is one of her best and most loyal customers during the off months."
He had only known Maggie for a few hours, but Derek struggled to believe that she would be the type to abuse alcohol. "She doesn't seem the type," he suggested.
"Do you drink alcohol, Mr. Cole?"
"Cheap scotch."
"Ever to excess?" she asked.
"From time to time," Derek answered.
"Pardon me for being blunt, but those who drink seldom notice when someone else drinks too much," Melissa said, her voice taking on a cool, drawn-out tone.
The interview with Melissa was going nowhere that Derek wanted or expected it to. He learned more about the character of Melissa than he did of why the Bryants suspected that she had filled Robby's head with thoughts of ghosts.
"Miss Humphrey," Derek said, "I do appreciate your time and all that the information you've shared with me. I know this whole situation is unsettling for you, and your patience doesn't go unnoticed. I don't think you did anything to harm Robby, at least not intentionally."
"Neither intentionally or unintentionally," Melissa responded. "I am insistent that any conversation or discussion that occurred under my watch did not include any debates over the existence of ghosts."
Derek stood as he extended his hand to Melissa, who remained seated.
"And your plans for the evening?" she asked.
"Some more case work followed by drinking too much cheap scotch. I'll show myself out."
"Keep what I said in mind," Melissa said as Derek made his way towards the front door of her home. "A lonely, desperate, and angry woman once scorned and under the influence, can make a very dangerous mother. And you may want to ensure that you keep yourself safe."
Derek reached the door, turned, and said, "Safe from what?"
"Skeletons, Mr. Cole. I am certain that if you spend some time investigating your clients, that you are sure to find some skeletons that my discretion disallows me from discussing."
CHAPTER SIX
Derek pulled his car into the vacant parking lot of the "Sea Side Motel," pulled out his Moleskin notebook, and began organizing the notes he had taken during his talk with Melissa Humphrey.
As he wrote, "Maggie may have a drinking problem," he felt a twist in his gut. Derek had learned to trust his instincts and suspicions about people. His instincts were now telling him that Maggie wasn't the type who drank too much and that the information that Melissa shared with him was something that he needed to better understand, for Derek learned that anything that didn't feel or sound right often provided a valuable clue.
He paused as he jotted down a note to visit the local liquor stores in the area and wondered if the twisting in his gut was his intuition at work or something else. Derek knew better than to try to deceive himself by neglecting or ignoring his feelings. He was feeling something for Maggie. What those feelings were, however, he wasn't sure, but they were real and unwanted.
Since the death of his wife, Derek certainly had had occasions to start a new relationship with a woman, but either his continued sense of obligation or the disturbing lack of stirred feelings prevented him from advancing any relationship beyond a first or second date. As he sat, alone in his car, he realized that the feelings he had for Maggie were disturbingly similar to those he felt when he first met his wife.
"She's married, you son of a bitch," he thought to himself. "Plus, she's a client. Get over it and get over it quick."
But his self-talk didn't diminish the stirring.
After checking the address of the next person listed on the Bryant's list, Derek jotted down one more note.
"Contact Ralph Fox. Ask him to do some research on Jack and Maggie Bryant."
Ralph Fox was the Chief of Police in a very small town in Northern New York who Derek had worked with during his last case.
As Derek pulled his rental car back onto Route 1, he headed north towards the town
of Wells, Maine. The drive to Wells would only take a few minutes, but the address where he was headed was expected to take at least 30 minutes.
"Ocean View Nursing Home," Derek said to himself. "Now why would someone in a nursing home be on their list of suspects?"
Ocean View Nursing Home sat high on a hill overlooking the town of Wells, Maine, and further to the East, the Atlantic Ocean. Though Derek could not see the ocean from the nursing home's parking lot, the name suggested that an ocean view was possible from some part of the home. And as he walked closer to the entrance, Derek noticed a screened-in porch on the top floor of the three-story structure.
The porch looked empty, most likely due to the cold wind that the porch's screens were unable to provide any shielding against. As he drew closer to the home's front door, Derek could see a single, wooden rocking chair pulled close to the porch's screen. Beside the rocking chair was a long, narrow, white telescope, aimed towards the ocean.
"My name is Derek Cole. I'm a freelance detective hired by Jack and Maggie Bryant," he told the receptionist.
The receptionist was an older woman, perhaps one of the home's residents as well as its greeter. "Yes, yes," the woman said, her voice shaky with age. "We know the Bryant family quite well, don't we, Marge?" She turned to her left, and then realized that she was sitting alone. "Now isn't that funny?" she asked.
"What's that?" Derek said.
"Why, Marge was sitting next to me just two minutes ago. I never heard her leave. I must have nodded off." She smiled, shook her head then extended her hand to Derek. "You must think that I'm off my rocker."
"Trust me," Derek said, "I've had some of my best conversations with people who weren't anywhere around me."
"How can I help you, dear?" she said.
"As I said, the Bryants hired me to do some investigating regarding some concerns they have surrounding their son. They asked me to visit with a Mr. Ronald White, who, I was told, lives in this lovely nursing home."
"Oh yes, he does live here, but, it isn't so lovely," she said, a knowing smile etched across her wrinkled face. "Ronald's room is on the third floor. Room 333. I'd take you there myself but my hips aren't what they used to be."
"No problem. Is it okay for me to visit with Mr. White?"
"This is a nursing home, not a prison. Though some of us question that from time to time," she said.
Derek found his way to the elevator and was soon walking down a hallway towards room 333. As he made his way, he noticed the doors that led to the screened-in porch. He opened the door and walked out onto the porch. As he expected, the air was charged by a slight but steady, frigid wind. When Derek reached the lone rocking chair and telescope, he peered through the scope.
"The Marginal Way," he said.
The scope was directed toward a high point of the Marginal Way, where the paved path twisted its way through thick trees lining each side of the Way. Through the scope, Derek could only see an area of the path a few meters wide.
"Why would anyone want to look at the path instead of the shoreline?" Derek thought.
He turned towards the doorway while he pulled out his Moleskin. As he was fumbling in his coat pocket for a pen, he heard a voice.
"Quite a view, don't you think?"
The man stood in the open doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other seemingly holding on to the doorframe to steady his body. Held firmly between the man's arm and his body were two notebooks.
"Sure is," Derek answered. "Is that your scope?"
"That it is. I was just about to have a look when I saw you standing there. See anything of interest?"
"Not really," Derek said. "Just part of the Marginal Way."
"Sometimes that is where the most interesting things can be found."
Derek put his notebook back into his coat pocket and continued walking towards the door.
"I'm looking for Ronald White who I believe is in room 333. Can you tell me if Mr. White is in his room?"
"I'd have to say that he isn't," the old man said.
"Any idea where I could find him?"
"He's probably heading over to have a look through his telescope, I'd say." The man extended his left hand to Derek. "Ron White, at your service."
Ron's gate was slow as he moved past Derek and towards the rocking chair. Though the wind was cutting through Derek, Ron was dressed only in a red and black flannel shirt and neatly pressed. tan slacks. His black belt, riding high across his torso, caused his slacks to gather on both sides, suggesting to Derek that Ron White either preferred pants two sizes too large or that Ron had recently lost several pounds. His right hand and arm were visibly thinner than his left and curled slightly inward.
"Damn stoke six months ago," Ron said after noticing Derek's glances at his arm. "Nearly killed me and landed me in this damn place." Ron placed his two notebooks on a small, wooden table that was positioned between the rocking chair and the telescope.
"Sorry to hear that," Derek said as he helped Ron sit in rocking chair. Derek then began to move the telescope so that Ron wouldn't have to stand again to use it.
"It's fine right there," Ron said. "You came here to visit with me, didn't you?"
"Actually, I came to ask you a few questions about Robby Bryant."
"Young man get himself into some trouble, did he?" Ron asked as he slowly finished his decent into the rocking chair.
"Not really," Derek said. "His parents, Jack and Maggie have some concerns about their son and suggested that you may be able to provide some information or some assistance."
"Interesting," Ron said, his eyes gazing towards the distant ocean.
"Mr. White," Derek started, and then stopped when Ron held up his twisted right hand.
"I don't respond to Mr.," he said. "Only to Ron, old man, asshole, or bastard. Take your pick."
"I'll stick with Ron for now," Derek said, smiling.
"You might end up changing your mind after you get to know me," Ron said.
"Ron, how do you know the Bryant family?" Derek asked.
"For 40 plus years, I brought my family down to Ogunquit for a summer vacation. Stayed in the same house nearly every one of those 40 some odd years. I'm from Canada. Spent most of my life outside of Toronto, then moved to a small town in Quebec. My wife and four kids love coming this way in the summer time. Best beaches and best seafood around. About 15 or 16 years ago, my wife decided that she wanted to have a family portrait taken with all the kids and grandkids. She hired Maggie Bryant to take the picture and decided that the portrait taking should be an annual thing. So, every year for the last 15 or 16, Maggie would meet us all on the Marginal Way, take a whole mess of pictures, then we'd all meet at her studio and pick the best ones out.
"After a few years, the wife and I became friends with Maggie. Went to dinner a few times at her favorite place down in Rye, New Hampshire. Petey's, I think was the name of the place. Damn good food. Anyway, last year I got hit with this stroke. Didn't think I'd be able to come up to the area being half crippled, so I decided to move into this assisted living community slash nursing home. My wife let Maggie know what happened and that I was staying here, and next thing you know, she and her son Robby are knocking at my door. Good people, at least Maggie and Robby, that is. Can't say much about the husband. What's his name again? I know his name, but my memory ain't what it used to be."
"Jack," Derek said. "Something about him you don't like?"
"One of those things I can't put a finger on. Not a bad guy. Seems to take care of his family just fine. Just something about him. Like he's hiding something and thinks that everyone he meets is trying to find what he's hiding."
Derek was beginning to think that the call he was planning on making to Ralph Fox should become a priority call.
"So, you moved here after your stroke and still keep in touch with the Bryants?"
"Just Maggie and Robby," Ron said. "When my wife told them that I was living here, they marched right on up and spent an afternoon with me. They'v
e been coming by at least once a week. Gotta say," Ron paused, "I haven't seen them in quite a while now that I think about it."
"Does your wife keep in touch with the Bryants?"
Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) Page 3