Bella gave a disgusted sigh.
“Shame on you, Martin! My patience with you has run out for the day.”
“Actually, Sheriff Speaks, I would like to sit down and interview you as well. I figure you could fill in a lot of the details regarding the investigation into, uh, Mrs. Stone’s death. So if we could schedule…”
The sheriff took two shuffle-strides toward where Adele and Bella stood. His eyes were lit by some terrible agitation that only increased Adele’s intrigue surrounding her brief time on the island.
“Why would you bring that up? Why in the hell would you think I’d want to talk about such a thing? It’s time for you to leave – NOW.”
Bella pushed Adele forward and whispered a warning.
“He’s about ready to blow. He might just kill you or himself, so I suggest you do as he says and get moving.”
“Good-bye, Ms. Plank!”
It was Will Speaks. Adele waved good-bye while Martin poked a finger into Will’s side with enough force to cause his middle-aged son to flinch.
“Don’t you even think about it!”
Think about it? What’s that supposed to mean?
Adele wasn’t given time to find out; Bella continued pushing her up the ramp toward the small store.
“He’s a grumpy old fool, but normally not that aggressive. I wonder what it is about you that bothers him so much?”
Adele shrugged and watched Bella disappear behind the old, nicked and gouged wood counter that separated the store’s main area from a tiny kitchen space in the structure’s back right corner. The entirety of the store area consisted of three handmade wood shelves with the bare essentials: bread, canned goods, and a surprisingly large selection of wine. When Bella remerged she was holding an ice cream cone with a single scoop of vanilla.
“It’s never too early in the day for ice cream.”
Adele thanked her and peered through the store’s open entrance toward the road to confirm her taxi hadn’t arrived. Then she turned her full attention to the elderly store owner.
“So do you know Mr. Stone?”
Bella nodded.
“The writer? Oh, yes, he’s been coming here off and on for years, usually when there’s not many others around. I knew him and his wife when they first arrived to the islands. Such a tragic thing, she was so beautiful and liked by everyone.”
Adele tilted her head toward the direction of Martin Speaks.
“Even that sheriff character?”
Bella glanced outside to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear the conversation.
“Old Martin wasn’t always old, you know. He was a good-looking fella, in fact. There was a time when he filled out a uniform rather nicely. He loved wearing that badge and carrying a gun and he kept this place safe for a long time, especially during the summer season when we need it the most. As for his views of Mrs. Stone, I seem to recall him liking her well enough. She always showed Will great kindness. Will can hide it better these days, but he was born simple and used to have a terrible stutter, and when he was younger he was often teased by the other children. Even in his late teens he was very awkward and uncertain and acted much younger than his years. Mrs. Stone made certain to always give Will that big, warm smile of hers with lots of positive reinforcement and you could see the change in Will, how he was more confident around her, almost like a normal young man would be. I’m certain the sheriff took note of that and appreciated it. It likely wasn’t easy for him raising that boy on his own.”
“What happened to Will’s mother?”
Bella folded her arms across her chest and frowned.
“Oh, that happened shortly before I arrived here with my husband. My understanding is she died during childbirth and poor Will almost died too. Had the umbilical cord around his neck and it about choked the life out of him, poor thing. So there was Martin and this little boy living all alone out in the middle of the island on the big old farm Martin inherited from his parents when they passed. He’s sold some of it off over the years, but it still has to be a good forty acres at least. His family was one of the very first to settle the island.”
Adele was disappointed to see the taxi arrive. Bella was proving to be a wealth of information.
“Damn, my taxi is here. Bella thank you so much for the ice cream and the conversation. Would it be possible for us to continue talking when I come back?”
Bella’s deeply lined face lit up at the compliment.
“I would like that very much! I’ll be here waiting, God willing.”
Adele was almost to the taxi when a flutter of discomfort coursed through her. She turned around, and saw Will Speaks standing no more than twenty feet behind her. He appeared nervous, his eyes glancing down at his feet.
“I’m sorry about my dad, Ms. Plank. He doesn’t mean any real harm. He just wants what’s best. He protects people and keeps them safe.”
Adele didn’t understand why she felt threatened, but the feeling persisted nevertheless.
“That’s OK, Will. And thank you again for taking me to the island yesterday.”
Adele moved to open the taxi door when Will’s voice stopped her.
“When will I see you again, Ms. Plank? You a-a-a-are coming back, right?”
Adele gave a brief, troubled nod.
This is getting weird. And there’s the stutter Bella told me about that Will had when he was younger.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Will took two steps toward Adele and then stopped. He appeared to be fighting some enemy within himself as he slowly rubbed his large hands over the sides of his blue jeans.
“My dad said to let me know. You remember that, right? You don’t want to piss him off. That’s what he said.”
Adele continued looking at Will, while reaching behind to open the taxi door. Will Speaks’s friendly, red-cheeked face was transformed. It was the visage of a man on the verge of doing terrible violence. He lowered his head, narrowed his eyes, and balled his hands into tight, trembling fists.
“Is everything OK? We need to get going if you’re going to catch the next ferry,” said Joe, the taxi driver.
Adele let out a deep breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it in. Will blinked several times as if waking from a dream and then gave a wide smile to the taxi driver.
“Hey, Joe, how you doing?”
Joe gave Will a quick, dismissive nod and then looked at Adele.
“You ready to go?”
Adele nodded and shut the door behind her, grateful to be inside the taxi. As the car pulled away from the marina, she looked back through the rear window and saw Will Speaks standing in the middle of the road watching her departure.
He wasn’t smiling.
7.
The following day…
Shortly after she arrived as an undergraduate student at Bellingham University, Adele had chosen the basement-level media archives section of the college’s expansive, red-bricked library as her primary place of study. It wasn’t just the quiet solitude of the four thousand square foot space that appealed to her, but the smell of the newspapers, magazines, and various other publications that were housed within massive and carefully organized rolling shelves by date and title. It was the aged paper scent of once-living and breathing moments that were, through the cruelty that is the passage of time, demoted to mere remnants of history that she found so fascinating to look over and study.
Her favorite desk was located at the very back wall of the basement which afforded her a small window through which she could look up and see the feet of people passing by from outside. She would sometimes watch the different shoes flash across the window and wonder what kind of lives those shoes were a part of, where they had travelled, and what future paths yet awaited them.
On this night, though, Adele was not focused on footwear. Instead, she was looking up at a boxed collection of a Parisian arts and fashion magazine that had discontinued for over twenty years. She had taken two years of French in high
school, so was able to somewhat slowly and clumsily follow the text.
It wasn’t the words but rather the pictures within a feature on a then-emerging American author Adele was most interested in. The article had been written twenty-eight years earlier, almost two years after the publication of Decklan Stone’s, Manitoba.
The magazine’s feature on Decklan was accompanied by several large black and white photographs. Adele stared down at a young and vibrant Decklan dressed in cargo shorts and a light sweater smiling back at the camera with the idyllic, time-capsule quality of the Roche Harbor resort as a backdrop. The next photo had Decklan and Calista holding hands as they walked toward the Roche Harbor Hotel. And a third picture depicted the couple standing on the bow of the very same Chris Craft Adele had so recently seen on her trip to the writer’s private island in Deer Harbor. Decklan’s eyes appeared to be scanning the world laid out before him while Calista’s eyes were fixed on her husband.
They both look so impossibly beautiful and happy.
Even as Adele formed that thought, she was simultaneously reminded that Calista Stone would be dead within a year of when that photograph was taken.
She reached across her small desk and pulled an archived copy of the San Juan Islands Ledger that featured the story of Calista Stone’s tragic demise. Adele looked up as the florescent light that hung from the ceiling over her head buzzed, popped, and threatened to go out before resuming its faint-droning illumination.
Adele had read the very same article prior to her initial interview with Decklan Stone, but now, after having actually met the writer, she wished to revisit it:
Wife Of Renowned Author Feared Dead
Local authorities called off a twelve-hour search for twenty-seven-year-old Calista Stone, wife of best-selling author, Decklan Stone. Mr. and Mrs. Stone were returning from a day trip to Roche Harbor from their island retreat located a short distance away in Deer Harbor on Orcas Island. It is believed she fell from the boat and then drowned.
Stone, a New York native, had become a common sight among island locals after recently moving to the area with her famous novelist husband. She was noted for her interest in helping local charities and forging new friendships with many of the area business owners.
San Juan Island County Sheriff Martin Speaks issued an official update late yesterday indicating there was no evidence of foul play. The death had been ruled an accident, thus ending the investigation.
Mr. Stone’s publicist sent out the following statement to both local and national media regarding the incident:
Decklan Stone has requested privacy following his beloved Calista’s tragic passing this past week. Per his wife’s wishes, there will be no service.
Adele looked at the bottom of the page and saw a photograph of a much younger looking Martin Speaks holding up a single shoe with the following caption below the picture:
Sheriff Speaks holding the only thing found following the search for Calista Stone, a shoe that Mr. Stone later identified as belonging to his wife.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed off the hard, linoleum floor of the hallway that led to the media archives room. Adele waited to see if anyone would appear. Soon, she heard the soft ding of the elevator located some twenty steps beyond the room’s entrance.
She then heard the sound of something scraping the sidewalk surface above her and looked up through the window to see a scuffed black boot putting out a cigarette. It was a familiar sight as the area was a common place for smokers. Adele realized how late it was as she noted the darkness outside. As so often happened in the archive room, she had lost herself in research, and in doing so, let the time get away from her.
It was well past the library’s normal operating hours. For Adele it was not an uncommon occurrence to have to make her way outside after both students and staff had already left the multi-storied facility for the night. She carefully placed the magazine and newspaper into her backpack and then stood up from the desk just as the light once again began to flicker on and off.
Adele would be the first to admit that, no matter how many times she was alone in the library, it was no less creepy. She looked up at the window; there were no longer any people passing by outside. The university was settling in for the night.
Another set of footsteps could be heard echoing against the walls in the hallway outside the archive room.
Someone is coming down the stairs.
Whoever it was they were moving slowly, as if uncertain where they were going. Without knowing why, Adele felt a tightening in her throat and a voice in her head cried out.
HIDE!
She moved as quietly as possible between the four-foot-wide space that separated the multiple rolling shelves and made her way toward the very back of the archives room. Then she crouched behind multiple stacks of LIFE magazine periodicals and waited.
Adele could hear the footsteps more clearly. Their pace remained slow and deliberate, and appeared to turn left down the hallway before abruptly moving back toward, and then finally into, the archive room. Whoever it was paused just underneath the doorway entrance.
They’re looking to see if anyone is in here. Maybe it’s just a janitor or security, or---
Her thought was abruptly cut off as the footsteps resumed. They were heavy enough that Adele felt certain it was a man, a man who was now inside the archive room no more than forty feet from where she hid.
I need to get a look at who it is.
Adele slowly rose from her crouch and attempted to move her head just enough to see down the rows of shelves.
The florescent light above the desk proceeded to snap and flutter, and then it abruptly went out with a final pop, making it impossible for Adele to see who might be walking toward her.
Shit!
The footsteps continued.
Adele once again crouched low and tried to be as still as possible. She felt her entire body trembling as she realized the man was no more than four rows away from her hiding spot. He was, in fact, close enough that she could smell him.
Cigarette smoke.
Adele proceeded to crawl on all fours to the end of the bookshelf and then curled into a ball against the corner of the shelf and wall, praying the darkness would keep her from being seen.
She looked up as the man’s approach suddenly halted. A form, partially hidden by shadow, stood at the end of the row and seemed to be staring directly at Adele. He wore a dark hoodie pulled over his head, making it impossible to see the face residing within.
Adele opened her mouth and prepared to scream as loud as she could.
The sound of the elevator opening in the hallway outside the room caused her to pause and the man to suddenly turn and make his way toward the exit.
“Excuse me, sir, the library is closed. You’re not supposed to—”
Just as Adele stood up she heard the sound of a body striking against something hard and an older male voice crying out at someone.
“Hey! Get your ass back here!”
Adele ran down the space between the shelves toward the archive room entrance and saw a man struggling to get back onto his feet. She leaned down to help him up, but when he looked up at her he batted away her hand.
“And what the hell are you doing down here? Up to no good, I’d guess?”
The man, who was in his late sixties, winced as he felt a stab of pain in his lower back when he stood up. Adele noted the tag clipped to the front pocket of his short-sleeved, olive-colored dress shirt indicated his name was Carl. He had been the primary night shift custodian at the university library for nearly twenty years, a time which was an education unto itself regarding the best and worst aspects of college student behavior. He ran an age-spotted hand across the thin strands of white hair that partially covered his forehead and then tucked a corner of his shirt back into the dark blue jeans he wore.
“Did you get a look at the man who ran by you?”
Carl glared at Adele, annoyed by the question.
“
No, I didn’t, because I couldn’t see his damn face. He was wearing one of those sweatshirt hood things.”
The custodian glanced into the gloom that was the archive room’s interior and scowled.
“Why is it so dark in there?”
He then took a moment to look at Adele more carefully before shaking his head in a show of disgust.
“Never mind, I think I figured it out. You young folks these days suffer from too many hormones and not enough sense. Having a private moment in a public library, huh? Wouldn’t be the first time I’d interrupted something like that, and most likely won’t be the last. Now why don’t you get yourself on out of here, young lady? I’m sure your boyfriend is waiting for you outside.”
Adele’s eyes widened at the description.
“He was a young man? The guy you just saw run out of here, he was my age?”
Carl shook his head again.
“I told you, I don’t know! I just assumed after having seen you…he was strong though, I’ll give him that, pushed me into this wall here easy enough. Maybe if you had the light on in there I would have gotten a better look at him. Then again, I’m guessing that light was off for a reason.”
It was then the custodian, himself a father of two daughters and four granddaughters, realized how rattled Adele actually was. His annoyance instantly transformed into concern for the female college student.
“Hey, was that man bothering you? Do you want me to call campus security?”
Adele shook her head while she readjusted her backpack on her shoulders.
“No, I’m fine, thank you. Are you sure you didn’t see his face?”
This time Carl’s expression was one of regret instead of annoyance.
“I’m sorry, no. I just couldn’t see him and it all happened so fast.”
The Writer Page 6