The Writer

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Adele flinched as the sound of her cell phone echoed against the concrete walls. It was her newspaper editor, T.J. Levine. T.J. worked as an investigative reporter in Seattle for nearly thirty years. After retiring from the newspaper business, he accepted a position at the university three years ago to supervise the college newspaper. As the faculty editor, he was tough but fair. His opinions were based on first-hand experience in the business, and that meant a great deal to Adele.

  T.J. told Adele that Decklan Stone’s publicist had called an hour earlier to schedule a follow-up interview with the author next week. Adele, still shaken from the brief encounter with the stranger, failed to immediately respond.

  “Ms. Plank, are you there? I figured you’d be a bit more excited about this. You got a call back from a guy whose last interview took place before you were even born!”

  Adele cleared her throat as Carl continued to look at her like a concerned grandfather.

  “Thanks for the good news, T.J. I have a favor to ask though.”

  “Oh, what is it?” the editor said with cautious curiosity.

  “I want to make a trip to the islands again before I meet with Mr. Stone. There are some parts of the story I want to look into.”

  T.J. knew the sound of a reporter chasing a potential story well enough to realize he could do little to dissuade Adele from proceeding with her plan, regardless of what he said.

  “What story is that?”

  “Decklan Stone, his wife’s death, something happened in those islands, T.J., I can feel it. Something that was left unsaid, covered up, I’m not sure exactly. I just know it.”

  T.J. tried to convey the seriousness of what Adele was investigating.

  “Ms. Plank, Adele, you’re to be conducting an interview, not an investigation. There is a significant difference between those two things.”

  “I’m going where the story is leading me, T.J.”

  Adele was proving the newspaper editor right; she wasn’t going to be dissuaded.

  “When are you leaving?”

  Adele gave Carl a reassuring smile before she continued.

  “First thing tomorrow, I’ll be going to Roche Harbor to speak with a woman there.”

  “So what’s the favor?”

  “I was hoping you could let my professors know that I’ll be away for a few more days on a newspaper assignment.”

  T.J. already suspected that was only part of the favor Adele was requesting.

  “Is that it?”

  “And I’m going to need some money to cover expenses. The ferry ride, food, transportation, the basics.”

  Adele could hear her editor shaking his head over the phone.

  “You know we’re already running this paper on fumes, Adele, and now I’m supposed to explain to the department why I’m sending reporters on multiple paid trips to the San Juan Islands?”

  “Yes.”

  The editor was unable to avoid chuckling. Adele’s enthusiasm, her pursuit of that unknown truth that drove all good reporters, was a reminder of his own idealistic beginnings as a journalist.

  “OK, Adele, I’ll have the funds ready for you to pick up in the office tomorrow morning, so long as you can do me favor as well.”

  “Sure, T.J., what is it?”

  The editor paused for a few seconds. Over the years, he had seen colleagues lose themselves to the pursuit of the unknown only to be devoured by the process, leaving little more than empty shells of their former selves.

  “Be careful.”

  8.

  The ferry ride back to the islands via the terminal in Anacortes was a leisurely journey that allowed Adele a second chance to more fully appreciate the stunning beauty of that part of the world. By the time the ferry navigated the access ramp in Friday Harbor, the small urban hub of the San Juan Islands, Adele was only mildly surprised to find herself enjoying a sense of having returned to a place she could easily call home, even though it was only her second time coming to the islands.

  She spent some of the time during the water-born journey reviewing the photographs from the magazine feature on Decklan and Calista Stone that Adele had taken with her following the scare in the basement of the university library. She stared into the eyes of the young couple and tried to imagine what each of them were like before tragedy ended the life of one, and forever altered the life of the other.

  As Adele walked off the large, white-hulled, three-story ferry and onto the streets of Friday Harbor, a faint, satisfied smile was already affixed to the college student’s face. The air had just a hint of a chill, though the morning sun already indicated the spring day was going to be an unusually warm one. The ferry traffic descended upon the small, island town like eager locusts desperate to soak up as much of the island’s unique personality as quickly as possible.

  Adele chose to take a slower, more deliberate approach as she imagined both Decklan and Calista Stone arriving at this very same location three decades earlier. They were two East Coast transplants enjoying the benefits of an international bestseller and thus the means to then live where they so desired.

  They chose here.

  The town of Friday Harbor rose up on a hillside that overlooked the confluence of water, rock, and sand, offering an escape suitable for almost anyone seeking it. It was a place that felt both old and new, with a playful charm magnified by colorful storefronts and the smiles of tourists and locals as they intermingled in a symbiotic dance unique to places such as this.

  Adele readjusted her backpack and began the journey up the hill from the ferry terminal to the main road that bisected the center of Friday Harbor’s primary business district. Prior to leaving Bellingham, she had looked up the bookstore’s address. It was the very same bookstore Calista Stone had visited on the day of her death.

  After a ten minute walk, Adele spotted the sign located across the street from where she stood that signaled she had reached her initial investigative destination.

  “Island Books”

  A smaller sign hanging inside the front door indicated the bookstore was open. The building’s faded green exterior was cracked and peeling, clearly in need of a fresh coat of paint. A small, concrete marker on the lower left portion of the building’s foundation communicated its original date of construction as 1949.

  Adele waited for a slow-moving delivery truck to pass in front of her before she walked across the street and then stood just outside the bookstore entrance looking in through the large glass window that dominated the storefront. She could see rows of shelves stuffed with paperback books, but couldn’t tell if anyone was actually inside. If they were, they were hidden from view.

  A single bell hanging over the entrance signaled Adele’s arrival. A middle-aged woman strode from the back of the store to give Adele a welcoming smile. Her short, curly blonde hair framed her blue eyes and friendly, lightly lined face. She was of medium height and build, smelled of patchouli and strong coffee, and wore an oversized, dark red sweater and loose-fitting khaki slacks with a pair of white, orthopedic tennis shoes.

  “Hello there! Are you looking for anything in particular or just browsing?”

  Adele returned the woman’s smile as her mind raced to form an appropriate introduction.

  “My name is Adele Plank. I work for the college newspaper in Bellingham.”

  The store owner’s eyes widened slightly, as did her smile.

  “OK, nice to meet you, Adele. My name is Suzanne Blatt, but everyone just calls me Suze.”

  Adele glanced at the thousands of books organized in a rather reckless fashion throughout the store and then cleared her throat.

  “I’m doing a story, an interview, with the author, Decklan Stone.”

  Suze’s eyes widened further as she pointed back at Adele.

  “You’re the college girl interviewing the writer! Everyone is talking about it! Oh my goodness, how wonderful that you stopped by! Please follow me and let’s sit down and have a talk. I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Can I pour you a
cup?”

  Adele mumbled her thanks as she followed the woman across the scuffed and unvarnished wood floor into a partially enclosed area at the very back of the store that contained a rectangular white table, two matching chairs, and an aged Mr. Coffee that sat next to an old and badly chipped porcelain sink.

  “If you need to use the bathroom, it’s right over there.”

  Suze pointed to a narrow hallway located in the far left corner of the small space.

  “Did you say you wanted some coffee?”

  Adele nodded.

  “That would be nice, thank you.”

  Suze took one of four mismatched coffee cups that were scattered atop the small wood countertop adjacent to the sink and then proceeded to pour it from the off-white coffee machine that appeared to have been purchased some time in the 1970s.

  “Do you take anything with your coffee, Adele?”

  “Just a little sugar.”

  A moment later and Suze was seated at the small table across from Adele, sipping from her coffee cup with a smile that threatened to reach each of her ears. Adele found Suze’s natural enthusiasm to be infectious.

  “How wonderful it must be to have an opportunity to interview a writer like Decklan Stone! My mother was very good friends with his wife. In fact, wait here, I have something to show you!”

  Suze rose from her chair and disappeared into the main area of the bookstore while Adele took a drink from her coffee cup and found its contents to be a particularly rich and pleasing brew.

  “Here, look at this.”

  Adele took the small black and white photo into her hands and found herself staring at an image of Calista Stone sitting in the very chair and table that Adele was using. Calista, and another woman who appeared somewhat older, were staring back at the camera with two cups of coffee in front of each of them. The other woman was dark-haired and slightly overweight.

  “That’s my mother with the writer’s wife, Calista. The picture was taken the very same day Calista died. My mom kept it safe all those years after. They really were the best of friends. Of course, my mother said Calista was friends with everyone. That was just her nature. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body and she always found time to make people feel welcome and appreciated. Nobody deserved to die the way she did, but someone like her, well, it just makes it that much more tragic.”

  Suze leaned in closer to Adele from across the table.

  “And if anyone tries to tell you the writer had anything to do with his wife’s death, don’t you believe it. Mom made that very clear to me, and more than once. Decklan loved Calista with all his heart. I imagine it’s why he’s never remarried. A love like that, well, it just never ends even after one of those involved is gone. That’s how I like to think of it, anyways. I suppose it’s all the love stories I enjoy reading.”

  “Have you met him? Mr. Stone?”

  Suze took another sip from her cup as she nodded.

  “The writer? Yes, but just once since I took over the store after my mother passed. That was about, oh, six or seven years ago. He came in wearing a baseball cap. I think he thought it might keep his identity hidden. That might work for most the people around here, but not me. I knew who he was as soon as he walked through that door. Such a handsome man! He didn’t say anything at first, just sort of wandered about the store looking at books, thumbing through the pages. Finally I worked up the courage to ask him if he would sign my poor old dog-eared copy of Manitoba.”

  Adele found herself being completely drawn into Suze’s version of having met Decklan Stone, sharing much of the older woman’s enthusiasm for him.

  “Now that seemed to rattle him just a bit, but then he shrugged and said, ‘sure.’ I ran and got my copy and handed it to him with a pen and he signed it just like I asked. He has beautiful penmanship. Then he bought a copy of Dante’s Inferno, complimented me on my selection of books, and left. I snuck a peek at him through the window, watched him make his way down the street, and just like that, he disappeared. He hasn’t been back in since: though, I’ve had people tell me from time to time they’ve seen him around. Apparently he has a little boat he uses quite often.”

  “Do you think that was the reason he came here, to just get a copy of Dante’s Inferno?”

  Suze shook her head after taking another sip of coffee.

  “No, not at all. I know why he came here. It wasn’t to buy a book. It was to experience a place he knew his wife loved to visit. He wanted to see the world through her eyes so as not to forget her. He’s trying to keep her memory alive because if he fails to do that, he will have lost her twice.”

  Suze’s remark had Adele reaching into her backpack for a pen and paper.

  “Is it OK if I write that down? I’d like to use it for the article.”

  The bookstore owner appeared genuinely humbled by the request as her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.

  “Really? You think it’s good enough for something like that? I mean, if you want, sure, go ahead!”

  Adele finished scribbling down the remark.

  “Yeah, it’s definitely quote-worthy, trust me.”

  “Suze’s face colored with a subtle blush.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been quoted before. It’s quite an honor.”

  Suddenly Suze’s eyes widened again.

  “Say, are you going to be speaking to Delroy Hicks while you’re here?”

  The name wasn’t familiar to Adele.

  “Who?”

  Suze rose from her chair to refill her cup. Adele placed a hand over her own cup to indicate she didn’t want any more coffee.

  “He’s a writer as well, a researcher. He lives on this beautiful old sailboat over in Roche Harbor. Comes in here about once a month to donate books. He always has books to give away. The man must read a hundred or more a year. Anyway, Delroy and Decklan Stone are acquaintances I guess you could say. Birds of a feather sticking together, I suppose. He’s dropped Decklan’s name in casual conversation with me from time to time over the years.”

  Suze lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper even though there was no-one else but Adele and her in the bookstore.

  “And he’s a homosexual.”

  Adele stifled the urge to laugh at the older woman’s hushed, secretive sharing of another person’s sexual preference.

  “And you don’t think this Mr. Hicks would mind talking with me?”

  Suze flipped her right hand toward Adele.

  “Delroy? Oh, heavens no! That one loves to talk! I have his number and can give him a call right now if you like.”

  Adele nodded.

  “Thank you. That would be great.”

  The store owner made her way to the front counter to use the landline phone. While she was away, Adele took a moment to look up Delroy Hicks on her cell phone and discovered he was a relatively well-known author of Northwest Native American history with nine titles to his name, including significant contributions to three textbook editions, and had been a regular paid guest lecturer for a number of years on the college campus lecture circuit. He was born in Ireland seventy-two years ago and came to America as a young man with his parents in the 1960s during the Kennedy years. From there he graduated high school in Boston and then attended the University of Washington on an academic scholarship.

  Adele grinned to herself as she heard Suze’s voice whisper in her head while she finished reading Hicks’ bio off of her phone.

  And he’s a homosexual.

  “Ok, it’s all set! You’ll find his boat on E-Dock, Slip 22. He said to stop on by anytime this afternoon. Just ring the bell and he’ll be right out to greet you. Do you have a car?”

  Adele shook her head.

  “No, but I can just call a taxi.”

  Suze appeared horrified by the thought.

  “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. It’s lunchtime anyways. I’ll drive you over to Roche Harbor myself. Give us a chance to talk more!”

  Adele was about to decline
the offer, but Suze made clear she wasn’t having it.

  “Nope, not another word. My mind is made up! Is there anyone else you planned on interviewing here on the island?”

  Adele considered saying no, but then thought better of it. She saw no need to keep secrets from someone who had so willingly just given her more information and another interview lead.

  “Yes, the owner of the Roche Harbor Hotel.”

  Suze whirled around after hanging the Out to Lunch sign in the store’s front door.

  “You’re going to try and speak with Tilda? Well, good luck with that!”

  “What do you mean?”

  The older woman appeared to want to say something, struggled with potentially doing so, and then apparently thought better of it.

  “You’ll see. She’s not the same woman she once was. It’s been a gradual but steady regression, but to those of us who remember how she was before…she’s different now. Very different.”

  Adele’s eyes narrowed slightly as her head cocked to the side.

  “Different good or different bad?”

  A moment of sad reflection passed over Suze’s features as her mouth curled downward into a pronounced frown.

  “You’ll see. Your best chance of speaking with her is to ask the hotel manager, Phillip. He’s a very nice young man, but also protective of Tilda. A big part of his duties is trying to keep her away from potential trouble. I imagine these days it’s pretty much a full-time job. It’s certainly a job I think few could perform as well as he has.”

  Suze’s near-permanent smile and sunny disposition had returned.

  “So, are you ready to go?”

  Adele nodded, not entirely sure where, or more accurately, what she was going to. She sensed the mystery that was slowly unfolding before her. With each person she spoke to, yet another layer of that mystery was revealed. Adele hoped that eventually the truth might finally be known. And if some of that truth was to be found in Roche Harbor, to Roche Harbor she would go.

  9.

  The car ride to Roche Harbor was especially pleasant, with ample amounts of sunshine accompanying the brief journey and Suze happily pointing out various points of interest on the island. Adele was surprised at how the tree-dotted, tall-grassed valleys of San Juan Island’s interior, contrasted its famously rocky, saltwater shores.