Jackson pulled me to him and nuzzled my ear, and then planted baby kisses all along my neck. My spine tingled, along with other more interesting places. I wanted to stay but I needed to go.
“We’ll finish this up later,” I said, pulling away, but not before giving him a long, soulful kiss.
“I’ll be here.”
• • •
Inside, things were running smoothly at Nature’s Way. I’d forgotten that Merrily was off this morning, but Wallace was doing fine all by himself. I retrieved the artifacts from the bedroom closet, brought them downstairs, and put them on the couch in my office, where Qigong was chewing on a bone. I knew that no one would be able to take the treasures with him there.
As promised, Professor Russell showed up at precisely eleven o’clock. He had several empty cloth shopping bags in one hand and a long list in the other. Today he was dressed more casually, sort of, in jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt, and a paisley tie.
“Hi, Professor, looks like you’re ready to stock up.”
He smiled. “My neighbor shops here and she raves about the selection, so I came prepared.”
“What do you need?”
“Here’s my list.” He handed me the piece of paper. “My neighbor assures me that you carry all of these items.”
I quickly scanned the list. On it were things like gluten-free bread and cookies, rice cereal, and organic peanut butter, along with NoFo Crunch, one of our customer favorites, made with granola, dried fruit, nuts, and organic raw kombucha. “We sure do. Why don’t you let me put the order together for you?”
“That would be grand,” he said. “I can check my messages on my phone while I wait. I had quite a nice response to my talk last night. I’m hoping that it will help book sales.”
“I’m sure it will. It was very informative.” I scanned the café; there were a few open tables. “You can sit anywhere you like. Would you like something to eat or drink?”
“A cup of Earl Grey tea would be lovely.”
He took a table next to the window, and I went into the kitchen and made him his tea. When I came back, he was staring intently at his phone. “I think I’ve found an appraiser for your items.”
“That was fast. Who is it?”
“Another expert on Gardiner’s Island and Captain Kidd’s treasure, someone who knows even more than I do.”
His food list temporarily forgotten, I took the seat across from him. “Who is this person? Can he or she help us?”
He took a sip of tea, then said, “First, let me explain the chain of events. As I was leaving last night, your friend Simon Lewis approached me and told me what happened in your garden, the fact that Jackson is a suspect in Dr. White’s murder, and about the merchants who have been harassing you and trying to shut down your venture.”
“So, you know,” I said.
“Yes, and I’m sorry for your trouble.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” I admitted.
“Simon was very insistent that I help you. It’s obvious he really cares for you.”
“We used to be a couple but we’re better off as friends,” I said with a smile.
“That is often the case.” The professor took another sip of tea. “It seems Simon has done his own research on the pirates that frequented the East End, for some movie project, he said, and he’s convinced that the artifacts that you’ve found are lost treasure. He asked me to help you, and I told him that I would consider it.”
“I was already inclined to do so, as I indicated at the museum. When I got home, I did some research on you and the two cases you’ve solved. I take it that you are trying to solve the mystery of Dr. White’s murder as well?”
“I have no choice,” I said. “I have to clear Jackson, myself, and my business for being at fault.”
“Clearly, you are not at fault. I think forces beyond your control are at work here, and perhaps I can help you.”
“It would be wonderful to finally get some answers. I feel as if I’ve been going up one blind alley after another.”
The professor shrugged. “Well, I doubt I can tell you who killed Dr. White, but I may be able to help you identify the sword and goblet. Simon could be right—the sword, at least, may indeed be from a pirate ship. It may even be Captain Kidd’s treasure, and the goblet may be perhaps a hundred years more recent. As I said last night, some of that treasure was never recovered. I’m hoping that my Captain Kidd expert, Dr. Travis Gillian, who works with the East Hampton Historical Society, will be able to help identify your items. I called him this morning, and he has just agreed to see us. Are you free to go over there today, to East Hampton? I’ve texted Simon and he can obtain the services of a helicopter pilot who can take us to there and we can even fly over Gardiner’s Island on the way, if you are willing.”
I checked the calendar on my phone. I didn’t have any tours scheduled for that day, and everything else on my to-do list could wait. “Let’s go.”
• • •
I contacted Simon, who called his pilot, the one who took him to parties in the Hamptons, and made the arrangements. We agreed that the professor, Jackson, and I would meet him at the airfield in Mattituck, a North Fork town twenty minutes west of Greenport.
Two hours later, we were up in the translucent blue sky, flying east down the length of the North Fork, over the glistening aqua-blue Peconic Bay. It was a spectacular view of verdant wetlands, sprawling farms that produced everything from pumpkins to potatoes, and numerous vineyards that crisscrossed the land, along with the homes and the villages that made up Cutchogue, Southold, and Greenport. The North Fork, east of Cutchogue, was to me the “real” East End.
Professor Russell sat in front next to the pilot, while Simon, Jackson, and I sat in the back. We all wore helmets with microphones, so we could talk with each other.
I leaned around Jackson and said to Simon, “Thanks for helping me with this, Simon. I really appreciate it.”
“We both do,” added Jackson, who had the bag of artifacts on the floor between his feet. “And thanks for the scenic tour.”
“This isn’t the most direct route to the island, but I thought you’d enjoy seeing the East End from this vantage point,” Simon explained.
Moments later, we passed over the Maritime Museum and the ferry terminal. Professor Russell said something to the pilot, and he turned north and flew over Nature’s Way on Front Street. “There’s the store,” I said, pointing out the open window. I quickly scanned the medicinal plant garden. From this distance everything looked peaceful and serene. Today, there were no protestors. “All quiet.”
“That’s nice for a change,” Jackson said.
The pilot continued flying over Greenport, past Mitchell Park and the harbor and the shops and restaurants and the dozens of tourists and locals clogging the streets. Today was the Maritime Festival Foodie Tour. You could buy a wristband for twenty-five dollars and visit all the local restaurants and sample their offerings.
The pilot flew across the neighborhoods north of the village, those around the Stirling Harbor Marina, before heading East again, toward East Marion, where Jackson lived. I dug my binoculars out of my purse and handed them to him so that he could see his house, which was on the north side of the road just before the Orient Point causeway that transected the wetlands and the bay.
Within minutes, we flew over his two-and-a-half-acre property with the rambling farmhouse that was an ongoing restoration project. The property also contained a huge barn and a generous paddock for his rescued animals, which included horses, donkeys, and goats, along with dogs and cats.
It was a beautiful day, so most of the animals were outside. Some of them were munching grass and hay and others were playing with the volunteers or lounging in the sun.
“It looks like things are fine at your house, too,” I said.
“The interns and volun
teers are doing a great job. The animals are all thriving.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I’m glad to be able to do it. I just applied for another grant from the state, and chances are good we’ll get it. If we do, I want to expand the paddock and the barn so they all have more room.”
“You’re a good man, you know that?” I would have kissed him, but my helmet prevented it, so I had to settle for squeezing his hand.
“By the way, I found a guard for you.”
“Really, who is it?
“Bob Cooper. He’s an old cop buddy of mine from up the island. He’s retired out here and does this type of thing for extra bucks, but he’s reasonable. He’ll be there at seven tonight, before it gets dark. Hopefully, he’ll discourage any fortune hunters.”
“I hope so.”
We continued East over the Causeway and into Orient, with its old money and stately mansions and newcomers building and renovating homes. Finally, when we reached Orient Point and the Cross Sound ferry terminal, the pilot informed us that if we looked south, we’d see Gardiner’s Island in the distance.
• • •
The helicopter flew over the water toward one of America’s largest privately owned islands and oldest family estates, four hundred years old, in fact. Featuring thirty-three hundred acres and twenty-seven miles of coastline, Gardiner’s Island was closer to the South Fork and part of the town of East Hampton but really, it was a kingdom unto itself.
It felt exciting to be so close to this mythical place with so much history. I squeezed Jackson’s hand. “This is amazing. I just wish that we could land on the island and go explore.”
“Can’t put down there,” the pilot said. “They don’t like visitors, unless you’re invited, but I’ll try to get close so you can get a better look.”
“Believe me, I tried to get us access,” Simon said. “Maybe when I have a production deal for my pirate movie, and I need to do research, it’ll be a different story.”
“Maybe not,” Professor Russell said. “The inhabitants like their privacy. You can’t really blame them. Even their electricity is produced by their own generators.”
As we neared the island, the copter descended and we skimmed above the brilliant blue of Gardiner’s Bay. “I know the island has been in the Gardiner family for more than four hundred years,” I said, “but who owns it now?”
“Until 2004, Robert Charles Lion Gardiner, the sixteenth lord of the manor, as he liked to call himself, owned it with his niece, Alexandra Creel Goelet. Now that he’s gone, it’s hers. The two didn’t get along.”
“It was pretty contentious,” Simon said. “He said that she wanted to develop the island, which wasn’t true. He even tried to adopt a distant relative in Mississippi to maintain control, but that didn’t work out.”
“That’s a pretty desperate move,” Jackson said.
“It was. Rumor is that Gardiner didn’t do his part to take care of the island either. Now, that’s all fallen to Mrs. Goelet,” Professor Russell said. “But it’s worth it to her. Aside from its historical significance, the island is her family home. Recently the family came to an agreement with the village: no development until at least 2020. I hope it stays that way.”
Minutes later, the helicopter hovered over the pristine shores of Gardiner’s Island. The scenery was spectacular, majestic sandy cliffs, green rolling fields dotted with red barns and crisscrossed by dirt roads, untouched wetlands, sparkling ponds, and birds in flight. “Wow, this is absolutely beautiful,” I said.
“It sure is. The original Lion Gardiner got a good deal,” Simon said. “He bought this from the Montaukett Indians for a large black dog, blankets, a gun, powder, and shot, right, Professor?”
“That’s right. But just to make sure, he obtained a land grant from King Charles I of England.”
“Guess he wasn’t taking any chances,” Simon said.
“The Gardiners have always hedged their bets,” Professor Russell said.
“Simon, we’re just about to fly over Cherry Harbor,” the pilot said.
Simon pointed down at the island, where we could see a cutout of a harbor and several motorboats moored there. “When the family or anyone else comes from East Hampton, they take a launch to this spot. See that road?” He pointed out a dirt road that tracked over the land. “That leads to the Manor House, and there’s the windmill. They just had it painted.”
The white windmill stood on a promontory overlooking the harbor. I used the binoculars to scan the road to its destination and there, in the middle of the island, was the red brick Manor House. “That looks pretty impressive.”
“The original Manor House was built by Charles Gardiner in 1774, but it burned in a fire in 1947 after a guest fell asleep while smoking,” Professor Russell explained. “They built the current Manor House, a twenty-eight-room Georgian estate, that same year. Beyond the mansion there are one thousand acres of old-growth forest. It’s the largest stand of white oak trees in the Northeast, untouched by man.”
“It’s like a time capsule, the way the East End would be if it had never been developed,” I said, amazed at what I was seeing.
“Indeed, there are also one thousand acres of pristine meadows, with rare birds, Indian artifacts, and structures that date from the seventeenth century,” the professor said.
“There are no natural predators, so there are huge herds of swans here, too,” Simon said. “The ospreys here have nests right on the beach for the same reason.”
“This is all fascinating, but I have to ask, where did Kidd bury his treasure?” Jackson said.
“Coming up,” Professor Russell said. “With Lion Gardiner’s grandson’s permission, Kidd buried thirty thousand dollars of treasure in a ravine between Bostwick’s Point and the Manor House.”
“Including swords and goblets?” Simon asked.
“It’s possible. We know it included gold dust, silver bars, gold Spanish coins, rubies, and diamonds,” the professor answered. “There’s a small stone marker on the spot, right about there.” He pointed out the window to a spot near the northwest shore. “It’s believed that all of the treasure was removed, but there is no way to know for sure. Your sword, and even the goblet, could have belonged to Captain Kidd.”
“And we’re about to fine out,” Simon said, smiling.
chapter seventeen
Willow McQuade’s
Favorite Medicinal Plants
GINGER
Botanical name: Zingiber officinale
Medicinal uses: Ginger, like garlic, is a powerful medicinal herb. Ginger is used to alleviate postsurgery nausea, as well as nausea related to chemotherapy and pregnancy. Research shows that ginger is even more effective than Dramamine for curbing motion sickness without causing drowsiness. I always take along candied ginger when I’m traveling. Ginger contains compounds that also help reduce the inflammation and pain of rheumatoid arthritis, osteoarthritis, and joint and muscle pain, and improves digestion. The roots of the ginger plant are used in cooking, baking, and for health purposes. Common forms of ginger include fresh or dried root, tablets, capsules, liquid extracts (tinctures), and teas.
You can also apply ginger topically in a compress to joints, bunions, and sore muscles; to minor toothaches to relieve pain; over the kidneys to relieve the pain and assist in the passage of stones; on the chest and back to relieve asthma symptoms; and on the temples to relieve headache. Along with garlic, this versatile herb deserves a place in your natural medicine cabinet.
The helicopter landed in East Hampton Airport, and Jackson, Simon, and I climbed into the back of a black Lincoln town car; Professor Russell sat in front. The driver headed into East Hampton, past the Town Pond with its three-hundred-year-old cemetery, and into the quaint and charming village, the main road lined by majestic old elms.
I had assumed that we would be meeting in one of
the offices belonging to the East Hampton Historical Society. But we drove past the Osborn-Jackson House on Main Street, the Town House, and the Hook Schoolhouse.
When the driver took a left on Main Street and glided past the historic English Hook Windmill in the center of town, heading east toward Springs, I became concerned. “Professor, where exactly are we going?”
He turned around to face me. “I thought we needed a place that was somewhat private. Dr. Gillian is waiting for us at the Pollock-Krasner house in Springs. It’s one of the historic buildings that he oversees as a curator for the Stony Brook Foundation. The museum is closed on Mondays, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“I thought this expert was with the East Hampton Historical Society,” Jackson said.
“He works with them from time to time, but he also works with the Stony Brook Foundation. Believe me, no one knows Kidd and that era better.”
• • •
Ten minutes later, we drove past a simple cedar shake house with a wide front porch, perfect for summer afternoon lounging, then pulled into the driveway and parked.
“It’s a pretty unassuming property,” Professor Russell said. “You’d never guess that this used to be home to the undisputed leader of the abstract expressionist movement.”
“When did Jackson Pollock move out here?” I asked as we all got out and stretched our legs.
“In 1945, after he and fellow artist Lee Krasner were married. They purchased the property with a loan from art dealer Peggy Guggenheim.”
“Great view of the creek,” Jackson said.
“Yes, that’s Accabonac Creek, and if you’re wondering, Gardiner’s Island is that way.” He pointed to the east. “And this is where Mr. Pollock worked, or I should say created.”
He began to walk toward a barn in the backyard. As he did, a tall, academic type who could have been Russell’s older brother opened the barn door and stepped out. He had a neatly trimmed gray beard and wore a white linen shirt, cream-colored trousers, and loafers without socks. When we met, he shook Russell’s hand and said, “Good to see you, Professor, and your friends, too. Hello, everyone. I’m Dr. Travis Gillian. I have to admit, I’m curious about what you’ve found. But first, let me give you a quick tour of the studio. That is, if you’re interested.”
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