“Very much so,” I said. Jackson and Simon agreed, and Professor Russell made quick introductions as we walked into the barn.
There, Dr. Gillian asked us to take our shoes off and put booties on. “We’re going to be in his studio, where Pollock worked,” Dr. Gillian said. “We need to preserve the art.”
After we’d changed he led us down the hall to a bright open room. There was a horizontal window at the top of the rear wall. Below that, small black-and-white photos lined the wall above metal cans filled with paintbrushes. To the right and the left were oversized photos of Pollock as he worked, and one of Lee visiting him in the studio, sitting on a wooden chair. The walls were a dingy white with paint speckling everywhere.
The floor was easily the most interesting aspect, covered in swirls, droplets and smudges, and layers of paint, the leftovers from masterpieces. On top of a small stepstool were the boots that Pollock used when he created, covered in layer upon layer of paint.
“The whole studio seems like it’s frozen in time,” I said.
“I know,” Simon said. “It almost feels like Pollock could walk in at any moment and begin painting again.”
“Yes,” Dr. Gillian said. “It does have that feeling.” He turned to us. “Now that you’ve seen the studio, I guess it’s my turn. I’m eager to see the artifacts that Professor Russell mentioned.”
“I’ll get them,” Jackson said, heading for the car. He’d left the bag of artifacts in the trunk for safekeeping.
“Good,” Dr. Gillian said. “We can sit outside and I’ll take a look.”
We sat down at the rustic picnic table in the backyard, the professor and Gillian on one side, us on the other. Jackson returned moments later and set the bag in the middle of the table.
Dr. Gillian pulled a pair of thin Latex gloves from his shirt pocket and carefully put them on. Chagrined, I realized that we all should have been more careful when handling these pieces.
As if he read my mind, Professor Russell said, “Don’t worry about touching the artifacts. It won’t affect anything.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Gillian said. “This is just a habit of mine. I’m sure they’re fine.” He carefully opened the bag and slowly pulled out the first item, which happened to be the goblet. He examined it, then put it on the table. “No damage done here.”
“What do you think? Is it pirate treasure? Is it Captain Kidd’s?” Simon asked as he leaned in to get a closer look.
“The goblet is very old, easily from the sixteenth or seventeenth century. Whether it’s pirate treasure or not, I can’t say.”
I felt a pang of disappointment. I was hoping for some definitive answers. I needed to know why everyone seemed so interested in my medicinal garden.
“But let me look at the rest.” He repeated the procedure with the earring. “I’d say this is from the late 1800s, and there’s a good chance that’s a diamond. The design and workmanship are Victorian, so it’s probably not pirate treasure and, since you only have one of a pair, it’s worth may be restricted to whatever you can get for the stone and gold.”
“I think you’ll be intrigued by the last item they have,” Professor Russell said.
Dr. Gillian pulled the sword out of the bag. Startled, he sucked in a breath and immediately put it down on the table. Nervously, he stroked his beard. “I can’t believe it.”
“I thought so,” Professor Russell said. “I had a feeling it might be the same one.”
“What are you two talking about?” Simon said, impatient for answers.
Doctor Gillian carefully picked up the sword again. This time, he examined it from every angle. “I never thought we’d see this again.”
“What do you mean?” I said, now feeling just as impatient.
“The East Hampton Historical Society sponsored a special Maritime Exhibit in June 1999 to commemorate the three-hundred-year anniversary. This very sword was the star of the show.”
“What kind of anniversary?” Simon asked.
“To mark the date of Captain Kidd’s visit to Gardiner’s Island,” Jackson answered.
“Very good, yes.” Dr. Gillian put the sword down gently on the bag. “You are correct, Jackson. Kidd’s Long Island adventure was in June 1699, right before his capture. He was on his way to Boston to prove his innocence in the charges of piracy. He stopped at Gardiner’s Island for three days. During that time—we don’t know exactly when—he buried treasure worth about thirty thousand dollars back then at Cherry Harbor, in a ravine between Bostwick Point and the Manor House.”
“While he and his men were there, he asked Mrs. Gardiner to roast a pig for him,” Professor Russell added. “Kidd enjoyed it so much that he gave her a piece of gold cloth, a small piece of which is still in the East Hampton Library. Supposedly, the cloth came from a Moorish ship captured by Kidd off the coast of Madagascar.”
“Wow, this guy really got around,” Simon said. “Amazing.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Gillian said. “But this was to be his last trip. After Kidd was arrested in Boston, Lord Gardiner delivered the buried treasure to the authorities. Supposedly, there were bags of gold dust, bars of silver, pieces of eight, rubies, diamonds, candlesticks, and some other items.”
“Like a sword?” I squeezed Jackson’s hand.
Dr. Gillian nodded. “Yes, at least they thought so. A sword like this one was put into the archives of the East Hampton Historical Society and subsequently removed and shown at the exhibition. It was never definitively proved to be part of Kidd’s treasure, but its age, workmanship, materials, and general style made that theory plausible. A month later, on the last day of the exhibit, the sword was stolen, never to be seen again.”
“And you think this is the same sword?” Simon asked.
“I’d have to do some tests and research to be sure, but it certainly looks like it.”
“Okay, say it is Kidd’s,” Jackson said. “How would it have gotten to Greenport? And does that mean there’s more treasure in the garden?”
“I don’t know. But I can see why you have had interested parties trying to find out. The earring and goblet may not be from Kidd, but they’re still valuable. If this becomes known, I think you’re in for some more trouble. I know you’ve already got your hands full, what with Jackson being a suspect in that doctor’s murder.”
“I hope you don’t mind, Willow and Jackson, but I thought it best for Travis to know the entire story,” Professor Russell interjected.
“Not a problem,” I said. “We need all the help we can get.”
“I hope I can help,” Dr. Gillian said. “But for now, you two need to be very careful, at least until you figure out what exactly is going on.”
“I’ve just hired a nighttime guard for the garden,” Jackson said.
Dr. Gillian nodded approvingly. “I think that’s an excellent idea. You could also hire an expert to use a metal detector on the garden, but that may cause more problems. You can have false or mixed readings and end up digging up areas without profit. I assume that’s not something that you’d want to do in a newly planted garden.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” I said. “But we need to stop what has been going on.”
“I understand. In the meantime, I’d suggest putting these items in a safe place. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to keep the sword and have some tests run on it, to make sure it’s the real thing. I’ll give you a receipt, of course. If it is the sword that was stolen, we could restore it to the East Hampton Historical Society.”
I looked at Jackson. “What do you think?”
“I think that this is an ongoing murder investigation, and the sword may play a role in some way we’re not aware of yet. I think the best idea is for Dr. Gillian’s experts to check it out and let us know what they find. In the meantime, we keep following leads.”
“Then we’d better get back,” I said. “The
Maritime Festival is still on all this week, and there’s a lot going on. At least it’s good cover for investigating.”
“Professor Russell told me that you’ve done this before,” Dr. Gillian said. “But please be careful. Buried treasure can often mean buried secrets. And that can mean big trouble.”
chapter eighteen
Willow McQuade’s
Favorite Medicinal Plants
GINKGO
Botanical name: Ginkgo biloba
Medicinal uses: Ginkgo is the oldest tree species on the planet and was common even when dinosaurs roamed the earth. It has a high resistance to disease, insects, and pollution. In humans, it helps relax blood vessels, improving circulation and the delivery of nutrients, including oxygen and glucose, throughout the body, including the brain.
Today, versatile ginkgo leaf extract is used to treat a variety of ailments and conditions, including asthma, bronchitis, depression, fatigue, and tinnitus (ringing in the ears); to improve memory; and to relieve neuropathic pain. In Europe it is one of the best-selling medicines and used in the treatment of a wide variety of disorders associated with aging including dementia, memory loss, and senility, and to promote recovery from stroke. It is an antioxidant, which means it helps to neutralize cell-damaging free radicals, and a good cerebral or brain tonic.
Extracts are usually taken from the ginkgo leaf and are used to make tablets, capsules, or teas. Occasionally, ginkgo extracts are used in skin products. Numerous studies of ginkgo have been done for a variety of conditions. Some promising results have been seen for Alzheimer’s disease, dementia, and tinnitus.
The helicopter dropped us off at the Mattituck Airport, and we returned to Greenport late Tuesday afternoon. Simon went home and Jackson, the professor, and I all went back to Nature’s Way. There, Jackson headed for the garden to check things out while we went inside to work on Professor Russell’s shopping list.
The store and café at Nature’s Way was pretty quiet when we came in, with only Wallace on duty. He emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “You’re back. Did you have fun?”
I had told him that we were going for a helicopter ride with Simon, but nothing more than that. “It was amazing to see the East End from up there. How are things here? Where’s Merrily?”
“Nate took her home. She said she had a migraine.”
I had never known Merrily to have migraines. So the fact that she had gone home with one was a bit of a surprise. I wondered if maybe she’d actually wanted to spend time with Nate. But I kept this to myself and said, “I hope she feels better.”
I went over to the cash register, opened it, and plucked Professor Russell’s grocery list out from under the money tray. “Wallace, do you have time to help me put together Professor Russell’s order?”
He threw the dish towel onto the counter. “Sure, what do you need?”
“I’ll get the bread, cookies, cereal, peanut butter, and quinoa.” I tore the list in half. “Can you get the rest? It will go faster.”
Between the two of us, we were finished in fifteen minutes flat. We packed up the order in two boxes, and the professor and I headed for the Shelter Island ferry.
Since Professor Russell wanted to try and make the five thirty boat, we took the shortcut through Mitchell Park, which was again buzzing with activity. This time is was because organizers were setting up for the two-day Annual Maritime and Nautical Yard Sale and Antique Show.
Cars and trucks were lined up on the south side of the street, where normally there was no parking. Two police officers were helping to coordinate the traffic and the drop-off of items, which included ships’ lanterns, telescopes, diver’s helmets, wooden ships’ wheels, anchors, barometers, and fishing tackle.
“What do we have here?” Professor Russell asked. “More maritime festivities?”
I nodded. “It is a weeklong celebration. Tomorrow is the first day of the yard sale and marine antique show to benefit the museum and several local animal charities.”
“How nice,” he said. “I’ll have to come back over and see what they’re offering.”
As we walked toward the carousel and beyond that, the boardwalk, I noticed Maggie and Harold. Both of them were holding clipboards and were on their phones while gesturing to people, trying to indicate where they should put their donations.
Kylie and Sandra were also nearby, helping out. After their protest in front of Nature’s Way, I had no interest in speaking to any of them, but I decided I’d stop by the next day to see if I could uncover anything connected to Dr. White’s murder.
The docks were absolutely packed with yachts and other pleasure boats, and teeming with visitors. When we rounded the corner onto the boardwalk, we found actors rehearsing lines. Behind them, the production team worked on building the set.
“Are they putting on a play as well?” Professor Russell asked.
“Yes, it’s The Tempest. It opens on Friday and runs through Sunday. The Shakespeare productions here are usually good. You might want to come see the show as well.”
“I may do that. Are you going to go?”
“I plan to, but it depends on how busy we are.”
We continued walking along the boardwalk as it snaked its way past Mitchell Park and the Blue Canoe restaurant. When we reached the dock on the Greenport side, the ferry from Shelter Island was heading in. “There’s your ferry,” I said. “I really appreciate you coming over. Thanks for all of your help, Professor.”
“You are very welcome, Willow,” he said. “I’m glad to help. I just wish I could do more. Do you think the police will be back to see Jackson again?”
“Unfortunately, I’m sure they will.”
“Do they have any other suspects?” We stepped inside the ferry building. Through the window, we could see the ferry pull in and then heard the thud when it touched the dock.
“Not that I know of, but I keep hearing that the doctor was not well liked. He seems to have enraged half his patients. There could be a long list of people who wanted to do him harm.”
Russell put down his carton to buy a ticket from a vending machine. “One that I may be on, I’m afraid. White really was a terrible doctor, and not a nice person either. As I said, he treated my mother horribly.”
He reached into his pocket for some coins. He had some trouble putting them into the machine because his hands were shaking. He continued, his voice getting louder, more urgent and angry. “Not just because he didn’t help her, but because he was always so condescending to her. He never treated her with respect. He made her feel small. I can’t say that I’m sorry he’s dead, Ms. McQuade.”
He finally got the coins in and a ticket ejected. He stuffed it into his pocket and kept his hand there. It seemed that the more he talked about his mother and Dr. White, the angrier he seemed to get.
“I can guarantee that you are not the only one that feels that way.”
He gave me a sad look. “I’m afraid that’s no comfort.”
We said good-bye and I watched as he boarded the boat, holding his boxes. As I mulled over our conversation, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he had wanted Dr. White dead as well. Was he really interested in helping us with the artifacts—or did he just want to keep track of what was going on in the investigation because he was the killer?
I thought it over. Staid and nerdy Professor Russell, a murderer? No, I decided, that seemed very unlikely. Besides, I had far more plausible suspects to pursue.
• • •
When I got back and went into the garden to find Jackson, though, I had second thoughts. Maybe I will mention Professor Russell to him. At this point, no one could really be ruled out.
I’d have to dig further to winnow down my pool of suspects, which right now included Sandra Bennett, and any other disgruntled patients of Dr. White; his best friend, Joe Larson; White’s wife, Arlene; t
he guy in the black sweatshirt; and any number of nameless treasure hunters. I still hadn’t figured out if Harold Spitz and his friend Maggie Stone or Ramona and her partner, Rhonda, wanted him dead.
But as I went into the garden, all thoughts of my private investigation vanished. In the back, by the yet-to-be-completed teahouse, I spotted Jackson, who was hunched over and twisted like a pretzel. A huge paver stone lay at his feet. I felt my adrenaline spike as I ran to him. I was ready for fight, flight, or whatever was needed to help him. “Jackson, what happened to you?”
“I was trying to move one of the larger pavers by myself, since Nate is AWOL. I guess I picked it up wrong. I think I pulled something in my lower back.”
“Oh, no. How bad is it?”
He frowned. “About a seven or eight on a scale of one to ten,” he said, referring to the pain assessment scale used by doctors.
I looked at my watch. It was 5:46 p.m. “Dr. Lewis’s office will be closed by now, however, I can try to treat you here.” I hadn’t yet set up my practice as a naturopathic doctor, with everything that had happened, but I hoped to do so next year. In the meantime, I could use my acupuncturist’s office upstairs. “But, Jackson, if your pain is unmanageable, we’ll have to go to the emergency room.” Conventional medicines are often needed to manage severe, chronic pain. Jackson’s doctor and I worked together to treat Jackson more effectively.
He shook his head. “I have the meds I need along with your remedies. I just need to lie down and rest. If it’s not better in the morning, I’ll call my orthopedist.” He tried to straighten up but let out a groan.
I could feel his pain. “Let’s get you inside, honey. Wallace can help us.” After I pulled out my phone and called Wallace, I put my right arm around Jackson’s waist to try and help him walk. Stay calm, I said to myself. You need to be his rock right now.
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