I had taken exactly two bites when I got a text from Simon:
Going to men’s club at 8:00. Meet you after. S.
“This is fantastic,” Jackson said as he surveyed his plate. It was chock-full of just about everything offered.
“It really is,” Allie said, and smiled. “This is why we live on East End, right?”
“Sure is,” Lily said, squeezing lemon on her flounder. “It’s so easy to get amazing food here.” Next to us, Ramona and Rhonda sat down at a table. Lily noticed them and rolled her eyes.
“Something wrong?” I said.
“It’s just my old bosses, Ramona Meadows and Rhonda Rhodes. I worked for them last summer at their farm. I don’t like to talk badly about anyone, but they really are the worst. I lasted six weeks and then I quit.”
“Why, what did they do?”
“What didn’t they do? They made us work from six to six and paid us pennies, only gave us twenty minutes for lunch, and if you called in sick, you got fired.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Allie said.
“They didn’t care. We had to produce, or else, and we did. But it seemed like they never had any money. Rhonda, especially, was always complaining about their finances. She and Ramona fought about it all the time. I’m so glad I’m not working there this summer.”
“We are, too,” I said, and smiled “Then you wouldn’t have been able to help us.”
“Glad to do it,” Lily said, getting up. “I need more of that corn bread.”
“I’ll go with you,” Allie said.
Once they left the table, I turned to Jackson. “What did you think of what Lily said—about Rhonda and Ramona’s money problems?”
“I think that it’s pretty likely that if they found out about the pirate treasure in your lot, they’d be extremely interested.”
“Rhonda was at Village Hall and the clerk said that she checked the records on the lot. Could she be the person in black?”
“Why not? She’s about the same height as Harold, so it could have been her.”
“Maybe I should try talking to Kylie again. She was more willing to talk to me after the art show.”
“But if she knows that you were talking to Sandra and it upset her, she won’t be sharing anything.”
“I’m still going to try.”
“I know you will,” Jackson said. “Just don’t go alone.”
• • •
Since so many people were waiting to eat at the fish fry we had dessert and gave up our table. Lily went off with her friends, Allie called it a night, and Jackson and I decided to take a walk along the waterfront.
I still hadn’t heard from Simon and was anxious to hear what he’d learned, and hoped to meet up with him soon. In the meantime, we headed down Main Street toward the traffic circle by Claudio’s restaurant.
But our stroll was interrupted when Jackson got a text from Detective Koren. “This probably isn’t good news,” Jackson said, staring at his phone.
“What does he say?”
“Just that he needs to talk to me and to call him tomorrow morning.”
“Do you think he wants to question you—or arrest you?”
“If he was bringing me in, he would be here, instead of texting me. Either he’s learned something new or he has something specific he wants to ask me about.” He shoved the phone into his pocket. “I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”
We crossed Claudio’s parking lot and walked past the tackle shop and into Mitchell Park. There we followed the path that ran along the dock’s edge at the south end of the park.
We passed the stage where actors, in period dress, were rehearsing The Tempest. The sets were terrific and, appropriately enough for the Maritime Festival, seaworthy, with an ocean backdrop, a beached sailboat, and the bow of a ship. I didn’t see Wallace but figured he was backstage somewhere.
We’d just sat down on the bench in front of the carousel when I got a text from Simon:
Just got out of meeting. Where R U?
I texted back:
In Mitchell Park. Where do U want to meet?
End of Scrimshaw restaurant dock. Now. S.
“It’s Simon,” I told Jackson. “He wants to meet us.” I texted back that we’d meet him there, and we headed for the Scrimshaw.
Simon was waiting for us at the end of the dock. Beyond the dock’s end, the water was inky black, except for the lights from the Shelter Island ferries as they crisscrossed the bay, and the crescent moon above us.
“Hey, guys.” Simon had dressed up for the meeting and was wearing a blazer over a blue T-shirt, khakis, and sneakers.
“You look nice,” I said.
“Believe me, I was underdressed,” Simon said. “The rest of those guys had on these purple robes with hoods, and wore these elaborate necklaces. I felt like I was in a Harry Potter movie.”
“So what happened there?” I asked.
“Well, it was . . . weird. The place was all decked out to look like a like a woodsy cabin, with knotty-pine walls and floors and this massive fireplace. There were these portraits of past and present leaders on the walls, as well as framed studio photos of the present members—incredibly cheesy—and there was this strange diamondlike diagram painted on the floor.
“Once everyone introduced themselves, they had this induction ceremony for me. Apparently, I’m a new member. Mayor Hobson read from this book, and I had to take this pledge.”
“What did you pledge?” Jackson asked, sounding amused.
“Oh, loyalty, fraternity, secrecy, insanity, avarice. You know, all the usual stuff.”
My eyes widened. “Insanity and avarice?”
“I’m teasing,” Simon said with a grin. “Anyway, after the pledge, the treasurer and the secretary gave their reports, and they took care of club business, like voting on getting premium cable service. Next, Joe Larson did a presentation on how to make money investing in real estate. It was mind-numbingly boring.”
“Sounds like they’re Freemasons and that the club is a lodge,” Jackson said. “It’s like a fraternity of businessmen.”
“I guess. They said they wanted to schedule a time for me to get my photo done for their wall, but I said I was too busy right now.”
“Their loss,” I said, and smiled. “So, who are the other members?”
“I didn’t meet everyone, but Dr. White’s partners in his medical office were there, and that trustee that helped you keep the garden open, Tom Coster. Oh, and Harold Spitz was there, but of course, he didn’t talk to me.”
“Did anything else happen?” I asked.
“Not really. After the presentation, they served refreshments and everyone hung out for a bit. The mayor and Tom Coster introduced me to White’s partners so I could try and find out something to solve the case. Like I told you before, I think they’re both trying to help you.”
“I think we may need a lot more help,” I said glumly. “I’ve been feeling seriously outnumbered. So, Simon, did you learn anything?”
“More like confirmation of what we already knew. White’s partners told me that White was absolutely obsessed with getting your lot. They said he talked about it constantly. He was determined to build a high-end boutique hotel there and, despite the rocky state of their marriage, Arlene was counting on running it. He hated medicine, and the hotel was going to be his way out. Both he and Arlene were sure it was going to be a gold mine for them.”
“Maybe because they knew what was buried on the property,” Jackson said. “Anything else?”
“I did see that painting that Joe Larson bought at the art show,” Simon said. “The one of the building where their meetings are held, but back when there was a cigar store on the ground floor. I still think it’s not much of a painting, but they had it hanging right above the fireplace mantel in a place of honor. I asked Mayor
Hobson why it was so special, and he didn’t know. So when no one was looking, I got up close and examined it. And I found something interesting . . . If you look really closely, you can see numbers on the curb in front of the store.”
“Sure, street numbers,” Jackson said.
“Can’t be,” I said. “We don’t have those here.”
“Exactly,” Simon agreed. “Besides, they were Roman numerals, XLIX, with XL being forty and IX being nine, so we get forty-nine.”
“You actually remembered all that from school?” Jackson asked.
Simon winced. “I had to look it up on my phone.”
“Who cares?” I said impatiently. “The real question is, what does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Simon said. “But you have to admit, it’s strange.”
Jackson started guessing. “Maybe it’s a date—a year. Or someone’s age? Or the number of a player on a sports team? Or part of a license plate or a lottery number?” He shrugged. “Hell, it could refer to just about anything.”
“It is strange,” I admitted. “But like everything else in this case. I think we’ve just come to the end of yet another blind alley.”
chapter twenty-four
Willow McQuade’s
Favorite Medicinal Plants
LEMON BALM
Botanical name: Melissa officinalis
Medicinal uses: An official herb of many an apothecary, lemon balm was widely used in ancient Greece and Rome. Avicenna, the great Arabic physician (980—1037), said that lemon balm caused “the mind and heart to be merry.” You’ll find bees buzzing around this important member of the mint family. Out of the garden, this handy herb calms the heart, eases anxiety, boosts energy, improves concentration, cleanses the liver, improves chi circulation and sleep, and lifts the spirits.
German studies indicate that lemon balm’s essential oils help protect the brain from excess external stimuli. Research also shows that lemon balm’s citral and citronellal volatile oils help to calm nervous exhaustion and stomach distress. Inhale this essential oil several times daily to ease mild depression. A delicious tea, it can also be used as a culinary herb. I like adding it to salads, soups, and smoothies for a tangy lemon flavor.
None of us knew what to make of the Roman numerals in the painting, but we hoped it would make more sense later. I thanked Simon for his help, and he went home to write, while Jackson and I strolled back to the store. There was a pleasant salty breeze that helped offset the humidity in the air. The streets were buzzing with people, who had been at the fish fry and were now window shopping or going on to a bar or restaurant to have a drink. The village seemed alive, and full of promise. Despite the light rain that had begun to fall, the Maritime Festival was kicking off the tourist season in a big way.
But when we arrived at Nature’s Way, any hopeful or idyllic notions I’d had were crushed. There, in the front yard, were Qigong, Rockford, and Columbo, wandering around, alone in the dark. I never left them outside without supervision, day or night, and everyone knew this. Something was clearly very wrong.
“What are you guys doing out here?” I said, opening the gate and stepping inside the yard. They rushed to me and wagged their tails. From what I could tell, they hadn’t been hurt, which was a relief. I hoped that the cats, Ginger and Ginkgo, were also okay.
Jackson looked at the front door, which was wide open. “Either someone left your bedroom door and the front door open, or you’ve had a break-in. I’m going to call Tony, in the garden.”
He pulled out his phone, dialed, and put it on speakerphone. “Tony, it’s Jackson. We just got home and the front door is wide open. Have we had a break-in?”
“Yeah, you did.” Tony spoke in a low voice. “I was patrolling in the garden and about five minutes ago I heard noises coming from the house. I’m inside now. Come in, but be careful. I don’t think anyone else is in here, but I haven’t searched the whole place yet.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Not yet. My first instinct was to just get in here and catch the creep, and if I do—” Tony, the night guard, was in his early sixties and another ex-cop. I knew he worked out, and I knew he carried a gun.
Jackson turned to me. “You’d better stay out here with the dogs while we check things out. And, I hate to say it, but you’d better call 911.”
“I’m worried about the cats.” Suddenly, I felt cold, and shivered in the damp night air. “They were looking for the treasure, weren’t they? They obviously didn’t know that we gave the sword to Dr. Gillian, and put the goblet and earring in the bank.”
Jackson shrugged. “Could be. Just call the police and wait here. I’ll look for the cats.” He set off for the house at a run.
I pulled out my phone and sighed. The last thing I wanted right now was another visit with Detectives Koren and Coyle. But before I could call 911, my phone rang. It was Jackson.
“Listen,” he began. “The cats are fine and whoever was in here is gone. I can’t tell if anything is missing—they trashed the place pretty badly. They were definitely searching for something. Explain all that when you call 911. Tony and I are going to take a quick look around the outside of the store. We’ll meet you inside.”
“Okay,” I said, and made the call. My hands were trembling.
“What’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
“It’s not an emergency, it’s a break-in,” I replied, and gave her all the details.
“Well, it’s going to be awhile before we can send anyone over,” she told me. “There was a big fight near the brewery tonight—locals and out-of-towners. Everyone in the station was called out.”
I thanked her and hung up. Then, with the dogs following me, I started toward the store, bracing myself for whatever was inside.
But before we reached the door, Rockford ran over to the fence that ran parallel to the driveway and the garden and started to bark frantically.
“What is it, boy?” I followed him over to the fence. The other two dogs shot ahead of me, and within seconds all three of them were barking.
I pulled the flashlight from my purse and shone it on the fence and around the garden. There! Someone raced through the garden toward the front gate, opened it, and let it clang shut. I ran over to the fence at the front of the yard and yelled. “Hey, I see you! Stay out of my garden!” The person—who was dressed all in black with a black rucksack—dashed up Front Street and into the night.
I heard the sound of running, and then Jackson and Tony were at my side moments later. “What happened?” Jackson asked.
“Someone was just in the garden. The dogs started barking and he ran out. He was dressed in black and wearing a black backpack. I think it was the same guy.”
“You stay here,” Jackson said. “I’m going to take a look.” He grabbed his flashlight and headed over to the garden.
I watched him and the beam of his flashlight travel from the entrance to the back wall of the garden.
“Nothing,” he reported as he came back to us. “Not even a footprint.”
“Do you think the person who broke in and the guy I saw are the same person?”
“That would be my guess,” Tony answered. “Unless you have two or more people working together. Maybe one guy took the garden and someone else took the store and house.”
“Let’s get these dogs inside.” Jackson picked up Columbo. “I’ll take this guy upstairs if you can help Rockford.”
I picked up Rockford, and he licked my face. “What I want to know is how they got downstairs. Qigong could do it, but two dachshunds? They’d be too scared to go down three flights of stairs.”
“Uh, that was me,” Tony confessed. “When I saw the door to the store was open, I raced inside. The dogs were barking like crazy, and I knew I had to search the place, so I took them out—just in case there was still someone up there. I didn’t
want them to get hurt.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said. “He thinks of the dogs first. Thank you, Tony.”
Once we were inside Nature’s Way, we put the dogs down and they scampered around, checking out the smells in the store. I went over to the checkout counter. Someone had pulled everything off the shelves beneath the register. “This is a mess.” It felt invasive that someone had done this, without any concern for how it would make me feel.
Tony gave me a sympathetic look. “So is your office, I’m afraid.”
The office had indeed been ransacked. The desk drawers were open and askew, papers were scattered on the desktop and all over the floor. Books had been pulled from the shelves and the cushions had been removed from the couch and ripped open; stuffing was everywhere.
My space had been invaded, and it would take hours to make it right. It felt like the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t let it. Still, my hands began to tremble again.
Jackson stuck his head in the door. “You don’t even want to see the third floor. As far as I can tell, nothing’s missing. Unfortunately, the bedroom’s a disaster.” Seeing that I was upset, he pulled me into a hug. “But, listen, Willow, it’s going to be okay. We’ll fix it.”
“I’m just glad that the animals are safe,” I murmured into his shoulder. I lifted my head up and looked at him. “Are you sure that Ginkgo and Ginger are really all right?”
“They’re fine. They were sleeping on the beds in Allie and Hector’s old place. But their offices and your bedroom are a wreck. Whoever broke in really wanted to find that stuff.”
“I hate this,” I said. “I hate having the store—and my home—violated this way. I have to start cleaning up or at least putting things back in their places.”
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