by J A Whiting
Lin scowled knowing very well that Jeff’s suggestion was a viable, but unfortunate reason.
“What if Elise saw something going on that shouldn’t have been and she was killed to keep her quiet.”
“Like what?” Lin asked.
Jeff shrugged. “Something illegal? Tampering with the silk products by adding a cheaper thread to the weaving? Cheating the owners in some way? Skimming money from the profits?”
A flush of nervousness raced through Lin’s body. “Those are good ideas. I think you’re on to something. But how will we ever find out? If the person wasn’t caught for wrongdoing and reported on, then the information is lost.”
Jeff said, “And killing Elise would have accomplished the killer’s objective. Get rid of the witness and the wrongdoing continues.”
“It’s horrible to even consider. Some monster takes a life to advance his cheating or stealing or whatever his aim was.”
“It’s not an uncommon event.” Jeff’s face showed disgust.
Anton bustled around the bookshelves carrying a briefcase, scanned the café section, spotted Lin and Jeff, and hurried over to join them.
“Why don’t you answer your phone?” Anton asked. “I texted twice. Finally, I got in touch with Viv and she said you were here.” The historian picked up a paper napkin and dabbed at his forehead. “It’s still so warm outside.”
Lin checked her phone to discover the ringer was off.
“You look like a man in a hurry,” Jeff said with a smile.
“I am.” Anton unsnapped his briefcase, removed a bunch of papers, and placed them on the table. “I was working in the library all day and suddenly I remembered something. I am in contact with many, many other historians all over the world and we share information. I have a scholar-friend who lives in Connecticut. In his research, he discovered a trove of old letters to a man who lived in the state in the mid 1800s. Charles Frank was his name. My friend scanned some of the letters for me because they were correspondence between Charles Frank and a man in Nantucket.” Anton glanced over at the café counter. “I must get a cup of tea.”
Jeff stood. “I’ll get it for you.”
Lin looked at Anton. “What about the letters?”
“I completely forgot I had the scans of those letters, but for some reason, the thought came to me today while I was researching something else.”
Lin asked again. “What about the letters?”
“There are some letters from a man from Nantucket. The year was 1842.” Anton paused to look through his briefcase.
“Anton, would you please tell me what this about?”
“The man was Vernon Willard.”
Lin’s heart pounded double-time.
“In the letters, he discusses his business interests. He mentions the silk factory and the very fortunate position he has obtained there. Very fortunate were his words. He talks about the silk production in glowing terms, how profitable the business is. A few months later in a subsequent letter, Mr. Willard mentions that things are taking a turn for the worse at the factory, profits are falling, however, his own situation is improving. Again, I’m quoting his words.”
“What does it mean?” Lin asked.
Jeff returned with the tea and set it in front of Anton.
Anton leaned forward with a conspiratorial look on his face. “I believe Mr. Vernon Willard was stealing from the factory.”
The historian’s next comments were lost on Lin as her ears buzzed. She felt light-headed and gripped the edge of her seat.
“It would take many hours of research to confirm my suspicions,” Anton explained, “and I might never be able to find documentation to back up my theory. However, I’ve been doing this for a long time and have seen similar language in letters and documentation coded to hide the facts of theft, but to allude to self-serving illegal activity.”
Jeff said, “The factory failed a few years later. It probably wasn’t helped by Vernon Willard stealing profits.”
“The mulberry trees did not do well on-island,” Anton said. “The factory was destined to fail eventually since the silk worms required the mulberry trees. I suspect Mr. Willard hastened the inevitable by diverting some of the profits to his own bank account.”
Lin’s vision dimmed. And Elise found out what Vernon Willard was doing and he murdered her to keep her silent.
19
Wearing her sleep shirt and shorts and with her hair up in a ponytail, Lin sat at her desk in the cottage’s guest room that she used for an office when she had some programming work to do for a company on the mainland. It was past midnight and Nicky was sound asleep in the corner.
She’d been thinking about Vernon Willard since she’d left Viv’s bookstore earlier in the evening. The man may have been stealing from the factory, squirreling away money and padding his own bank account with it. From Anton’s research, they’d discovered information that Willard was unscrupulous in business … in other words, probably a cheat and a thief.
If Elise found out Willard was stealing and was about to report it or confront the financial officer about his deeds, he may have done something to silence her, forever.
Walking home from Viv’s store, an idea formed that made Lin’s heart race. What if Vernon Willard killed Elise and buried her on his acres of property on upper Main Street?
Lin had been hunched over her laptop for an hour going through old land records of Nantucket, Massachusetts and had finally found an entry for a building permit for Willard’s house on Main Street. She blinked and stared at the screen.
Vernon Willard received the permit to build on June 18, 1844.
Elise went missing in September, 1843, a year before Willard built his house.
Lin’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Elise couldn’t be buried on Willard’s property … he didn’t own the place until a year later.
Picking up her phone, she texted Anton asking if there was any way he could find out where Mr. Willard lived while working at the factory before moving into his new house.
With a sigh, she searched the records for the purchase of homes on the island by the silk factory manager, Leland Cane, and by his assistant, Daniel Butler. In fifteen minutes, Lin found what she was looking for, the addresses for where the men lived when they were employed at the factory.
As she crawled into her bed, Nicky circled three times and then curled up on his cushion in the corner of the room.
At four in the morning, Lin woke from a loud noise and a chill in the room. Sitting up, she saw Nicky standing next to his doggy bed sniffing the air.
Even though her nerves were on high alert, she managed to stay perfectly still, listening.
The house was quiet. “It must have been some kids making noise as they walked past the house or a car with a rough-running engine,” Lin told the dog. When she got out of bed to turn off the air conditioning unit, she hesitated and slowly turned around in the dark room expecting to see that Elise was the cause of the cold air, but no spirit was present.
Taking a peek out of each of the bedroom windows, Lin saw the neighbor’s house, dark and quiet, and the empty road, and satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary, she got back into bed and pulled up the blanket.
After work, Lin showered and changed and then headed out with Nicky walking along the road ahead of her. They followed the lane to Mill Street and, passing well-tended cottages and larger homes with wide lawns and gardens, the young woman and her dog took two more turns before reaching Tangerine Street.
Walking past four or five homes, Lin found the number she was looking for … a three-story, gray shingled home with window boxes overflowing with pink and blue flowers and a row of blooming hydrangeas in front. In the 1840s, this had been the home of the silk factory’s manager, Leland Cane.
To the right of the house, a brick walkway ran under a white arbor leading to the rear of the property. Lin got a peek of the lush lawn, stone patio, green hedges, and flower beds.
Did this man ki
ll you, Elise? Was it Leland Cane who took your life? Did he bury you at the back of his property?
Lin crossed to the other side of the road and waited, pretending to read messages on her phone, but really hoping that Elise would appear.
“Where is she, Nick?” Lin asked. The dog sat next to her leg watching a bird in the tree.
Time passed and the ghost did not make an appearance. Nicky looked up at his owner and whined.
“Okay. Maybe this house has nothing to do with where Elise is buried. Let’s go to the next one.”
Lin and the dog made their way to West Dover Street, found the house where the assistant factory manager, Daniel Butler, had lived in the 1840s, and repeated what they’d done at the last home.
She looked down at Nicky who sat lazily at the side of the road glancing around at any movement or sound, someone walking, a squirrel scurrying up the trunk of a tree, a child’s laughter.
“Where is Elise, Nick? Will she show up? Was she buried here or is this the wrong place, too?”
After waiting a little longer, Lin decided to move on not wanting to attract the attention of someone who would wonder why she was hanging around the neighborhood.
If Lin found the place Elise was buried, would the ghost show up there? Was she expecting more from Elise than what the spirit was capable of doing? Lin let out a heavy sigh. How would she figure this out? Elise could be buried anywhere on the almost forty-eight square miles of island land.
Deciding to head into town to see Viv at the bookstore, Lin heard her phone buzz and saw a text from Anton. He’d looked through some online historical information created from an old ledger he’d used previously to find where and when certain people had lived on the island.
His text gave Lin an address on Fair Street. Anton discovered that Vernon Willard had rented a home there while working at the silk factory. Part of the dates are obscured on the document he informed Lin, but Willard rented the house for at least part of the time leading up to building his place on upper Main Street.
With new hope and a spring in her step, Lin hurried to the address Anton had sent her. The gray shingled building consisted of three stories, had white shutters next to each window and a shiny black door at the front of the house. Behind the building, Lin spied a bit of grass and a brick patio.
Is this where your bones are buried, Elise? Lin thought. Is your body here? Did Vernon Willard kill you and bury you behind this house he was renting?
Lin waited to feel the cold air surround her, but nothing happened. No icy breeze. No spirit.
With a heavy heart and a feeling that she’d failed her ghost, Lin decided to go home.
She fed the dog and then made spaghetti and a pasta sauce, took it outside to the deck, and ate at the teak table alone with her thoughts. In two days, she and Viv planned to take the ferry to the mainland and hop on a bus to Boston where they hoped to see Sofia Rizzo. They’d both agreed not to confront the woman about her relationship with Warren Topper, but only visit the law firm where she worked to try and talk to her about real estate investing. Knowing the woman might not have time to speak with them, they wanted to give it a try anyway.
The sky darkened and the lights for the deck came on and illuminated the space. A chill came over her and made her shiver, and for a few seconds, Lin attributed the coolness to the night air … and then knew better. She looked around the deck and the patio and then saw the reason for the cold.
Nicky whined and thumped his tail against the deck floor.
Beyond the stone wall, Sebastian Coffin stood in the field on the far side of the patio. Lin jumped up and walked to the edge of the deck.
Her ancestor from long ago, stood still, his eyes connecting with hers and the sensation of cold disappeared.
Lin heard the doorbell ring and the dog let out a loud bark.
Sebastian stared at her, and then deliberately shook his head back and forth before slowly fading away.
Turning to go inside the house to answer the door, Lin stopped short. Something’s wrong.
Hurrying into the living room with the dog at her heels, she sidled up to the window and looked out to see who was at her front door.
The porch light lit up the steps. No one was there.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to the dog.
Lin unlocked the door, put her hand on the knob, turned it, and opened the door.
Nicky growled and then barked.
Looking down at the stoop, Lin saw the package. She slammed the door, rushed to the kitchen for her phone, and placed an emergency call to the police.
Shortly after the police showed up, Jeff and Viv arrived wearing expressions of alarm.
“What happened?” Jeff hugged his girlfriend.
Lin told them about the package on the stoop. “The officers said there was a container of rat poison inside and whoever left it wasn’t trying to poison me, but either wanted to send a warning or was playing a prank.”
“A prank?” Viv said with a loud voice. “I don’t think so. I think it’s a warning to back off the case.”
“I agree.” Jeff nodded.
“I would be inclined to think it was a prank,” Lin said. “Except that I had a visitor a few moments before the bell rang.”
“Elise?” Viv asked.
“Sebastian. He looked me in the eye and when the doorbell rang, he shook his head. I knew it was a message to be cautious. That’s why I called the police when I saw the box, otherwise I would have picked it up and brought it inside. I was afraid it might be a bomb.”
Viv said, “Sebastian might also have been warning you against the person who delivered the poison to your door. Too bad you don’t have a surveillance camera on the front of the house.”
Lin made tea and the three sat together discussing the situation until the late hour sent Viv and Jeff home. Before leaving, they both invited Lin to come and stay with them, but she declined saying she didn’t believe she was in danger.
Hugging Viv goodbye, Lin told her cousin, “Keep your eyes open. We both need to be careful.”
20
The Middle Moors of Nantucket island comprised over three thousand acres of open, undeveloped protected space and was made up of three main sections, Altar Rock, the Serengeti, and Pout Ponds. On the western end of the moors, the Pout Ponds area consisted of kettle ponds that Native Americans believed were footprints of a giant that had filled with water to make the ponds.
To the south, the four hundred acres of the Serengeti resembled a large plain of low-growing brush and vegetation along with a few trees. From the Milestone Road, the wooden cutouts of gazelle, lions, and zebras that people had placed in the fields could be seen grazing in the grasses.
One of the highest elevations on the island, Altar Rock provided gorgeous views of the harbor, the village of ‘Sconset, two lighthouses, and the moorlands.
With miles and miles of dirt roads, paths, and bike trails, the moors was a popular place for dog walkers, hikers, and bikers, and Lin and Jeff loved to bike and walk in the area for the beauty and peacefulness of the space.
The sun was lower in the sky and the early evening temperature was pleasantly cooler than the day had been. The young couple rode their bikes to the moors and after locking them, headed along the sandy paths to Altar Rock to admire the views.
“I love it here,” Lin told her boyfriend. “I’m glad you were finished with work for the day so we could hike a little. I need to clear my head.”
“I’ve always loved the moors,” Jeff said. “There’s something almost spiritual about this area. I can feel any tension or stress just drop away when I’m out here.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Elise,” Lin said. “Even if we find her bones, we’ll never know how she was killed or who did it. From what Anton told us, I bet the killer is Vernon Willard. Historical accounts mention the man’s unscrupulous nature and the underhanded ways he built his fortune. He’ll never be punished for his evil deeds. Elise can’t cross over. H
er spirit has stayed in the inn building for almost two hundred years. It makes me so sad.”
Jeff took her hand. “Elise has finally found someone who can see her. I know the innkeepers catch glimpses of her, but it’s not the same way you see her. It must be a comfort and a relief. I don’t think it matters to Elise that her killer won’t be brought to justice. I think what matters is for one person to know that her life was taken, for one person to know what happened to her even if the details can’t be realized, for one person who will search for her bones.” Jeff squeezed Lin’s hand. “That person is you.”
Lin stopped walking and turned to her boyfriend.
“You and your ability to help ghosts … you’re a blessing, Lin Coffin.”
Wrapping Jeff in her arms, Lin rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for that,” she whispered. “I needed it more than you know.”
When they returned from their hike, Lin and Jeff walked down to the docks to visit with Viv and John on his boat. The lights twinkled off the water and a soft breeze gently moved the warm air around them.
John lit some candles and brought out drinks and munchies and the four of them sat around chatting and watching the people walk along the docks past the boats.
“I got a new listing today,” John told his companions with excitement in his voice. “And it’s going to be a monster commission for me when it sells.”
“Where is it,” Jeff asked. “Which house?”
“It’s on upper Main Street. A fabulous house with five acres of land.”
Lin sat up. “Who owns it?”
“You know that guy who was poisoned? His wife, Maggie Topper. She wants to sell the place. She told me she’s had enough of the island. She can’t stay here with the awful memory of her husband’s murder.”
“You’re kidding me,” Viv said. “She’s selling?”
“Do you know her?” John looked surprised.
Lin said, “Maggie seemed like she was devoted to that house. Her ancestor had the place built nearly two hundred years ago. She seemed so connected to the property. I can’t believe it.”