by Karen Kelly
She was a woman ready to follow the clues to the end.
20
“I always feel like a corporate spy when I eat at another diner,” Peggy whispered, as Ian handed her a Sea Rose Diner menu across the table.
“Try not to look too guilty,” Alice whispered back. “They have a surveillance camera, and they might think you’re up to something.” She gestured across the room behind the long counter, where the camera was hanging down from the ceiling.
“We are up to something.” Ian indicated his menu. “Lunch.” He opened the menu to the lunch pages. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the aroma of cooking rolled over me when we came through the door.”
“Rather like entering The Cup & Saucer,” said Annie. She lifted her menu a little closer, scrunching her eyes at it. “Except there’s no peanut butter and bacon sandwich on the menu. Ew! No offense, Peggy, but that sounds like something John would want to try.”
“Ah, the salty-sweet combination.” Peggy nodded like a sage pontificating on the meaning of life. “Trust me, I’ve seen stranger combinations.”
Annie put a hand up, chuckling. “Please don’t tell me until well after I’ve eaten.” She went back to reading the menu.
“Is anybody willing to split a lobster roll with me?” asked Alice.
“I might,” said Annie, still looking over the rest of the menu. “It’s been a while since I’ve had lobster, which is rather sad considering where I live.”
Peggy closed her menu. “Haddock sandwich for me. I hear they have a decent haddock chowder here. Don’t think it could top Marie’s, but one day I want to try it.”
“A friend of mine on the town council has raved about the fried clams.” Ian closed his menu and tucked it and Peggy’s back behind the napkin dispenser. “I’m going to see if I agree with him.”
“Good thing we’re doing plenty of walking after lunch!” While everyone was agreeing with Alice’s quip, a waitress bustled up to the table.
“Hi, welcome to The Sea Rose,” she greeted them with a friendly grin and merry gray eyes. “I’m Jodie. What can I get for you today?”
Alice nudged Annie, “Did you decide yet?”
“Yes, I have,” Annie flipped to the back page to look at the drink menu. “Oh, and they have hazelnut coffee.”
“We’re going to share a lobster roll,” Alice told Jodie. “But we each want our own cup of hazelnut coffee.”
Jodie’s grin widened. “One of those demanding types, eh?”
“You have no idea,” Peggy snickered. “I have to serve them all the time at The Cup & Saucer.”
“You’re from Stony Point?” the waitress asked. “Marie makes a wicked fish chowder. We’re not sad she’s an hour away from us. What can I get you?”
“The fried haddock sandwich and a root beer.” Peggy gestured at Ian with a spark of pride. “And this is our mayor, Ian Butler.”
“What can I get you, Mayor Butler?”
“The fried clams and coffee.”
“Regular or hazelnut?”
“Regular will do, thanks.”
“Drinks coming right up,” Jodie said, before nodding to a pair of men who greeted her as they entered the diner.
Annie gazed out the large window toward a wharf. “What did you think of the Star Match Company?”
“It kinda creeped me out.” Peggy fanned her fingers on the table in front of her, each one a festive red with tiny holly leaves. “The smoke stack from the factory was still there, but all the cheery colors of the different sections of the building and the fancy signs of each office or studio just …” Her hands lifted and slapped down on the surface of the table. “I don’t know how to explain it!”
Ian pulled out his phone to tap something into the browser. “The contrast between the danger and horribly skimpy wages the original employees faced and the yuppy ventures now occupying the space is hard to ignore. It is unsettling, Peggy.” He waited for a website to fully load and handed the phone to her.
Peggy peered at the old picture of the factory Ian had found. “I’ve known since I was a girl that the old building was built as a match factory,” she said, “but I never thought about it being so dangerous.” She passed the phone across the table to Alice.
“Like it says under the photo, instead of making the factory safer, they built it outside of Old Port so it wouldn’t destroy too much if it blew up.” Alice frowned. “So much for the ‘good old days.’” She held the phone out for Annie to take.
Taking the phone, Annie looked at it in silence for a while. “I also felt what all of you are saying. But I also see the change as being a type of redemption for the building. A positive transformation, really. Besides the fact that it’s almost a miracle the building didn’t eventually explode during its time as the match factory, we can almost view it as a living reminder that enterprise is not worth the wasting of human life.”
“As long as we don’t forget about those people, like Gilda,” said Peggy. “And those who worked there even longer than she did.” She hunched her shoulders. “The thought makes me so thankful I’m a waitress!”
Annie smiled at her younger friend. “It’s not surprising the Bible tells us again and again to remember, is it? Because human nature doesn’t often want to acknowledge consequences for actions, even when greed or selfishness has been proven over and over to not result in lasting happiness.” She handed the phone back to Ian.
“Makes me appreciate the work of the Historical Society even more,” said Ian, slipping the phone into his pocket. “They’re not hiding the less savory elements of Maine history.”
“Well, except maybe Mr. Gerrish,” added Peggy. “But, you’re right, Annie. We need to be reminded to remember.”
Jodie delivered their drinks. Annie leaned over her mug of coffee and drew in a deep sniff. “Mmmm, I love the aroma of hazelnut.”
Alice took a sip. “Tastes pretty good too.” She glanced at Peggy. “But not better than Peggy’s coffee back at The Cup & Saucer.”
While waiting for their food, the four discussed the other places they would be looking for. They decided there was no need to go to the courthouse, since it was doubtful they would find anything pertaining to the trial they didn’t already know from the court transcripts.
“Do you suppose we could find someone who’s been around the docks a long time and knows its history?” Annie asked. “Maybe they would know where the ship was destroyed.”
“Then we could compare it to the notations and see if it matches anything,” said Alice. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Yes, it is.” Annie’s hand paused, holding her mug in midair. “Similar methods have helped us before.”
“This diner is a hub for locals,” said Ian. “When Jodie brings our lunch, let’s ask her if she knows someone who could help us.”
Peggy looked around the room at the other customers. “I’d guess at least eighty percent of the people here are locals this time of year. Our expert might be right here munching on scallops. Wouldn’t that be convenient?” Just like at The Cup & Saucer, there was an interesting mix of people at the booths and counter.
When Jodie returned to place their lunches in front of them, Ian asked her if she knew of any local historians around the docks.
“You’d want to talk to Lyman Joyce, then,” she answered immediately. “His news and tobacco shop is right down Commercial near Union Wharf.” She jerked her thumb to the left. “What he doesn’t know about the docks isn’t worth knowing. You just missed him; he was here ’bout forty-five minutes ago.”
The four dug into their fresh seafood meals, eager to track down Lyman Joyce, but not so eager as to put them off their enjoyment of the diner’s cooking.
Refueled, they bundled into their coats and struck off down Commercial Street toward Union Wharf. A stiff wind had kicked up while they had been in The Sea Rose.
“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Texas anymore.” Annie dug into her coat pocket and pulled ou
t some gloves.
“We could go back to the car,” Ian offered, pausing in his stride.
Annie waved off the suggestion. “Oh no! I need this walk after that lobster roll. How can one person eat the whole thing? Sure glad Alice and I could split it.”
“It won’t take long to get to Union Wharf,” said Peggy. “Especially if we’re walking fast enough to keep warm.”
Just as Peggy had said, they soon passed the Port of Portland and then Union Wharf. Looking around, Alice spotted the small shop tucked among lobster businesses, ship chandleries, and a life raft company. “There it is.”
They were greeted with an “Ayuh” by a man with wild gray hair and hazel eyes surrounded by lines from laughter and squinting out onto the water.
“Would you be Lyman Joyce, by any chance?” Ian asked. “Jodie at the diner told us he’d be the one to find for some dock history.”
“Did she now?” The man was standing by a display of magazines, featuring everything from fishing to the arts. “She could be right. I’m Lyman. What were you wanting to know about?”
Annie stepped closer to the display. “One of my kin was a judge here back in the 1920s and 1930s. He presided over a trial involving the sabotage of a Lithuanian ship named Song of Laima. We’re wondering where the ship was docked when it was burned.”
Lyman leaned back against the wood-trimmed counter, the edges worn with age and use. One hand rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “You know when it happened in those decades? Ship burnings aren’t exactly rare in a port town like Portland.”
“Yes, it was March 1929.”
The old man shifted a magazine a couple inches to the left, and then another, to even out a row. “My da’ worked on the docks and his before him. Seems I remember them telling me stories about a ship burning that wasn’t an accident.” He paused in his arranging and moved over to a square cabinet, the open top filled with tins of tobacco. Bending down, he opened the bottom cabinet and reached into the shadows before pulling out a hefty-sized journal, its cover ragged along the sides.
Back at the counter he thumbed through the pages, his fingers showing surprising gentleness. “Seafaring folk are born storytellers. Sometimes it rubs off on the ones who work on the docks and wharves, like my family. We’ve kept a running journal for more than a hundred years.” His page-turning hand slowed; his eyes scanning each page thoroughly. The hand stopped.
“Here.” He lightly tapped the middle of a page. “Song of Laima, carrying wood pulp, torched at Widgery Wharf. Makes sense, that wharf’s been around since the 1700s. It has seen all kinds of shenanigans from midnight molasses siphoning to accidental drownings from people walking right off the end in the dark.”
“Which one is Widgery?” asked Annie.
“Next one over, between here and Dana Street.” Lyman started to close the journal, but opened it again. He peered into Annie’s eyes. “Ya got anything I should add to the journal here?”
Annie immediately liked the shopkeeper and his straightforward manner. But with little proof to back up William Holden’s notations, she couldn’t think of anything she felt ready to share.
“Not at the moment,” she answered. “But I may have something for your journal in the future. I’ll be sure to come by then.”
Lyman gave a short nod, closed the book, and restored it to its cabinet home. “Fair enough.”
After thanking the man for his help, the four headed back out into the chill air filled with the cries of seagulls and sounds of the working waterfront. They continued along Commercial Street, keeping their eyes observant for anything they might find interesting or helpful. When they came to the next wharf, they turned right and walked along it, past towering stacks of lobster cages in yellow, green, red, blue, and silver. The fish houses were just as colorful—royal blue, purple, green, and white with orange or red trim.
“Even in the cold seasons color still abounds,” marveled Annie. “And there’s such an air of the past here. I can almost see Song of Laima docked right over there.”
Alice took her phone out of her pocket to take a photo of a wooden sign hanging on the wall of one of the fish houses, a yellow smiley face with its message: “This changes the way we see everything.”
“Not something I’d expect to see on a fish house.” Annie smiled at the unexpected sentiment.
“Don’t let the exteriors fool you,” said Ian. “Inside most people who earn their livings on the sea beats the heart of a philosopher, sometimes even an optimistic one.” His eyes followed a laughing gull as it landed on the roof of a purple fish house. “My brother Todd isn’t usually one of those,” he added with a grin.
Peggy had been quietly looking around the dock, deep in thought. “Hey, Annie, was there any mention in the trial transcripts about what phase the moon was in on the night the ship was torched?”
Annie thought for a minute. “No, now that you mention it.” She turned to Ian, who was already pulling out his phone.
“March 11, 1929, right?” asked Ian.
“Yes.” The three women gathered closer around the mayor to hear the result of the search.
Ian frowned. “March 11 was a new moon. There would have been no moonlight for the so-called eye witnesses to see Bianco.”
“They could’ve had a lantern,” mused Alice. Everyone looked at her. Throwing her hands up in mock defense, she continued. “I’m not saying the judge was wrong about Hunter and Smith. Just playing the devil’s advocate here.”
“We know, Alice.” Peggy patted her friend’s shoulder. “But, think about it. If the wharf is so dark that people have actually walked off the end of it by accident, how close would Bianco have had to be to the lantern to be seen well enough for the witnesses to truly identify him?”
“On a new-moon night, extremely close,” Ian answered. “And yet the defense attorney never brought that up in the cross-examination?”
Annie shook her head. “Makes you wonder who was paying Bianco’s attorney, doesn’t it?”
“You betcha!” Peggy snorted.
Annie stared out onto the water. “The new moon probably explains why the prosecution relied on three things: the fact that Bianco was a recent immigrant from Italy, that he did not hold a regular job but spent his days at the railroad station waiting for passengers to pay him to carry their bags and packages, and the watch engraved with his last name that was found at the scene of the crime.”
“Do you think they could have gotten away with that today?” asked Peggy.
Ian slid his phone back into his pocket. “I’d like to think they couldn’t. Did they prove Bianco’s guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt? Hardly!”
“Peggy, that was a brilliant question,” said Alice. “I’m even more convinced Bianco was framed.” She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck. “I vote for moving to the next address. It’s getting cold out here on the wharf.”
Annie pulled out her spreadsheet and looked at the notes she’d written on the back. “The next place is 1 India Street.”
“That’s where the Grand Trunk Station used to be,” added Peggy. “The station itself is gone now, but I think the ticket office is still somewhere nearby, if you want to see it.”
Ian consulted the navigation app on his phone. “It’s seven blocks to India Street. Let’s see how Annie’s energy is by the time we reach it before we add more wanderings.”
“I feel fine,” said Annie, “but Ian’s suggestion is probably wise.” The group walked back to Commercial Street and headed toward India Street, discussing how to locate Mr. Gerrish if he didn’t respond to Alice’s message.
“Do we even know his first name?” asked Annie.
Alice and Peggy looked at each other, quizzically. “You know … we don’t,” confessed Alice.
“But his badge did say T. Gerrish,” said Peggy, “so at least we know it starts with a T.”
“That might help, if he has a listed phone number.” Ian paused to look up the phone book on his phone. “Which,
apparently, he does not.”
Alice tried to suppress a sigh, unsuccessfully. “Guess we’re in for one of those lessons on patience.”
By the time they reached India Street, the sun was low enough in the sky to cool the temperature down several degrees. Looking around at their surroundings, Annie tried to picture the young Bianco, spending long hours each day offering his strength to help travelers with their burdens, even as he shouldered his own as a newcomer to a whole new culture and language.
“The winters must have been so hard for him.” Peggy tugged the strings of her hood tighter as the wind gusted. “Trying to keep warm between finding customers. I hope they let him into the station when trains weren’t coming.”
“What I’d like to know is where Bianco lived in relation to both the train station and Widgery wharf,” Alice stated. “If he lived near the wharf, that’s a long cold walk to take after a hard day.”
Annie waved her friends closer. “Do y’all mind being a windbreak for me? I want to look up Bianco’s address in the transcript.”
As interested as she was in the answer, Alice, Peggy, and Ian gathered between her and the wind. She flipped through the pages as fast as her gloved hands would allow. “Ah, here it is: 135 Middle Street.”
Ian’s navigator indicated the address was a couple blocks from where they were standing. “Are you up to it?” he asked Annie after sharing the information.
“A couple of blocks? Sure.” Then she added, “But I won’t say I’m sad we’re planning to drive to the last address.”
Ian looked at Annie, concern in his eyes. “I’d be glad to go get the car so you don’t have to walk all those blocks down Commercial Street. We don’t want to cause a relapse so close to Christmas.”
“That’s for sure,” Peggy agreed.
Annie shook her head, “But we’d just get cold standing here. I’d rather walk. Then you can chauffeur us the rest of the way, Ian.” She looked up at a looming street sign. “Here’s our turn.”