by Amy M. Reade
“But it wasn’t a tragic accident, Macy. Someone killed him. I know it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The voices that I heard. Whoever was talking to him killed him. I know because I asked everyone later who had been talking to him before he died, and no one admitted to having been on the balcony with him.” She looked at me imploringly. “Who could possibly have wanted to kill my Forrest?”
I wasn’t convinced that Alex was remembering the events of that day correctly. “Alex, the police investigated and ruled Forrest’s death an accident, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they did, but I never told them about the voices that I had heard.”
“Why not?”
“Because everyone else believed that he had fallen down those stairs. After all, he was getting on in years and going up or down those balcony stairs could have caused him to fall. Everyone else said that I must have been imagining things when I heard those voices. They said maybe I was hearing the wind in the trees. I started to believe that I was cracking up, that maybe I had actually imagined the voices. And I was afraid for myself. I was afraid that if I did really hear the voices and if I said something to the police whoever killed Forrest would kill me, too.”
“So what happened that you weren’t able to sleep tonight?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Alex acknowledged. “It’s just started to bother me again. I think I pushed my fears to the back of my mind when nothing happened to me or anyone else following Forrest’s death. But now you’re here. And you are part of this family. I’ve been thinking a lot about my family since your arrival, and I’ve gone back over the events of that awful day again and again. And I’m sure that Forrest didn’t die accidentally. He was killed. And I needed to talk to someone about it. I’m glad you found me in here, Macy. I think Forrest would have wanted you to be the one I talked to.”
“What can I do to help you?”
“You need to help me find out who killed Forrest.”
I stared at Alex in shock. “Alex, how on earth am I going to do that? I’m a nurse, not a detective.”
“That’s what makes you the perfect person to help me,” Alex urged. “You won’t arouse suspicion if you ask questions. Everyone will just think you’re curious.”
“Alex, I’m already public enemy number one around here. Who’s going to answer any questions I may have?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll think of something.”
“Alex, this comes too closely on the heels of your big announcement that Diana was my mother. I don’t know how to deal with that yet. I don’t even know that I’ll be staying here.”
Alex looked at me with pleading in her eyes. “Please help me, Macy. I don’t know who else to ask.”
“How about Stephan? Or Will? Or even Pete?”
“I can’t ask Stephan. That would hurt him too much. He was so close to Forrest. I can’t ask Will because Will won’t believe anything I say about my fears. He will refuse to believe that Forrest was killed. And I don’t think it’s fair to ask Pete. He’s a very private man. He doesn’t want to be dragged into all of this.”
I didn’t want to be dragged into all of this, either.
Confused thoughts raced and tumbled around in my head. Was it even possible that someone had killed Forrest? The very thought was horrifying. Who could have done it? If indeed he had been murdered, the perpetrator must have been someone on the island. Pete? The very idea was unthinkable. I could not imagine Pete having committed such a heinous act. Will? I didn’t like Will and I didn’t believe he was above using violence, but he wouldn’t have killed his own uncle. What about Stephan? He wouldn’t have done it—Forrest was his good friend. Vali? Leland? What reason could they possibly have had? Brandt or Giselle? Neither of them had any reason to kill him.
I changed the subject. “I want you to get some sleep. Would you please do that? You might be able to sleep better now that you’ve gotten all of this off your chest.”
She nodded. “I think you’re right, Macy. I think I will be able to sleep now.”
She snapped off one of the lamps nearby and turned to go. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Good night, Alex.”
After she left the library, I flopped down in the chair where she had been sitting. I didn’t know what to do now. My first thought was of the letter I had written but not yet mailed to the nursing agency. Maybe I should stay. Or maybe it would be best for me to leave this place.
But what about the things Alex had told me tonight? I wasn’t sure Alex was right, but I couldn’t be sure she was wrong, either. What if someone had killed Forrest? That meant there was a killer somewhere out there. The very thought of it sent chills down my spine.
I wanted to get up to my room as quickly as I could. I grabbed the first book I saw on the closest shelf and ran lightly upstairs. I doubted I could concentrate on a single word of it, but I knew for sure that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
I was right. On both counts. I wasn’t able to concentrate on the book and I didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night. I finally got out of bed at around five o’clock the next morning, tired and wound up like a spring. I forced myself to shower and dress slowly before I went downstairs for breakfast. Vali still wasn’t around, so I had the dining room and kitchen to myself.
After breakfast, I wandered into the living room again to look at the portrait of Forrest. Something about that portrait drew me to it.
“What happened to you?” I asked softly. “I wish you could talk to me.”
I went to the library to wait until Alex awoke, working halfheartedly on my new cataloging system for the books, then finally went in to see Alex at about six thirty. She was up, dressed in comfortable clothes, and ready to do her exercises.
“How did you sleep last night?” I asked her while we were working.
“Quite well, after I spoke to you. Have you thought any more about what I said?”
“How could I not think about what you said?”
“I mean, have you made any decisions yet?”
“No, Alex, I haven’t. You’ve thrown a lot at me the last few days. I need some time to think and to sort it all out.”
“Are you going over to Heart Island with Pete today?”
“Yes. And thank you for arranging it.”
“You’re welcome. I thought you could use the rest of the day off. I won’t spoil the story of Heart Island before you get there. It’s something you have to experience for yourself.”
We worked for longer than usual on Alex’s exercises. She seemed eager to move forward and I wanted to see how much she was capable of doing before getting too tired. She did quite well and we were both pleased with her progress.
I left her with a promise to check in on her when I returned from Heart Island and then went upstairs for a warm coat and gloves.
I took my time wandering down to the boathouse. I was still feeling anxious about my conversation last night with Alex and I was jittery about going on the boat this morning, so I thought taking a leisurely walk might help me clear my mind and de-stress.
It was a chilly day, and I was glad I had worn warm clothes, since the boat ride would be even colder. The crisp, clear air was good for my frame of mind as I walked, though, and I arrived at the boathouse by ten thirty calmer than when I had walked out the front door of Summerplace. I looked forward to spending the day with Pete and I hoped to put some of my worries out of my mind, at least for the day. Maybe I could even talk to Pete about the happenings of the past few days. He might have some grounded advice for me.
When I reached the boathouse, Pete was loading a basket into one of the boats. He greeted me with a smile and asked, “Ready?” I nodded and offered to help load the boat.
“We’re only taking the lunch basket, and that’s already packed. Hop in and we’ll get going.”
I stepped gingerly into the boat and sat up front. Without a word he handed me a life jacket, for which I was gr
ateful.
“You ever going to learn how to swim?” he asked, grinning.
“Maybe,” I replied noncommittally. The thought of me floundering in the water learning how to swim was not how I wanted this excursion to begin. I changed the subject quickly.
“How long does it take to get to Heart Island?”
“We should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“There are a lot of things that make Heart Island special,” Pete said. “I want you to see it first; then I’ll tell you all about it.”
Now I couldn’t wait to get there. Even my apprehension about the boat ride wasn’t enough to dampen my excitement about seeing it.
We pulled away from the boathouse and navigated into the channel. Once in deeper water, Pete opened the throttle and we started moving faster. He looked over at me and raised his voice above the rushing wind.
“Do you mind this?”
Gripping the sides of my seat, I sat perfectly still and must have looked pathetic. Pete laughed and slowed the boat down a little. “I’m sorry. I was just anxious to get away from Hallstead Island for a while. I promise to go slower.”
“Thank you,” I squeaked.
As the boat cut through the waves to our destination, I asked Pete to tell me a little more about the history of the Thousand Islands region. He was happy to oblige, since this appeared to be his favorite topic.
“After the War of 1812, a man by the name of Colonel Elisha Camp acquired the American islands. He then sold the islands to a man named Mr. Walton for the sum of $3,000. Can you believe that? Now just one island can sell for millions.”
“You mentioned that some big tycoons had owned islands around here.”
“George Pullman, who invented the Pullman sleeper car for railroad travel, built an amazing home that he called Castle Rest. It was an incredible piece of architecture and it’s what put the Thousand Islands on the map, so to speak. Pullman was good friends with President Grant, who came up here on a well-publicized trip. The whole area exploded in growth after that.”
“Where is Castle Rest?”
“It’s not far from here, but the main building was dynamited after World War II for tax reasons. There are a few smaller structures that still remain on the island, but the real showplace is gone.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame.”
We passed by a boat. Two elderly men sat dangling their fishing poles in the water. Pete waved. They looked up at us and waved back, smiling.
“That’s part of what I love about this place,” he said.
“What?”
“Even perfect strangers become familiar out on the water. Do strangers in the big city wave to you?”
“Not usually,” I responded dryly.
“It’s just part of the culture here.”
“Do you fish?” I asked.
“All self-respecting river rats fish,” Pete answered with a wide smile.
“What’s a river rat?”
“It’s a term used to describe people from the river. It was originally meant to be derogatory and some people think it’s offensive, but I’m proud to be one.”
“I can see that.”
“The fishing-guide business got started in these islands when a New York Times reporter came up here and wrote about his fishing excursions. More and more people started coming to fish. Every guide has a secret fishing spot, and you can catch anything from perch to muskie.”
I nodded, without the faintest idea of what a muskie was.
“That’s a big fish,” he said, as if having read my mind. “Usually fishing guides bring their customers out here and they fish all day and then everyone gets treated to a shore dinner at night.”
“What’s a shore dinner?”
“The traditional shore dinner has three specialties, besides the fish. Boiled coffee, a BLT made with rendered fatback melted over the fire, for deep-frying the fish, and Thousand Islands Guide French toast.”
I made a face. “It sounds awful.”
“There’s nothing better. The French toast is the best part. The guide deep-fries bread real quickly then serves it with heavy cream, maple syrup, and a shot of bourbon. We’ll have to make sure you have a shore dinner sometime.”
“I’ll try anything once.”
We rode in silence for several minutes, enjoying the view. It wasn’t long before Pete pointed to an island in the distance.
“There’s Heart Island,” he said proudly.
I sat up a little straighter in my seat and craned my neck to get my first glimpse of the island I’d been waiting all morning to see.
I saw the scarlet-roofed towers first. Several of them stood above the line of trees, regal and lofty. On many of them I could see ornate spires stretching skyward, and as the boat drew closer, I could see turrets and chimneys protruding from the gracefully steep rooflines.
“What am I looking at?” I asked in wonder.
“You’re looking at Boldt Castle. That’s what we came to see.”
Pete slowed the boat considerably as we approached the island. As we rounded the end of Heart Island and slipped out of the channel, I could better see the magnificent form of the imposing castle above me. Surrounded by sloping lawns and manicured formal gardens, the castle, made of stone and standing several stories tall, was the very picture of grandeur. Its many windows glinted in the morning sunlight.
As the boat continued around the island, I took my eyes off the castle long enough to notice that there were several smaller buildings as well. Just like the castle, each one was a work of art, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the boat and go exploring.
Pete pulled the boat up to a long dock along one side of the island and hopped out. While he secured the boat, I got out and stood on the dock to wait for him. There was one other boat tied up at the dock, but I didn’t see anyone else around.
Pete stood up and nodded toward the other boat. “That’s Emery’s boat,” he stated. “Emery is the caretaker. He should be here to meet us any minute.”
“Tell me about this place,” I urged him.
He laughed. “I know the basics of the story of this island and the castle, but Emery knows everything. Plus, he’s a much better storyteller than I am. I’d wait for him if I were you.”
He beckoned me to one end of the dock and pointed across the water to where a huge, beautiful boathouse stood. Its enormous doors were closed. “That boathouse goes with this island. The man who had this castle built kept lots of boats over there.”
Just then we heard footsteps behind us. A tall, thin man was walking toward us, smiling. When he reached us, he extended his hand to Pete.
“Good to see you, Pete. How’ve you been?”
“Great, Emery, thanks. I’d like you to meet Macy Stoddard, Alex’s new nurse. Alex wanted me to bring Macy over here today and show her one of the river’s greatest treasures.”
Emery turned toward me and shook my hand. “Glad you could visit, Macy. I think you’ll like Boldt Castle.”
I grinned. “I like what I’ve seen so far,” I told him eagerly.
“How’s Alex doing?” Emery asked us.
Pete answered first. “She’s doing all right. It’s slow going, though, after hip surgery.” He nodded at me. “Macy is the best person to ask.”
I spoke up. “Alex is remarkable. She’s recovering nicely, considering her age and the surgery she had. I think she wishes she were getting better even more quickly, but she amazes me with her drive.”
“Alex is remarkable, no doubt about that,” Emery agreed affably. “Tell her I’ve been thinking about her and wishing her well.”
I smiled at him. “I’ll do that.”
“Shall we have a look around?” Emery asked.
Pete nodded, smiling, and answered, “I told Macy that you’re the storyteller around here, and I think she’s anxious to hear about Boldt Castle.”
“I am,” I agreed.
Along one side of the dock
was a low, narrow, rustic building with several doors. Signs indicated what could be found behind each door: an office, a ticket booth, a snack stand, and a gift shop. Emery led the way through the small office, nodding to the ticket booth nearby. “We’re closed this time of year, but during the high season we get quite a few folks through here to see the place.” We exited the office and walked up a sloping sidewalk toward the immense castle.
“First let me tell you a little about Heart Island,” Emery began. “It wasn’t always called Heart Island, you know. It used to be known as Hemlock Island until it was sold to a Mr. Hart in 1871. He then renamed it ‘H-A-R-T’ Island. The island changed hands yet again before being sold to the Boldts, but its name remained the same. When Mr. Boldt became the owner, he brought in materials to change the physical shape of the island to vaguely resemble a heart. He then changed the spelling to ‘H-E-A-R-T’ Island, a name which obviously has stood the test of time. I’ll tell you more about the Boldts very soon.
“When Mr. Hart owned the island, he had a beautiful summer home built here. It still stood on the island when it was sold to the Boldts.” Emery turned to me. “What do you think happened to the house?”
“Did it burn down?” I guessed.
“Nope. Believe it or not, in the dead of winter in 1899, when the river was frozen solid, the house was slid across the ice to Wellesley Island, where it was re-designed and used for many years as a golf clubhouse.”
“I didn’t know that,” Pete remarked in amazement.
“True story,” Emery said.
“So what happened when the Boldts bought the property?” I asked.
“The story of what happened to this island once the Boldts became her owners is one of the greatest love stories ever told,” Emery answered.
“George C. Boldt was a Prussian-born immigrant who worked very hard to eventually become an important figure in New York City around the turn of the twentieth century. He managed the most luxurious hotel of the age, the Waldorf-Astoria. He also managed a grand hotel in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and was a trustee of a world-class university, among other accomplishments.