My second stop was the post office. The light was off. I had a feeling Myrtle determined her own hours. I headed back down to the cafe at Brighton Green for a cup of coffee, but the line was halfway out the door. Popular place bright and early on a work day. I crossed the street and headed for the cafe. Of course, I had to walk past Seth’s office. I suppose I could have crossed the street, walked a few yards, and crossed back again, but that seemed absurd.
He looked up and waved, motioning for me to come in.
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“You never disturb me.” He was standing now. “Distract me maybe.” Walking towards me. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you.” I glanced around the room to see if we were alone.
“Don’t worry,” he said, laughing. Then he bent down and kissed me. It was a greeting kiss. The next one wasn’t. It was an I-missed-you kiss. The third one was an I-wish-I-had-stayed-the-night kiss.
It took me a minute to catch my breath. It had been a while since I’d been kissed like that. A very long while.
“So, how’s the investigation going?” he asked, clearing his throat as he spoke.
“Investigation?”
“Remember that?”
I smiled. “It’s coming back. Sam heard from the forensic anthropologist. Male, early thirties. Buried around 1951.”
“This is all beginning to feel a bit creepy.” He leaned back on the edge of his desk. “So, what’s next?”
“I’m going to do some interviews with some of the older people in town. If they’ll talk to me, that is.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“You mean, if they won’t talk to me, maybe they’ll talk to you?”
He tilted his head to the side in acquiescence.
“Not since we’ve been hanging out together. I’m afraid you’re likely to be shunned as well.”
He grinned up at me, his hands moving to my waist as he pulled me closer to him. “It’s worth it.”
I was glad he thought so. “Oh, before I forget, where’s a fax machine in town?”
He nodded toward the other side of the room.
Funny how you don’t notice things when you don’t need them. “Mind if I use it?”
“Of course not. You need to send something?”
“Joe called last night. There’s been an offer on the house in Seattle. He needs to fax it to me.”
“By all means.”
“Mind if I use your phone?”
He scowled at me. “You need to ask?”
“Thanks.” He handed me the portable. After glancing down at my watch, I dialed Joe’s office number. He could be in this early, depending on his case load.
The receptionist rang me through to his desk. “Joe Campbell.”
It took me a moment to process the familiarity of this routine and then to let it go. “Hello, Joe.”
“Jenny! It’s good to hear from you.”
“I’m calling about your message? There’s been an offer on the house?”
“Oh. Yes. It looks like a good one. Nearly full price, short escrow. Do you have a fax number for me?”
“Yes. You can fax it to—”
Seth scribbled the number on a pad of paper and I read it to Joe.
“I have a meeting in a few minutes, then I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s fine. Good-bye, Joe.”
“Jenny—”
“Yes?”
“I miss you.”
I didn’t answer. “I’ll look over the offer and if it looks good to me, I’ll sign it and fax it back to you right away.”
“Okay.”
Our first phone call after a twenty year marriage ended on an okay. I took it symbolically. We would both be okay. Eventually.
“Not too painful?” Seth said when I handed him back the phone.
“No. It was fine.”
He put a finger under my chin and tilted it upward. “Fine?”
I laughed. “It was okay. And now, I’d better let you get back to work. What time does the post office generally open?”
“Whenever Myrtle feels like opening it. She closes it on the dime, but opens it on a whim.”
“Great.”
“Just peek in next door to see how much coffee she has left in her cup. That should give you a hint.”
I took his advice. She was sitting alone, her mug three quarters full. This was better than the post office. I slipped onto the bench facing her.
“Good morning, Myrtle.”
“Jenny! Hello.” She was dressed in her usual attire—dress, wool scarf and coat. I didn’t look under the table, but I suspected there was a pair of tennis tied neatly in place.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Of course, not, dear. But you’re not going to try to make me remember specific dates some fifty years ago, are you?”
I laughed. “No. Just names.” I asked the server to bring me an Americana and shrugged out of my jacket. “I just have one question. Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Alistair Jeffries?”
“Oh, my!”
“I take it that’s a yes?”
“I could never forget that man!”
“Who was he?”
“Oh, he was a dashing young man who came to the island for a few months at a time. He was a gardener, you know. He had the most magical green thumb. He could make a head of broccoli grow twice as big as any I’d ever seen. And oh, my, what he could do with a rose bush!”
“He sounds wonderful.”
“Yes, he was. Charmed every woman on this island, I’d say.”
Judging from the gleam in her eye, Myrtle had not been immune to that charm. She looked as though she were on the verge of swooning. If this was her reaction now to someone she had known fifty years ago, what was it like when he was here, in person? The young women on this island must have had crooked necks, and the young men—there must have been more than one who was overcome with jealousy.
“But he was only here for a few months each year?”
“Yes. If I remember correctly, he came here from Canada but he was from Scotland originally. Still spent a lot of time in Scotland, way up north in a small town where they grew wonderful vegetables.” She came out of her romantic reverie and looked at me.
“So, tell me more, if you would, about Alistair. It sounds as if he turned more than a few heads.”
“Oh, yes, the Pied Piper of Anamcara. It wasn’t just because he was so handsome, mind you. He was different. So gentle. He loved animals. I even saw a bird land on his shoulder one time, a wild bird. Can you imagine? And the way he cared for the gardens on this island— We were all so sad when he left and never came back.”
“Did he go back to Scotland or to Canada?”
“No one seems to know. One day he just up and vanished. No one even saw him leave.”
“Not even Ned?”
“Goodness, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone thought to ask.”
“Or was there a different ferry pilot back then?”
“If it wasn’t Ned, it was Ned.”
“Excuse me?”
“If it wasn’t this Ned, it was the other Ned.”
I took a wild guess. “This Ned’s father?”
“Exactly.”
“Is he still living?”
“Oh, no, he left us some years ago.” She neatly folded her napkin and set it beside her cup.
“You know the gossip column in the newspaper? Do you believe the rumors about my aunt, Myrtle?”
“The rumors?”
“You know what people are saying, that the bones we found on her property belonged to one of her—lovers.”
Myrtle tsked. “That’s nonsense.”
“So, you don’t believe my aunt murdered one of her artist friends or the gardener.”
“Of course not.”
“Do you believe they were her lovers?”
She hesitated this time. “If she was smart, she’d have— oh, sorry, dear.”
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“No, it’s fine. Please, go on.”
“I was just going to say if that gardener was willing . . . “
I laughed. “Do you think something went on between them?”
“He did seem smitten with her. Kept the rest of us jealous, it did.”
“Let me ask you one more question, if I may. You know the day you recently were interviewed by the Herald along with Sally and Gerald and Randy and Burt?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you think they actually believe what they were saying?”
She sipped the last of her coffee and delicately wiped her lips with her napkin. “I can’t imagine— I think Sally enjoys a good drama now and then, and when she doesn’t have one going on, she creates it. And as far as the others— put it this way, dear, if they have an excuse to find fault with your aunt, they will.” With that she slipped her arms into her coat, gathered up her purse and scarf and pushed her way out of the booth.
“Well, thank you so much. You’ve been a great help.”
“I’m glad. Now I’m off to work. I did enjoy our little chat, Jenny.”
I smiled and said good-bye. There were still a few sips left in my mug which I planned to nurse. When I was finally willing to part with the cafe bench, I headed across the street to the park. Fresh air and the scent of jasmine was just the medicine my soul craved.
I had the garden and the fountain to myself. Pure bliss with the sun warming my body and the garden warming my soul. I sat on the bench facing the fountain, my eyes shut for some time. I don’t know how long I was in a meditative state, but I came out of it when I sensed another presence nearby.
I opened my eyes and sure enough, Frankie’s friend who had smiled at me in the pub was sitting on the bench across from me. His name escaped me for the moment, an unusual phenomenon for me. But I felt as though I knew him. He was, as Anne Shirley would say, a kindred spirit.
He stood up and came over to my bench and extended his hand. “Nigel Duncan.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. I’m—”
“Jenny McNair.”
“How did you know?”
“I’m a good listener.” Definitely a kindred spirit.
“It seems we have something in common.”
“And what might that be?” he asked, looking somewhat startled.
“We’re the newest residents of the island.”
“Oh, aye. That we are.”
I scooted to one end of the bench so he could join me.
As he sat down, he took off his cap, freeing his flock of gray hair. It resembled one of Charlie’s plaid wool caps from Scotland. “Indeed. It’s not the friendliest of towns, is it?” His accent was difficult to identify. Charlie would be able to, but then Charlie knew every dialect within the entire British Kingdom.
“They’ve not been friendly to you either?” I asked.
“Not particularly. Not the old timers, it seems. But I have found some to be quite welcoming. Penelope and Mickey are lovely.”
“Yes. Thank goodness for that since they own the best pub in town.”
He laughed. “Very true. And Frankie and Sasha are sweet girls—women, I suppose I should say.”
I laughed. “I don’t think they’d mind. So, is that why you smiled at me the first time you saw me in the pub? You knew I too had been shunned by some of the island residents and you could empathize?”
His brown eyes shone in the sunlight. “I suppose that was the reason.”
“What brought you to this particular island?” I asked. “Do you have family here?”
“No, no family. I’m really just visiting. Don’t know if I’ll stay yet.”
“How do you like it so far?”
“It’s a beautiful spot. Water, mountains, trees, flowers . . . God gave the Pacific Northwest more than its share of beauty.”
“And fresh air,” I added.
“Aye, fresh air. An air sign, are you then?”
I laughed. “Definitely. A Gemini.”
“Something else we have in common.”
There was more than our astrological sign and our being newcomers to the island though. I sensed it might be that we had our spirituality in common.
“And loving this park bench,” I said.
We sat together for a long time, mostly in silence. Then we shared our experiences when we had first arrived on the island. He asked about my past life in Seattle and I told him about Joe and our impending divorce, and about Matthew and Holly and even a bit about Charlie. And I told him about my Aunt Winnie and inheriting her home on the island and deciding to make it my home. Frankie was right about Nigel Duncan. He listened well.
I asked him about his past life which had taken him around the world, with more time in Britain than anywhere else. He had no family. Something that saddened him deeply, I could tell, although he didn’t say it.
“Is that one of the reasons you chose this island—there are so many British people here?”
“Indeed. I could never live in a town without a pub.”
“Nor could I,” I told him.
“Not that I have that many years ahead of me.”
“Are you ill?”
“No, not ill, but—” He smiled at me. “Just old.”
“Not that old.”
“Old enough. Eighty six.”
“That’s not so old anymore.”
“Put it this way, Jenny McNair, when you’ve lived eighty-six years on a planet, much of it alone, you might decide that’s plenty.”
A sudden sadness came over me and I reached out and took his hand. I did not want him to leave the island, or the planet. Not yet. He was my friend, a kindred spirit.
“I wish that you could have known my aunt,” I told him.
“And why is that?”
“She was an extraordinary woman. I think you would have liked knowing each other. She lived well on the planet, although alone a lot of her years.” Tears watered my eyes and I realized I was still in mourning. “I wish she were still here.”
“As do I,” Nigel said. “If she was anything like her niece, I would have liked to know her.”
Chapter 13
I sat at the Soup and Sandwich Shop, garlic and onion permeating the atmosphere as I scanned the phone book. No Henry Grissam and no Henry Gilbert. They were no longer living on the island. A seemingly dead end, but when Charlie got back from Scotland, I would have him run some searches for me. If anyone could track them down, it was Charlie.
Myrtle had been helpful, and hopefully would continue to be. She seemed to enjoy the subject of the disappearing gardener. I just needed more details of who had it in for the Pied Piper of Anamcara. It sounded like there were plenty of jealous men on the island at that time.
And I still had Sally Beacon, whose memory seemed to have remained intact. The only problem was, she did not like my Aunt Winnie and she did seem to be in with the Ewell girls. What were the odds of her talking to me, let alone giving me the information I was looking for—at least the unprejudiced version?
I glanced at my watch. I had a habit of doing that when what I really needed was a calendar. Charlie and Matthew would be coming home this weekend. Matthew had promised to come visit before school started. There would not be a moment’s hesitation, now that he knew his parents had filed for a divorce and that his mother was living in his favorite great great aunt’s cottage.
Charlie would visit as well, having offered any aid he could with the case. I would take him up on that offer, just as long as no one knew who he was. I would leave a message on his answering machine, giving him the scoop.
“Taken to reading phone books?”
I laughed and motioned for Sasha to join me. She shoved her thick red hair behind her shoulders as she sat down.
I closed the phone book and set it on the empty chair beside me. “Just some research on the case of the buried body.”
“Anything yet?”
“So far I have a relatively definite year—1951, an age of the b
ody—early to mid thirties, gender—male, and— That’s pretty much it.”
“A lot more than we knew before.”
“Absolutely. The year helps a lot. I’ve searched the old newspapers and Sam’s searched old police records. The only person we can find who disappeared was a gardener who seemed to be smitten with my aunt.”
“Intriguing.”
“Definitely. But frustrating too. So, on to other subjects. How are you? How’s the painting going?”
“Great!” She was beaming like a dog in a gourmet biscuit shop.
“What happened?”
“My uncle—you know, the one who owns the gallery on Gael Island—he took some of my work to a friend in Seattle who’s going to display it in his gallery.”
“Sasha, that’s wonderful! Very exciting. No wonder I haven’t seen you for a few days.”
She sighed and put down the menu she had quickly scanned. “It’s finally happening. I’m still not sure I know that. I keep telling myself, but I’m kind of numb, you know.”
“When you make a trip down to Seattle and see your work hanging in the gallery, it’ll hit you.”
“You’re probably right.” Sasha pulled her long-sleeved corduroy shirt more tightly around her. With her usual optimism, she’d left her jacket at home.
“You two know what you’re having today?” the waitress asked.
“I’ll have the California chicken sandwich,” I told her. “On rye.”
“Same for me,” Sasha said. “But sourdough.”
“Very good.”
“Extra avocado, please,” I added as she was walking away.
“Mine too,” Sasha chimed in. “So, on to our reason for meeting here I still can’t believe you got Sam to take the leap.”
“I’m wondering about the wisdom of that one.”
“It’s great. Finally!”
“Yes, but if it doesn’t work out, I’ll feel responsible.”
“You should.”
“Thanks.”
Sasha laughed. “Just kidding. If it doesn’t work out, then he can move on.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
We brain stormed ideas for their first date from the space needle in Seattle to deep sea diving off the coast of Mexico. In the end, we decided sweet and simple and close to home—but away from the scrutiny of Anamcara gossips—was the safe option. We chose a nice restaurant on Gael Island for dinner, good food, but not too elegant. Neither Frankie nor Sam seemed like the elegant dinner type. A walk on the beach after dinner. For dessert, a sweet little cafe—still an island away—whose theme was romance.
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