Winnie's Web

by Felicity Nisbet

  “That should do quite nicely for a first date,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t mind a date like that myself.”

  “Nor would I.”

  We sat quietly for a few minutes, munching our sandwiches with alfalfa sprouts hanging out the sides. We were both in the same place, I was sure, on Gael Island, walking on the beach with a man. Or maybe it was the dessert cafe.

  “Any prospects?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “I’m still in recovery.”

  “From?”

  “Thinking I’d found my soul mate.”

  I knew the feeling.

  “Hey, I’m hearing rumors about you though, and our trusty newspaperman.”

  “What have you heard? And from whom?”

  “The whole island is buzzing.”

  There went Seth’s chance to help with the interviews. Looked like Charlie was my only hope. “What are they saying?”

  “That you’ve been spotted kissing in the office.”

  “Nosy islanders.”

  “I don’t hear any denial, so I take it the rumors are true?”

  “I’m sure there’s some exaggeration to them, but the essence is true.”

  She had a goofy grin on her face.

  “What?”

  “Oh, it’s just funny, ironic actually, considering how mad you were at the man for a while.”

  “Oh, yeah. That.”

  “It’s good to let go of your wrath easily and quickly. Very healthy, my shrink mother would say.”

  “I suppose. So, next we work on you. Are there any men on this island—?”

  “’Fraid not. If you want to plan a date for me, you’ll have to import someone.”

  I’d have to work on that one. Actually, I knew a really sweet guy back in Seattle who had recently been widowed. Would Sasha go for the lawyer type? But there was a lot more to Scott Morrison than his career.

  “I was just kidding, Jenny. Stop plotting.”

  “Mind reader.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  We laughed as we pulled out our wallets and counted out our money. We hugged good-bye on the street and Sasha headed home. I had volunteered to deliver the date itinerary to Sam.

  On my way to the Sheriff’s office, I stopped in at the bookstore to pick up the book I had liked on koi ponds.

  Max greeted me with a smile, his beard looking a little more salt than pepper today. Funny how something so minor can make us look older.

  “Is everything okay with Roxie?” I asked when he was ringing up my book.

  “Why do you ask?” There was a definite edginess to his voice that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

  “She seemed upset last night when I was in here.”

  “You were in here last night? I didn’t see you.”

  “It didn’t seem like a good time so—”

  Considering the bright tone of his complexion, I expected an outburst. Self-control must have stepped in. “I’m sorry. I thought I had already turned over the closed sign.”

  He didn’t offer any more information except to say that Roxie was fine. I didn’t pry. I left the bookstore with an unsettled feeling. That feeling went from bad to worse when I nearly bumped into Daisy and Eleanor who were passing the bookstore just as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. They both gave me a nasty look that clearly identified them as sisters. I was tempted to say something, but held my tongue. Why aggravate the situation more? It was not as if they would offer me any help in this case. But one of these days, when she returned from her trip, I might just pay a visit to their mother, Lilly Ewell.

  Sam was sitting with his feet up on his desk. In a reflexive move, they fell to the floor the instant I walked through the door. I wondered if it was a left over reaction from his childhood.

  I handed him the note Sasha and I had written. He studied it as though he were reading a police report. In the end he smiled and nodded.

  I had no reason for staying, but something made me pull up a chair and sit down.

  “Don’t worry, you don’t need to teach me about manners or anything, Jenny.”

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  “Oh. You got more questions on this case?”

  “I don’t know.” I put my hand up to stop him from talking. Then I closed my eyes for a moment. It must have come from just moments ago having run into Eleanor and Daisy that made me ask Sam, “What happened to George Ewell? Do you know?”

  “Oh, he died long before I came to the island. Before I was born, in fact.”

  “But did you hear anything?”

  “Just that he died in a car accident. Went over an ocean bluff in his car is what I heard.”

  “Any way of finding out when this was?”

  “Sure, that one’s easy. All the vital records are on computer now.”

  “Even from that long ago?”

  “Yep. Dan, my deputy, is a computer nerd. Transferred every single life and death from microfiche to computer.”

  I raised my eyebrows in wonder.

  “Things were pretty quiet on the island at the time,” Sam explained.

  “Must have been.”

  He pulled up a program, typed in a name, and there it was. May 26th, 1951.

  Chills ran up and down my spine. I must have looked somewhat pale because Sam offered me a glass of water which I gratefully accepted.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll bet anything it has something to do with the body in my aunt’s rose garden.”

  “What made you ask about him anyway?”

  “I’ve no idea.” That was the frustrating part of intuition. It often guided you. It didn’t always tell you why.

  * * *

  It must have been my intuition guiding me again that brought me to the Brighton Green Bakery Café at the most synchronistic moment. Either that or my empty stomach.

  Lilly Ewell had returned from her trip to Hawaii and had gone into the bakery to bring her friend Sally Beacon a lei. Their white permed hair styles matched noticeably. Lilly must frequent the Cut, Curl, and Color Hair Salon as well. The two women sipped their tea and ate their apple and spice muffins while they talked of warmer climates and oh, how they would have loved to sunbathe like the young women today in their modern swimsuits. But in their day, swimming suits looked nothing like that! And how outraged and jealous their husbands would have been had they flaunted their bodies in public like that.

  “Especially my Reggie,” Sally said. “You know how possessive he gets.”

  I stifled a giggle and buried my face behind my Anamcara Herald.

  “He always has been like that, hasn’t he?” Lilly said.

  Aha! Her Reggie was the jealous type. I would remember that.

  “But I don’t mind. It’s quite flattering actually.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  I let the newspaper drop when I heard a deep sigh.

  Lilly was gazing off into another time. “George was like that too. Especially when we were first married.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember how he was when you danced with anyone else at the church dances.”

  Lilly giggled. “He didn’t understand that I was just being polite. He would cut in every time.”

  “Not very subtly either,” Sally said. “And remember when that gardener came to the island. George would make such a fuss.”

  “Oh, my, I’d almost forgotten that!” Lilly stopped and I felt like reaching over and winding her up so she’d keep talking. But she didn’t. She got that glazed look in her eyes again.

  I sat through fifteen more minutes of stories about food in Hawaii and beaches and gift shops. Not one more word about the mysterious gardener.

  But my patience paid off. Sally left first. Another hair appointment. Lilly stayed to finish her tea which had been refreshed twice. As soon as Sally was out the door, I stood up and introduced myself to Lilly. Only I left out my last name, just in case she’d heard of me.

  �
�I think we spoke on the ferry recently.”

  “Why, yes! I remember. You thought I was someone else.”

  “That’s right. May I?” I nodded toward the chair Sally had vacated.

  “Certainly, dear.”

  “I just saw you give your friend a lei,” I told her as I sat down. “I bet you’ve just returned from Hawaii.”

  “Why, yes, I have!”

  “Is it as beautiful as they say?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ve been thinking of taking a trip there myself. I’m trying to decide between Hawaii and Alaska.” That was the one thing I hated about detective work. It came with a built-in requirement to lie.

  “Oh, you must go to Hawaii. Everyone should see it at least once.”

  “Thank you. I think I was meant to meet you so you could convince me of that.”

  She smiled in all her innocence. She had such a childlike look about her, I understood why her daughters wanted to protect her. Knowing that, it made it all the harder to feel okay with what I was about to ask her.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing you and your friend mention a gardener who used to come to the island.”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief when she smiled again. Only this smile wasn’t so innocent. She too had been touched by the charm of the Pied Piper.

  “His name didn’t happen to be Alistair Jeffries, did it?” I asked.

  “Why, yes, I believe that was his name. Did you know him? But you’re so young.”

  “No, I didn’t know him personally. I did read an article about him though. Apparently he was a well-known gardener. He had lived in a community at one time, in Northern Scotland.”

  “Yes, I believe that was so.”

  “He was quite a fascinating character. I’ve been trying to learn more about him.”

  “Is that why you’re visiting this island?”

  How was I supposed to answer that? The only thing worse than telling a blatant lie was telling a blatant lie when you knew the truth would come out eventually.

  I did what any respectable detective would do. I avoided answering the question. “I believe he used to come here every year for a while. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. For about six or seven years, I would say, maybe longer. He would come and work in people’s gardens. Oh, he was magical! I’ve never seen anything like his gardens. He could walk through a garden and it would suddenly bloom! Well, not quite. But it certainly seemed that way.”

  “Did he work for you then?”

  “Oh, no, my husband would not allow that. He was very proud. He insisted we didn’t need a gardener’s help. It was a gift to have our own garden. We could care for it perfectly well ourselves.” A sadness came over her.

  “You didn’t agree.”

  “I would have loved to have Mr. Jeffries help us, but I couldn’t go against George’s wishes, you know.”

  “I understand. It must have been hard for you, when you saw other gardens.”

  “Yes. It was. I wanted to have him come, even once. But—” She hesitated and I held my breath until she continued. “The truth is, George did not like him. It bothered him the way all the women in town practically swooned when he walked by. But it wasn’t just because he was handsome, which he was. It was because he was— Goodness, I’m not even sure how to explain it. He was just so gentle and had such a way with the flowers and with the animals.” She sighed a weary sigh. “No, he never let me hire him, not once.”

  Now, that was jealousy. Suddenly my mind was reeling. Had George Ewell killed the gardener, then feeling bad, driven himself off a cliff to his own death? Not impossible. That certainly explained why the Ewell girls didn’t want me digging up—no pun intended—the past. Maybe they knew what their father had done and they were trying to protect Lilly from knowing. It was the first real theory I had come up with so far. That indicated progress, didn’t it?

  But it still didn’t answer my other question. Why did they hate my Aunt Winnie?

  Chapter 14

  My father and my son arrived on Gael island bright and early Saturday morning. It was important that no one from Anamcara see Charlie and me together so that he wouldn’t lose his credibility as a detective, investigating this case independently. I would drive Matthew to Anamcara. Charlie would drive separately.

  They looked good. Charlie looked younger—returning to the home of your youth must do that. Matthew looked older—venturing out on your own, away from the home of your youth must do that.

  Even with his graying hair, Charlie looked far younger than his age. It must have been the gleam in his eyes that melted away any wrinkles. And my son, it must have been his 6 foot tall stance that made him look more mature—a height he had inherited from his father’s side of the family. But Matthew had my father’s impish smile and my brown eyes and my golden brown hair. Well, it used to be golden brown in my youth. Now it was just plain brown.

  Matthew was handling the news of his parents’ divorce with aplomb. I wondered if that was for my sake. Maybe not. He seemed more relaxed than I’d seen him in a long time. That may have been the result of his trip to Scotland. Or maybe it was that he felt fewer restraints now that his father’s high expectations of him had less meaning to him. What tipped me off was his change of major. He was switching from Law, Societies, and Justice to English. He was not going to be a lawyer. He was going to be a writer.

  I was pleased because I knew it was what he really wanted. I also knew it meant he’d be spending more time with me on the island. It was, after all, his place of inspiration.

  “So, tell me the progress you’ve made on this case of yours, Jenny,” Charlie said as soon as his tea and scone had arrived. He’d removed his blue and red tartan cap and I noticed less gray hair than I’d remembered. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d colored it slightly before his trip to Scotland. Naw, not Charlie.

  “Hey, I want to hear every detail of my son’s trip before I get on with business,” I told him.

  “You’ll have time. He can tell you all about it after I leave. This way I can get going.”

  He was right. It was just so nice not thinking about it for a while. I filled him in on my discoveries from buried bones to forensic anthropologists’ reports to diaries to newspapers to vital statistics to interviews and observations.

  “Looks like you don’t need your partner in crime much at all.”

  I laughed. “Just don’t let on that we’re related. Act like you’re the big city detective who’s come in to help the local sheriff. I’ve already clued in Sam and his deputy so they’ll keep your secret. These are the people I need you to talk to.” I handed him an index card with five names on it: Sally Beacon, Burt Burrows, Gerald Thatcher, Randy Crebbs, Myrtle Ormsby.

  “And what exactly is it that you want me to find out from them?”

  “I’ve talked to Myrtle already.” I told him about our conversations. “But she might open up more to you and your Scottish charm.”

  Charlie’s flattered grin did not go unnoticed.

  “Sally Beacon is probably your best bet,” I continued. “She should be able to tell you about Alistair Jeffries and if anyone had it in for him. She and Myrtle were the only two of the five who were around back then. She should know all about George Ewell’s death too. The others probably won’t know anything about Alistair, but they should know a lot about George Ewell. Especially Randy and Gerald. Had he lived, he would be their father-in-law.”

  “Aye, I think I’ve got it now, lass. See you on the wee island. I’ll check into the local inn for the night, but I’ll be out to your place later for a visit. If anyone sees me out there—I’m investigating the scene of the crime, or at least the rose garden burial grounds.”

  I stood up and hugged my father. It sure was good to have him back on the same continent.

  “You’ve been through a lot, Mom,” Matthew said after Charlie left.

  “I’m doing okay. How are you feeling about it all?”

  “You mean you
and dad?” He shrugged. “It’s kind of weird. It’ll take some getting used to. I suppose it hasn’t really sunk it. Probably because I try not to think about it. It was strange spending last night at Charlie’s though, instead of going home to the old house.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It just means I’ll have to learn to do my own laundry.”

  I smiled. It was something I never minded doing for my son.

  “I’ll be moving back into the dorm in a week anyway. I’ll just plan to come up here on long weekends instead of to the house in Seattle.”

  I didn’t ask him if he planned to spend any time at his father’s new condo. That was something he would decide in his own time. Instead I asked him to tell me more about his trip. “And this time, don’t leave out the important details.”

  “What important details?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Castles, gardens, pubs, girls?”

  A blush crept up his cheeks and I knew I was accurate in my assumptions. Of course, I was. My son was too cute to resist, all prejudice aside.

  After Ned’s ferry ride, I drove Matthew directly to the cottage. I hadn’t mentioned Seth to him yet. If we were going to spend any time in town, I would have to.

  “It feels very strange,” he said, looking around the cottage, “with Aunt Winnie gone.”

  “And seeing all my things in here?”

  “Yeah, but it feels right too, you know?”

  “Still, it will take some getting used to.”

  “What are all these?” he asked, pointing to the pile of photo albums and diaries on the coffee table.

  “Research,” I said. “I found them in the attic.”

  After taking off his jacket and hanging it up on the couch, he sat down and started reading. I brewed him a cup of tea which was now his favorite drink, or so he claimed. I knew better. The pubs in Scotland serve you if you’re tall enough to reach the bar. Not quite, but I had no doubt, my son had indulged in more than one pint in Edinburgh.