Winnie's Web

by Felicity Nisbet

Charlie arrived in time for a roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and mashed carrots and turnips dinner. It was the first big meal I had cooked since moving to the island.

  “So, don’t keep me in suspense,” I told Charlie after he too had hung his jacket and cap on the couch and had observed the differences in the cottage. “What did you learn?”

  “Met your friend Myrtle. She told me a lot of the same things she told you.”

  “More, I bet.”

  Charlie grinned. His charm was not decreasing with age. “I did ask her straight out which of the men in town disliked Alistair Jeffries the most.”

  “And?’

  “She’s convinced it was Reggie Beacon.”

  “Really.”

  “Don’t get too excited. When I talked to Sally Beacon, and asked her the same question, she said it was none other than Mr. Ormsby himself.”

  “There was a Mr. Ormsby?”

  “Aye, according to Sally. I believe his name was Jeffrey. Died some years ago.”

  “When exactly?”

  “She wasn’t sure. Early fifties maybe.”

  I shivered. “Cause of death?”

  “Illness apparently.”

  “Hmm, a broken heart maybe?”

  “I’m not sure I’d speculate on that one. Sally Beacon loves to talk, but I don’t know how reliable her information is. Could be a wee bit distorted. Seems she loves to talk about other people—”

  “Especially Winnie, right?”

  He frowned. “Don’t want to upset you, lass.”

  “Don’t worry, I already know she thinks Winnie did in one of her lovers.”

  “Winnie had lovers?” Matthew asked, washing down a bite of roast chicken with a sip of my Merlot.

  “Rumor,” I said. “But I sure hope she did!”

  Matthew and Charlie laughed.

  “Sally seems to actually believe she killed the gardener.”

  “She believes my petite aunt killed this hunk of a gardener. Did she speculate on how?”

  “Herbs. She mentioned Winnie and her peculiar herbs.”

  I laughed. “And her motivation?”

  “She thinks she did him in because he was flirting with some of the other women on the island.”

  “That wouldn’t happen to be Sally herself he was flirting with, would it?”

  “She did mention that he seemed especially smitten with her. And that her Reggie didn’t like it one bit.”

  “Aha! So now we have two suspects—George Ewell and Reggie Beacon.”

  “Aye. But don’t forget Jeffrey Ormsby, and there were plenty of others as well,” Charlie said. “Sounds like more than a dozen men hated the month of March when our wandering gardener came to town.”

  “What about George Ewell—any scoop on his death?”

  “Sally said exactly what the sheriff told you. He went over a cliff in his car.”

  “No speculation on why?”

  “She did say she thinks he was involved in an affair.”

  “With?”

  “Unfortunately at that point she decided she’d said too much. Said she refused to talk about it as long as Lilly Ewell was still alive. But she did reiterate immediately after that how much she hated that Winnie Wainwright.”

  I took a second helping of mashed potatoes. Comfort food and frustration were immensely compatible. “You probably didn’t get any more from Gerald or Randy than I’ve gotten from their wives, Eleanor and Daisy.”

  “Buggers, the lot of ‘em.”

  “Didn’t have too many kind things to say about Winnie, I take it.”

  “I’m afraid not, darlin’.”

  “Don’t worry, I know all about the Ewell family’s hatred for Winnie. I just don’t know what caused it.” Other than a possible affair between her and the patriarch of the family. “Did you get anything from them?”

  “Randy was more willing to talk than Gerald, but I suspect that’s because he likes hearing himself. Hard to even make sense of what he says.”

  “Where did you find him? At their market?”

  “At the hardware store. They own it too. Inherited it from his father-in-law, as I understand it. He drove up in his pickup truck, gun rack and all.”

  “Macho Man?”

  “With a bald spot and a beer belly. He’d like to think he’s a lot younger than his fifty some years.”

  I turned on the heat beneath the kettle and sat back down at the table between my father and my son. “Did he tell you anything valuable?”

  “Just a lot of rubbish.”

  “About Winnie.”

  “Aye, he too is convinced she did in one of her lovers.”

  “What is it with these people? Are they nuts?” Matthew said in an outburst of the same rage I’d been feeling.

  “Just ignorant and prejudiced,” I said. “So, what’s his theory?”

  “Claims she was a woman of—”

  “What, Charlie?”

  “Of ill repute. Drove some of her lovers to heart attacks—at least one anyway. And was too embarrassed to face up to it so she buried him. Claims there might be more bodies buried around the property. Said we should do some serious digging.”

  Despite my desire not to give a word out of this man’s mouth any credibility at all, I shivered. I took a deep breath to dispel the anxiety that was building inside of me. “Tell me everything, Charlie.”

  “Not much to tell really. Just rambled on about her artist friends trashing the island. Because of the absurdity of it all, it was hard to take anything he said seriously. It was obvious he was spouting off someone else’s words. He wasn’t even around back in Winnie’s bohemian days. He sputtered a lot, but I suppose that was because he was walking around with nails in his mouth. I’d venture a guess that he’s swallowed more than a few over the years.”

  “Nails in his mouth?”

  “He was repairing some shelving, but I think he liked the image.”

  “Sounds like an inferiority complex.”

  “Aye. Out to impress the world. Brought up his hunting rifle more than once.”

  “Sounds like he takes a lot of pride in killing innocent animals,” Matthew said.

  “That he does. And doing it illegally. On private property.”

  “Lovely. Looks like I’ll have to use the hardware store on Gael Island if I ever need one. So, that was Daisy’s husband . . . Where did you find Eleanor’s husband, Gerald? At the pub?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “What’s he look like? I’d like to be forewarned before I bump into him.”

  “Very proper Englishman, mustache clipped perfectly above the lip, you know. He was wearing a golf shirt. Has gray hair, slicked back, a pot belly.” Charlie chuckled. “Had more of an English accent than he ever did in England, I’ll bet you. Didn’t get much out of him. Just said he’s certain Winnie Wainwright had something to do with it. A disgrace to humankind, he called her. Sorry, luv.”

  I shook my head. “I’m getting used to it. I just wish she had warned me.” But, I understood why she hadn’t. Winnie had the rare capacity to not give attention to something she did not want to attract. And she always looked for the best in people.

  “How could she have lived on an island with so much animosity towards her?” Matthew asked.

  “You know Winnie and her ‘What anyone else thinks of me is none of my business’ attitude. Besides, it just looks like a lot of people didn’t like her, but in reality it was just the Ewell family and friends.” Still, I doubted I could have lived on a small island with an even smaller mentality. Actually, I was wondering if I could live here now.

  “Are you thinking about moving back to Seattle, Mom?” Matthew had inherited my sense of intuition.

  “I’ll hang in a while longer, see if it gets better.”

  “In other words, your mum is not about to leave this island until she solves the mystery of the body buried in her rose garden,” Charlie said.

  “You both know me too well. But I’ll tell you one thin
g. There are some mornings when I wake up and look out at the morning fog and I walk over to the lighthouse and then back past the jasmine and the honeysuckle, and I think there is no where on this earth more gorgeous than this island. Then there are mornings when I walk through town and I think I will shrivel up and die if I spend one more minute here.”

  “Understandable,” Charlie said.

  “Did either Randy or Gerald know anything about Alistair Jeffries?”

  “Only the name. Had heard he was quite the ladies’ man. They figured I was asking because I knew something. And of course, they both concluded that because I’d brought him up, he must be the victim.”

  “Oh, dear, maybe this was a mistake.”

  “Dinna fash yerself, lass. I didn’t give them anything they hadn’t already thought of.”

  “How about the beauty parlor owner, Burt Burrows? Pretty much the same?”

  “He owns a rental equipment business as well. Actually, he was the most interesting of the three. Looks a bit like a mole, mind you, with that tiny mustache, but not a bad chap when his wife isn’t around. Wouldn’t say a word at the beauty parlor, but when I suggested we get a pint, he opened up. Kept to the party line for a while, but I sensed he wasn’t really buying it. By his second pint, he actually admitted he liked Winnie. Admired her. Called her a character.”

  “I take it Eleanor and Gerald weren’t around at that point.”

  “I took him to the Flower of Scotland.”

  “Clever. I’m surprised he even went in there.”

  “A man thirsty for beer—especially a free pint—is a malleable man.”

  “Anything on Alistair?”

  “Didn’t remember the name.”

  “So, you think he doesn’t believe Winnie ‘did in’ one of her lovers.”

  “He had a different theory all together.”

  “Which was?”

  “Someone who had it in for Winnie buried a body in her garden to make her look guilty.”

  “He actually said that?”

  “That was after his fourth pint, I believe.”

  “Did he say who?”

  “Nope. But from what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me about this island, the only ones who had it in for Winnie were the Ewells.”

  “But he’s good friends with them.”

  “With the junior Ewells. I’m not even sure he knew the senior Ewell. Well, of course, he knows Lilly, but he was quite young when George died.”

  “So maybe my theory isn’t so far fetched. George Ewell murdered Alistair Jeffries because he was jealous of the attention Lilly gave him. And maybe he murdered him to hurt Winnie because he knew she loved him. Then, to add insult to injury, he buried the body on Winnie’s property. Then, in a moment of remorse and guilt, drove himself off a cliff to his death.”

  “And how do you plan to prove that one, darlin’?”

  “I don’t have to. All I have to do is convince myself that that’s what happened. As long as I know the truth, I’ll be satisfied.”

  “Only one problem with your theory. If George Ewell knew Alistair Jeffries and Winnie were in love, why would he be jealous?”

  “Because maybe his wife was in love with Alistair.”

  “But he wouldn’t feel threatened if he knew he loved Winnie.”

  “Okay, maybe only one part of my theory works. Maybe he didn’t know Alistair loved Winnie. Maybe he wasn’t out to hurt her. Maybe burying the body on her property was convenient.”

  “Maybe.”

  I knew that maybe. “You’re not buying it.”

  “I’m not sure what to think here. We need more information. Anyone else we can talk to?”

  “I’ll keep talking to Myrtle and searching for some of the others who were around back then. But I think the real key is Lilly Ewell.”

  Charlie was nodding before her name was halfway out of my mouth.

  “The problem there is, her daughters keep her securely tucked away. She has a fragility about her.”

  “In other words, we have to tread carefully.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Don’t forget these diaries,” Matthew said, nodding toward the hat box on the living room table.

  “Aye, keep reading them, Jenny.”

  “It’s hard for me to read more than a few pages at a time.”

  “They pull you in, eh?”

  “I’m afraid so. I feel as though I’ve traveled back in time.” But it was more than that. I felt as though I were being pulled into another life. My sense of reality and the present time became easily distorted, as did my perception of whose life I was living.

  “I’ll do some searching when I get back to Seattle,” Charlie was saying. “I have a bit of work to catch up on, but as soon as I have a minute I’ll search for your two Henry’s.”

  “Thanks, Charlie, I appreciate it. If there’s any way you can find out who Eloise from 1949 and 1951 is, and Minnie from 1949, that would be immensely helpful too.”

  Charlie chuckled. “Why don’t you just ask me to find a needle in a haystack?”

  “Sorry. I’m a bit desperate here. I’ll go back to the library on Gael Island and see if their names pop up in the phone books, and any more Henry’s. I only made it through K.”

  Charlie gave both Matthew and me a hug before he headed back to the island inn. “It could have been a crime of jealousy, couldn’t it?” I asked him on the front porch. We’d solved a few of those lately.

  “Ask your intuition,” he said.

  “Muddled lately, as usual.”

  “Start trusting it and it won’t be muddled for long.”

  He had a point. I sat in the porch swing for a few minutes alone. Every time the word jealousy popped into my mind, my intuition said yes. Or was I just wanting to believe that? Was I looking for something that wasn’t there? How jealous were these men, really? And if all of their women were smitten with the gardener, why would they worry? There was no real evidence pointing in that direction. Actually, there was no evidence pointing in any direction, except for a body buried beneath a rose garden.

  This was not good. My train of thought was beginning to frighten me. Not because I doubted my aunt’s innocence, but because I knew others would, some quite happily.

  Chapter 15

  I never did tell Matthew about Seth. There really was no need. We spent our time together at the cottage or going for walks along the water’s edge. When he wasn’t reading Winnie’s diaries, he was writing. I was glad he had given up the notion of studying law to please his father.

  After I dropped Matthew at the ferry terminal on Gael Island where he met up with Charlie, I went to the library. I made it from L to P before I started craving fresh air. No Eloise or Minnie, but one more Henry. Henry Northup. I jotted down his phone number and address and left the library.

  I knew Seth wasn’t visiting Gael Island today. I had spotted him through the window of his office as I drove through town, but something pulled me to that same area of the beach where I had seen him with his old friend. It was even quieter today. The fog was out and the tourists were in. I parked Winston on the bluff, and scurried down the steps to the sandy beach.

  I headed north, stepping on seaweed bulbs the way I loved to do as a child. Hell, the way I loved to do as an adult. I didn’t mind the fog. I couldn’t take it day in and day out, but throw in a little sunshine and a lot of rain and I’m as happy as a clam. It must have been the Scottish part of me that attracted me to the northern clime. My mother’s side of the family didn’t shy away from wicked weather either, although my mother had moved to sunny Santa Rosa at the first opportunity. But Winnie would never have moved away from the coast and its glorious rain storms.

  It was when I turned around and headed south again that I spotted him. Same raincoat and wool scarf and tweed deer stalker hat. Same burly beard. I stopped and watched as he crouched, his hands flat in the sand, then he jumped up and ran sideways to another spot to do it all over again. He was too old to jump, ye
t because his mind didn’t know that, his elderly body complied. And so he jumped and he ran, like a small child, elated, as though touching the salty water for the first time.

  I looked around to see if he was alone. There was a young woman, sitting on a rock not far from him, watching. I walked over to her.

  “Are you with the General?” I asked.

  “Do you know him?”

  “I met him once. Here, on the beach.”

  “Of course, he comes here every day. If someone is available to bring him. I’m Nan McKeon,” she put out a hand to shake mine. “I work at the nursing home.”

  “Jenny McNair,” I said.

  The General turned at the sound of my name and smiled. “Jenny McNair,” he repeated.

  Nan’s eyes opened widely. “He remembers you!”

  “I take it that’s unusual.”

  “Yes. If he only met you once. Actually he often forgets people he’s known for years.”

  The General had taken off his hat and was walking toward us. He nodded a greeting to me as a true gentleman would. “I remember you,” he said. “You were with Seth.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I ran into him here on the beach when he was visiting you.”

  “He’s a nice boy,” he said.

  I smiled. “You used to work together?”

  “Yes, work together,” the General repeated. “Good writer. Nice boy.” He seemed to be slipping from his moment of lucidity.

  “I think it’s time to go home now,” Nan said, sliding her arm beneath his.

  “Go home now.” He turned and looked out at the water. “This is home.”

  Nan smiled at me and mouthed the words, “He says that often.”

  I nodded, remembering.

  She started to guide him toward the stairs, but he resisted, pulling away. Suddenly he was running toward the water again. She ran after him. But then he stopped and stared. “Not a fly,” he said.

  “No, not a fly,” she said as though she understood what he was saying. “Let’s go back now, General. Come with me.”

  His shoulders relaxed and this time he let her lead him up the stairs to the bluff. I watched them from the beach. What would it be like, I wondered, to not know where you had been, what you had spent your life doing, and whom you had known and loved along the way. All the more reason to cherish every moment of our lives when we did know.