Storm of Secrets

by Loretta Marion

  STORM OF SECRETS

  A Haunted Bluffs Mystery

  Loretta Marion

  You do not become an author until someone believes in you. This book is dedicated to all those who believed.

  Especially for Henrietta Haskett, who always believed in me. I miss you every day, Mom.

  There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.

  —Willa Cather

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A novel doesn’t make it to the shelves without the thoughtful input, expert contribution, and caring touch of many other people aside from the author.

  My fabulous agent tops the list. Jill Grosjean continues to be a stalwart champion, and I will be eternally grateful for her tireless effort and dedication on behalf of my writing. Over the past decade she has also become my friend.

  The early readers are the bravest and more helpful than they can imagine. Cia Marion’s eyes are always the first on the pages, often reading many iterations, and her suggestions are typically on target. A special thank you to all those who read early versions of Storm of Secrets and offered important feedback and encouragement.

  I am fortunate to have a generous critique partner in Rosemary Dibattista, whom I met during the infancy stage of my writing journey. She is a treasure and a friend.

  Shannon Jamieson Vazquez is a talented editor who skillfully opened my mind to a different vision while always respecting my ownership of the story. Thank you to all the folks at Crooked Lane Books who brought this series to life.

  My friends inspire me as much as they encourage me, not to mention they are the best book publicists. This journey would not have been possible without their support, nor would it have been as much fun. I love you all. Thank you to those who graciously opened their homes to host author talks and book signing events and for introducing me to their communities.

  I’m grateful to all the readers, many of whom I’ve met on book tours. If you are holding this book right now, thank you for taking a chance on me. Many thanks also to the book clubs who have selected my novels. For those who invited me to join them in group discussions—you have all been a delight!

  To the libraries and the bookshops who’ve added my novels to your shelves and literally placed my books in readers’ hands, none of this can happen without your help.

  My mother’s spirit remains with me, and her essence can be found in the pages of every book I write.

  Most importantly, all my love and gratitude to you, Geoffrey. You are the best person for bouncing off ideas, especially when I stumble on plot snags and legal questions. I would never have been able to do this without your patience and tolerance of the countless hours spent with my laptop in our home’s theater of creativity.

  To learn more about Loretta Marion’s books please visit:

  www.lorettamarion.com

  PROLOGUE

  Cape Cod Bay

  “The wind is with us today.” The skipper took the red bandana from his neck to wipe his weathered face as a stiff breeze whipped up, though it did nothing to relieve the stickiness of the heavy August air. His love of sailing had cost him his youthful looks, but he thought it a fair trade. “We’re making good time.”

  “I don’t like the look of those clouds.” His mate gulped from the water jug and jutted his chin toward the darkening westward sky.

  The man at the helm frowned. Though the forecast hadn’t called for rain, it wasn’t unusual for a storm to pop up in the heat of the summer. Checking their position, he did a rough calculation of the distance to shore before calling out, “Reef the sails.”

  “Think we should turn back?” His friend jumped to action. “Or head for shore?”

  Another glance toward the fast-approaching hostile clouds and the skipper knew they couldn’t beat the storm to shore. Being unfamiliar with this stretch of coast and worried about the danger of getting caught in shallow channels, he made the decision to maneuver through.

  “It’ll be over quick enough. We can ride it out.”

  His friend frowned, looking unconvinced as fat raindrops began to pelt loudly against the deck.

  “We’ve seen and handled worse.” But whom was he trying to reassure? Too late for regrets now. He shook himself free of all thoughts that this might have been a bad idea, and called out, “Take a look below.”

  After rolling back the mainsail, his mate opened the hatch to the cabin to check on their precious cargo.

  He gave the thumbs-up moments later as he hoisted himself back up on deck only to be knocked to his butt by a rolling wave.

  “I need the storm jib and trysail,” he shouted, to be heard over the wind and rain.

  The skipper tossed the sails to his friend, who wrestled with the gusts to get them secured in place. Each wave seemed larger than the next, and the rain was now coming down so hard he could barely see the prow of the boat as he worked to position the rocking craft against the raging winds.

  The men had been fighting the storm for longer than expected, and their muscles were aching from the effort. They’d need to rest soon.

  “After this next wave we’re going to heave-to,” he yelled. “Be ready to trim the jib.”

  They were so focused on keeping the sailboat afloat, neither saw that the hatch had swung open from the rough seas. They also failed to notice the little boy, who’d slipped free of his life preserver, struggling up the steps from the cabin. Nor could his shrieking cries be heard over the storm’s roar.

  “Hold on!” The skipper shouted as they prepared to ride a large wave. Just then a movement on deck caught his eye. He cursed under his breath and waved a panicked arm at his friend as he screamed, “Grab him! Grab the boy!”

  But it was too late.

  1

  Cassandra

  Whale Rock Village, Massachusetts ~ Present day

  “I might have known there’d be a natural disaster the weekend I chose to get married.” I was starting to believe that the century-old curse against the Mitchell family was as strong as ever.

  “Yeah, what’s with the National Weather Service choosing “Chantal,” when clearly “Tropical Storm Cassandra” would have been much more fitting?” Lu teased as she zipped up my wedding dress.

  “I should have listened to Daniel,” I grumbled, smoothing down the pearl-pink chiffon of the simple tea-length dress I’d chosen. “He wanted a fall wedding.”

  “It would have made more sense,” Evelyn agreed.

  Lu Ketchner and Evelyn Hilliard were two of my older sister Zoe’s closest friends, both homegrown in Whale Rock. They’d come along with me for the final dress fitting, pointless as it now was.

  “Sure, take his side,” I pouted.

  “Who’s going to argue with Jon Hamm?” As a huge Mad Men fan, Evelyn had been the first to point out my fiancé’s resemblance to the actor. She added, “This is, after all, the height of tourist season on the Cape.”

  I didn’t need to be reminded of that, since I barely saw my husband-to-be these days. When we’d first met, Daniel Benjamin had been an FBI agent in Boston; but since moving to Whale Rock, he’d retired and invested his savings into becoming a partner of Mitchell Whale Watcher Boat Tours, the touring and whale-watching company started over a century ago by my great-grandfather, Percival “Percy” Mitchell. I’d spent my entire youth working for the family business, practically cutting my teeth by my father’s side, though we’d eventually had to sell it when Papa’s every moment became consumed with caring for my ill and frail mother. I was thrilled that someone associated with the Mitchell family was again involved in running the business that bore our name.

  I held up my thick mane, using my free hand as a fan. “On days like today, I’m tempted to chop off this tangled mop.”

 
; “Cassie, you wouldn’t dare!” Evelyn was aghast. My sister and her friends had always coveted the rich auburn locks I’d inherited from my great-grandmother, Percy’s wife, Celeste. I’d only recently learned that bit of genetic trivia upon discovering long-lost portraits of my great-grandparents, which had been misplaced after being rescued from the terrible fire in which both had tragically died. My great-grandparents were the originators of the Mitchell family curse, and theirs had been a dramatic end—leading to much-repeated Whale Rock lore—with Percy having run from the burning home, holding the charred form of his dead wife, and leaping from the nearby cliffs, proclaiming, “I am not finished!”

  Evidently, he still wasn’t finished, for the otherworldly spirits of my ancestors continued to be an imposing presence … though one I kept mostly to myself. I’d successfully held on to our familial home of Battersea Bluffs, and I was solidly convinced that the two of them made themselves known there through scents and sounds within the bones of the grand old Victorian. For instance, the pleasant yet pervasive scent of burning sugar had been shadowing me closely during these past weeks leading up to the wedding, which I interpreted as a sign that they approved of my pending nuptials. I frowned to think of their reaction to the imminent postponement.

  “I was trying to accommodate Brit’s schedule,” I told Evelyn and Lu in defense of my insistence on a summer wedding. Brit Winters, my best friend since the first day of nursery school, had been accepted into a professor exchange program in Italy. But after falling head over heels in love with the brilliant Nico, much to my dismay she’d ended up staying there.

  “I’m sure you’re both disappointed.” Evelyn offered me one of her warm, lavender-scented hugs.

  “As is Zoe,” Lu said, to which I responded with a snort and a dubious eye roll. My sister had canceled her flight at the first hint of a possible postponement.

  “It’s true,” Evelyn said, nodding in agreement. “She was looking forward to being here for you.”

  “Nice try, Evvie,” I said, turning and taking in my reflection from every possible perspective. “There was a palpable wave of relief coming through the phone when I told her about the storm.”

  “That was just your very vivid imagination,” Lu argued.

  “Maybe someday one of you will finally tell me what it is about Whale Rock and The Bluffs that has kept Zoe away all these years.” I’d long been trying to pry information from these two tight-lipped ladies about why my older sister left home—fled was probably a better term—twenty-five years earlier. But neither one was going to spill anything, at least not today, for in ambled the taciturn tailor, who proclaimed my dress a tad snug across the tummy. When I refused his offer to let out the seams to accommodate said tad, he shrugged and ambled back out.

  “You’d better stay away from that secret stash of Twizzlers,” Lu warned in good fun.

  “Our Baby Cass will never need to worry,” Evelyn said, using the nickname Zoe’s pals had given me years ago. Even now, in my late thirties, it had remained their habit to treat me like a child.

  “True,” Lu agreed and then added, as if I wasn’t still in the room, “she’s always had one of those enviable metabolisms.”

  “Whereas mine seems to have put on the full-stop brakes in recent years.” Evelyn patted her own soft belly and made a comical face.

  “You just enjoy your own baking too much.” Lu sent her longtime friend a fond wink.

  I quickly changed back into my skort and T-shirt and collected my wedding dress, carefully wrapped in pillows of plastic. After tucking it into the backseat of my aged but beloved Miata, I met the ladies out in front of the tailor shop.

  “How about lunch?” I said.

  “It will have to be a quick one.” Evelyn checked her phone for the time. “We’ve got to help guests make arrangements to leave, not to mention the gazillion cancellations.” Evelyn and her husband, George, owned Hilliard House, one of the most popular inns in Whale Rock. With that popularity came the headaches of finding ways to placate people who were having their vacation ruined by an act of God.

  “And I’ve got some guys coming to help move some pieces to the gallery loft.” Lu owned the LK Gallery in town and was well respected in the art world, both local and international.

  “Then let’s do the diner,” I suggested, since it was a quick walk from the tailor shop.

  But not quick enough for Lu not to pounce. “I’m rather impatient to see what you’ve been working on.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” How could she think I’d had time for painting when I was still adjusting to Daniel moving in and planning a wedding with the guy? Not to mention keeping up with the demands of my tenants in the carriage house I’d converted into a rental. During the past year, I’d welcomed a wonderfully eclectic group of artists and authors, who have made life interesting on Lavender Hill.

  “As it concerns my business, I am always deadly serious.” Lu had a keen eye and was constantly on the lookout for new pieces to add to her gallery’s collection. Last year she’d stumbled on my stacks of unfinished canvases, proclaimed me a genius, and pushed me to finish enough for a first showing. “It’s been ten months since your exhibit, which, I don’t need to tell you, is an eternity in the art world.”

  “Whatever happened to the old adage Anything worth having is worth waiting for?”

  “Make them wait too long and you’ll be yesterday’s news.”

  “I get it, Lu. I will be forever grateful for your confidence in me, and I appreciate the nudge.” We’d arrived at the diner. “After the wedding, whenever it may eventually be, I promise to return to my studio.”

  “I will hold you to that promise.”

  The Whale Rock Diner was unusually quiet, probably because folks were prepping before the storm descended. It was only a couple days away from hitting, with all the models showing Cape Cod at the center of the swath of the predicted storm path.

  “Won’t it be a kicker if the storm bounces out to sea?” I pushed my Greek salad around with a fork, having little interest in actually eating it. “Then we would have canceled the wedding for nothing.”

  “It was the right thing to do.” Evelyn reached across to pat my hand. “Besides, you’re not canceling—just postponing.”

  I tried to tamp down my rising insecurities. After my divorce, I hadn’t expected to find someone with whom to share my life again, especially a person I could trust not to bankrupt my finances or my self-esteem.

  We spent the rest of our luncheon discussing all that we had to do in preparation for the pending tropical storm Chantal. When the three of us parted company, I made a quick stop in to see Archie Stanfield, owner of Coastal Vintage Wares. He’d called earlier in the week and insisted I come by the store before the wedding.

  “Cassandra Mitchell! Finally,” said the man behind the counter, in his typical tendency toward the dramatic. Archibald Stanfield was one of Whale Rock’s more unique characters, and I was quite fond of him. He’d made a long-ago pact with my Granny Fi to return any Mitchell family belongings or artifacts that had walked away during the tragic fire. As a result, we’d been able to reclaim countless items of silver, crystal, and china. It had been a while since he’d gotten in touch, and I was eager to see what new treasure he’d discovered.

  “No rush now since there isn’t going to be a wedding this weekend.”

  He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “The price we coastal dwellers pay.”

  “True.”

  “But there will be a wedding eventually,” he said confidently, opening a drawer beneath the counter. He took out a small velvet box and set it on the counter before me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your ‘something borrowed.’” He nodded for me to open it.

  I teased the lid off to find an exquisite pair of pearl and diamond earrings. “These are gorgeous, Archie.”

  “Try them on,” he said, holding up a mirror for me.

  “I couldn’t possibly. They are
too precious. You know me … I’m likely to lose one.” I put the earrings back in the box and closed it.

  “You won’t. Besides, Peeps and I insist.” Peeps was the former Miss Peeper, my former high school principal and Archie’s wife. “They were her mother’s, and all they do is sit in the jewelry box. It would make us happy if you wore them.”

  “Okay. But you keep them here for me until we have a new date.”

  “Let’s hope it’s soon,” he said.

  “I’m trying to find another date that works for Brit. Did you hear she’s staying in Italy?”

  “I did hear that.” Of course he had. Whale Rock was your typical small town, where everyone knew everybody else’s business.

  “I really miss her.” I pushed out my lip.

  “A couple of peas in a pod, you two.” His eyes twinkled. “You were my favorite non-buying customers.”

  “Please tell Miss Peeper—I mean Mrs. Stanfield—how moved I am by the earrings.”

  “You can probably start calling her Joannie now.” He winked.

  “Right.” As if. “Well, I’d better head back to The Bluffs. Lots to do before Chantal arrives. Are you staying?”

  “We’ve yet to evacuate for a storm, and I doubt we will this time. We’re on high enough ground.”

  “By the way, I hope you don’t mind that I parked out back.” With the craziness of the season, in-town parking was a nightmare. Archie often walked to work, leaving the coveted space behind his shop available. I was one of the lucky few allowed to park there.

  “It’s yours whenever you need it. You can use the back door.” He waved me out as the bell on the door tinkled, announcing a customer.

  On the short walk to my car, a sparkle caught my eye on the ground near a temporary dumpster behind La Table, the new location of my old flame Billy Hughes’s catering business.

  Later, I reflected on how different things would have been had I not been so curious.

  What if I hadn’t had the dress fitting today? What if I hadn’t parked in Archie’s space? What if I hadn’t gone out the back door of his shop? What if I hadn’t gone over to examine what was glittering next to the dumpster?