Storm of Secrets

by Loretta Marion

  “But there are still many unknowns,” I added.

  “Of course.” She nodded, then brought the conversation around to one of her favorite topics. “Are you working on something I can take a peek at?”

  “Since you last asked a week ago? No.”

  “What? Are you letting a little hurricane interfere with your genius?” Lu pursed her lips, then said to my dinner companion, “Cassie is one of our great local artistic talents.”

  My face was burning.

  “I didn’t know that,” he admitted, tilting his head as if assessing me with a different eye.

  “It’s true, and I would love to do another exhibit. It’s been close to a year now since the last smashing success, and people have been asking.”

  “What people? Ev and George?” I snorted slightly at my own joke.

  “Cassie’s self-deprecation has always been part of her charm,” Lu explained. “She’s really quite gifted. Have her show you some of her works.”

  I shot her a cautioning look.

  “Well, I must be off. Nice to meet you,” she said to Christopher, to which he stood politely. She then signaled me with her eyes to follow.

  “I’ll walk out with you,” I told her, then excused myself to Christopher. “Be back in a sec.”

  “Sorry. Old habits,” Lu apologized when we were out on the sidewalk. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “It’s fine. What’s up?”

  “Remember, you were asking about Wes Creed dating my cousin? Well, word around town is that he has a new friend.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I’ll give you a hint. She’s tall, gorgeous, and drives a red Mercedes convertible.”

  “Get out of here!” This was a shocking revelation. “I thought she had more sense than that.”

  “It’s true. Wes Creed and Robyn Landers are an official Whale Rock item.”

  “She mentioned having a new friend, but Wes Creed?”

  After giving it a moment’s consideration, it shouldn’t have been all that surprising. Robyn was single and spent a lot of time at the harbor, where her sailboat was moored, especially during the months when she rented out Land’s End. Wes would have plenty of opportunities to woo her. I just hoped it wasn’t for the wrong reasons. Robyn had made out well in her divorce, and I’d hate to think Wes was taking advantage. An image came to mind of Wes Creed huddled closely on the beach with Helene Kleister.

  “Maybe he’s just a summer boy toy,” Lu suggested.

  “Wes isn’t young enough to be a toy.”

  “I don’t think age has anything to do with it.” Lu seemed to take umbrage. She’d been known to date her share of younger men. “He’s a handsome bad boy with a sexy smile. Why shouldn’t Robyn have some fun?” As if to emphasize her point, Lu craned her neck to peek at Christopher through the diner window. “He cleans up well,” she said. “Single?”

  “Why? Looking for a boy toy of your own?” Christopher was several years younger, but that had never stopped Cougar Lu in the past.

  “Just wondering.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  Right. “I would guess he’s single, but the subject never came up.”

  “Oh well. Must run,” she said, looking at her phone. Then over her shoulder she called out, “I want to see what you’re hiding in that studio of yours.”

  Through the diner window, I caught Christopher watching closely as Lu walked away. Hmm. Had he fallen under her bewitching spell?

  When I returned to the diner booth, I pushed away my half-eaten burger and fries. “Sorry about that.”

  “She seems nice.”

  “Who? Lu? She’s great.” Not wanting to go there, I reached for something to divert the conversation. “You must be happy to have that ankle monitor off.”

  “I’m all for new experiences, but that is one I hope never to repeat.” He shook his head. “I had a feeling Lucas would be found—or maybe I just didn’t want to think otherwise—but how it all came about is mind-boggling.”

  “Was Nicholas protecting Lucas from something or someone? Was there a monster involved?” I asked, referring to an earlier comment he made.

  His look said, Really? “You know I can’t talk about what Nicholas told me.”

  It was a mild rebuke, and he was right. I should have honored his need to protect the confidential nature of the conversation.

  “His parents have to be beyond relieved,” I said to break through the uncomfortable silence that followed.

  Christopher remained quiet.

  “You don’t like them, do you?” I ventured.

  “I don’t understand them.” It wasn’t really an answer. “But I can’t say anything more about it.”

  “I get it.”

  After a moment, he said, “I will tell you this. When I made that statement about monsters, I had no idea how rooted in the truth some of Nicholas’s imaginings were.”

  That sent my own imagination into high gear, considering all the possibilities. Still, knowing I wasn’t going to get anything more out of Christopher, I suggested we head back to The Bluffs.

  “I was wondering, is your father still living?” I said to break the silence that had settled in during the drive.

  “He is.” A troubled shadow crossed his face.

  “Does he live near you in New York?”

  “Manhattan, actually. My parents are city people to the core. My mother was especially.

  “But not you?”

  “I grew up there, but the tempo is too fast for me. I prefer the bucolic countryside to blaring horns and exhaust emissions.”

  “That’s what I love about the Cape, though it can get a little busy in the summer.”

  “Still more low key than the city. I could get used to it.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.” How lucky for me that Daniel had been charmed by Whale Rock. “How’s your research coming along?”

  “There’ve been some distractions.” He sent me a sidelong glance that had me squirming.

  “Have you learned anything you think will interest your students?”

  “There’s a lot of untapped history associated with this area. Nuggets not often found in your typical textbook.” It was a vague answer, but one that could explain why he had the Barnacle Boy article. It was a “nugget” of interest that wasn’t widely known, though not necessarily one that would be considered of historical importance.

  “I’m sure you’ve already heard the story of my great-grandparents, Percival and Celeste Mitchell.”

  “Edgar and Jimmy gave me the long version when we were bunking together during the storm.” He offered a rare smile. “I plan to buy a copy of Edgar’s book and have him sign it before I leave. Whenever that is.”

  “You’ll be staying on in Whale Rock a while longer then?”

  “Whether I want to or not,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been requested I stick around.”

  With all the good news about Lucas, I’d forgotten Christopher was still tied to the Lee Chambers case.

  As we drove up the lane to The Bluffs, I said, “How about I give you a personal tour of the Mitchell family burial grounds? I just might be able to add another tidbit or two about our family legacy.”

  “I’d like that.” He gave a sad lift to his shoulders, making me feel sorry for him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  * * *

  Laura was waiting for me in the kitchen when I walked through the door and was greeted enthusiastically by Whistler.

  “Want to go on a little adventure?” she asked before I had a chance to set my purse on the table.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “The cab driver finishes his shift in a few minutes and said he’d meet with me if I come to him in Eastham.”

  “Where’s Jason?”

  “Where do you think?” She made a face. “I thought he might have a night off, but Brooks has him and Deputy Bland following some lead in the Chambers case.”

  “Why do I feel like you’
re using me for my wheels?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who figured out that the mystery woman was Sister Bernadetta. Don’t you want to help find her?”

  I checked the captain’s wheel clock. Eight thirty. I texted Daniel: How’s it going?

  He responded: Promise to be home by 10.

  “We have an hour,” I told Laura and off we went. Luckily the cabbie agreed to meet us right on Route 6 in the parking lot of the Superette. The small grocery story was famous for staying open every day for nearly seven decades, even during strong storms like Chantel.

  “If Jason was working on this, how did you get the number? Or don’t I want to know?” I asked as we waited.

  “Probably not.” She looked chagrinned, which told me it was likely from snooping in Jason’s phone.

  A black car with “Cape Cab” in yellow lettering soon pulled up beside us, and out popped a short, bald, gum-chomping man abuzz with energy.

  “Which one of you’s Laura?” he asked.

  “That would be me.” She gave a wave and said, “This is Cassie.”

  He nodded.

  “Thanks for meeting with us, Pat.” She pulled up a photo on her phone and showed it to him. “This is the woman we’re looking for.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Same photo that cop texted me.” Pat continued, “I left a message with Officer Prince but haven’t heard back. You two ladies cops too?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But we’re helping them with this.”

  “So you remember the woman?” Laura asked.

  “Sure do. She was a nun, but no habit or nothin’.”

  “How do you know she was a nun?”

  “She told me. Said she needed to find a convent. Some priest told her she’d find one in Orleans.”

  I frowned. “Where’s the convent in Orleans?”

  “That’s the thing.” Pat threw his hands into the air. “There isn’t one. The last convent on the Cape closed a few years back. I should know. My mother’s cousin was a nun.”

  “So where did you end up taking her?” asked Laura.

  “The Transfiguration Church over in Rock Harbor.”

  “I didn’t know there was a convent there.” I knew the church; it had a dramatic angel sculpture atop the hundred-foot-tall bell tower. But aside from having once attended an organ concert in their sanctuary, I’ve had no association with the church or any of its members.

  “Not really a convent, so to speak, but there’s this group of celibate sisters who live there on the compound. I drive by there all the time.” He waved an arm in the direction of Rock Harbor. “I take a regular to get her hair done every week. You can see the sisters walking the property in their white robes.”

  “Do they have a shelter set up there?” I asked, wondering if the nun had been looking to offer her help elsewhere.

  “I don’t know,” he said, puzzled. “I had another call, so I just dropped her.”

  “Did she seem pleased when you took her there?”

  “I wouldn’t say pleased.” He rubbed his shiny head. “Relieved might be a better word.”

  * * *

  After leaving the Superette, we decided to pay a visit to The Transfiguration Church where Pat had taken Sister Bernadetta.

  “Even if there is a shelter there, it seems strange that she would pack up everything at one church shelter, leave her car there, and hire a cab to take her to another one.”

  “Unless she discovered that the man she was searching for was at this church?” I suggested.

  “That would be too easy.” Laura smiled.

  As it turned out, nothing was going to be easy as concerned finding this Sister. We arrived to find the church locked up tight and nobody answering any of the doors we knocked on.

  “We can try again tomorrow,” I said on the drive home.

  She nodded, then segued to another subject.

  “Did you ever find out why Christopher had that Barnacle Boy article?”

  “It could be as simple as a point of interest to share with his class. Why?”

  “Working on this story with Edgar has brought some weird old feelings to life.”

  “About your brother?” I was referring to the brother she’d lost to a drowning accident as a young child.

  “Only partly.” She lifted a shoulder. “I have this hunger to learn who Barnacle Boy was, where he came from, why nobody ever came looking for him.”

  “It’s your reporter’s instincts shifting into high gear.”

  “Haven’t you been curious? I mean all these years, and nobody knows who he is or where he came from.”

  “Sure, I’m curious. I’m also a little protective of him.” Deep down, I felt I already knew him.

  “Protective? I don’t get that.”

  “I’m not certain I can explain it.” I paused to consider. “It’s just that the mystery has made him a Whale Rock legend.” A Mitchell legend. “Whenever Granny Fi took me to the graveyard to visit the other family members, we always stopped at Barnacle Boy’s gravesite too. Only we never called him that. To us, he was always the lost boy. My Granny would tell me made-up stories about the lost boy and his life.” I knew that no matter what real-life story was uncovered, it would never measure up to the ones she told me.

  Laura was reflective a moment before offering her own perspective.

  “When I was in college, I came across a true crime story from the 1950s, about a little boy whose body had been found in a large cardboard box in Philadelphia. Although he was badly bruised, someone had taken the time to clean the body, trim his nails and cut his hair, and then carefully wrap him in a blanket and fold his arms across his stomach. But the investigation went nowhere. No leads, no clues—nothing. To this day the Boy in a Box mystery remains unsolved.”

  “That is such a tragic story.”

  “No more tragic than Barnacle Boy’s story,” Laura pointed out.

  She’s right, I thought as we pulled up to The Bluffs and got out of the car. When you lived your entire life with a tragedy woven into your own town’s folklore, you must become inured to it. Granny Fi’s stories created a character that had in a way diminished the lost boy’s terribly sad fate.

  “I wrote something about it for one of my creative writing classes. The shadow of sadness still clings to me. Then we came here, and when I first saw Barnacle Boy’s grave in your family’s cemetery? It made me want to solve at least one of the mysteries.” She held my gaze a moment before asking, “Is that crazy?”

  “Not at all.” Certainly no more crazy than the overwhelming burning sugar scent that enveloped me as we walked inside. Laura took Whistler upstairs, and since Daniel wasn’t yet home, I decided to treat myself to some time with Mama’s journal. Before I could, however, I found my laptop open to another email from Zoe. It read: Check out this link. Dr. Zane is a specialist in the field. She might be able to help you.

  I read with interest what Zoe had forwarded, and with even more interest what Mama had written about her pregnancy struggles, all the while accompanied by the sweet encouraging aroma of Percy and Celeste. Okay. I’ll contact Dr. Zane. I’d also send off an email to Brit. Nico, her new Italian lover was a genetic scientist.

  “What are you doing?” Daniel asked from the doorway.

  “Oh!” I jumped. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “You were engrossed.” He nodded to the journal in my lap.

  “It was my mother’s. Zoe sent it to me.” I gently closed it and set it on the desk before shutting down my laptop.

  “It’s late.” He reached out his hand, and the sweet scent followed us up the stairs.

  27

  Cassandra

  “Couldn’t he stay a little longer?” I nestled my face into Whistler’s neck. With the okay given to the Princes to return to their beach cottage, I’d driven Laura and Whistler back to town.

  “You can visit him whenever you like.”

  “It’s not the same.” I released the poor dog from my clutches and stood to
help unload the truck.

  “I know. But at least you still have Gypsy staying with you.” Laura tried to cheer me up.

  “She is a sweet girl once she gets used to you.”

  “I think it’s time for you to get a dog of your own.”

  Growing up, I’d never been allowed to have a pet because Mama was allergic. And my first husband had not been a pet person. Whistler had been my first experience with a dog, and I’d been unprepared for how much he’d meant to me.

  “I’ll help you find one,” Laura said, interrupting my musings. “There are so many shelter dogs who deserve a loving home like you and Daniel could give.”

  “We’ll see.” It was tempting.

  “Can I leave the truck here? I’ve got some errands to run.” With some streets still closed off in places, parking was iffy.

  “You bet. Let’s check in with each other later.”

  “Sounds good.” Laura had more interviews for her article, and I planned to return to the church in Orleans to see if I could track down Sister Bernadetta.

  I gave Whistler one last hug and bid Laura goodbye.

  * * *

  While in town, I decided to pop in to see Brooks. I rounded the corner of the station in time to see Wes Creed exiting and walking in the opposite direction. Hmm?

  “Do I even want to know what he was doing here?” I asked, when I found Brooks in his temporary office-slash-cell.

  Brooks frowned. “Who?”

  “I just saw Wes Creed sauntering out of here like he didn’t have a care in the world.”

  “I was trying to put some pressure on him to admit to an altercation with Savage.”

  “And?”

  “No go.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t Christopher,” I suggested.

  Brooks responded with a noncommittal grunt, keeping his attention on the paperwork littering his small makeshift desk.

  “It looks like they’re making progress on the roof,” I said. “When will the work be completed here?”

  “They say another week.” He looked exhausted and sounded frustrated. “Did Daniel tell you that Matthew Kleister is on his way to Nova Scotia to bring Lucas home?”

  “Miracle of miracles.” I walked to the corner of the cell, leaning against the bars. “I mean that literally.”