by Kathi Daley
“I suppose I can understand that, but what does being fired have to do with the death of Willoby’s wife?”
“There are those who say that Jeremiah killed the woman as an act of revenge.”
I inhaled. “Did he?”
Gertie shrugged. “I really don’t know. What I do know is that a group of men who had wandered onto the dock saw Jeremiah standing over Mrs. Willoby’s body. When they realized that she was dead, they assumed that Jeremiah was the one who had stabbed her. The men wrestled him to the ground, but somehow he managed to get away. After being on the run for a while, he ended up on Gull Island, where he met Gracie’s mother. By the time Jeremiah saved all those folks on the boat, he was living with her, and she had recently given birth to Gracie.”
“Wait. The man who repeatedly risked his life to save a boat full of people he didn’t even know killed the wife of the man who fired him from his job?”
“Like I said, he was accused and eventually convicted of killing the woman. I didn’t say he did it. To be honest, I don’t know if the man was guilty or not.”
“So how did he get caught?”
“There was a photo in the paper after Jeremiah saved all those folks. The cops from up in North Carolina saw it and came to Gull Island to arrest him. They quietly took him away, and I’m not sure many folks from around these parts even knew what had happened. I can’t tell you much about the trial that followed. Gracie probably can, if she’s willing to talk about it. What I do know, from what my mama told me years ago, is that Jeremiah testified during his trial that he had not killed Celeste Willoby but rather had returned to the cannery to pick up some of the belongings he’d left behind and found Mrs. Willoby laying on the dock. He approached her with the intention of trying to help her, but when he bent over her to see if she had a pulse, a group of men who were nearby came across him. Assuming he, a poor man with no more than a dollar to his name, had killed the rich woman, most likely in the act of a robbery, they tried to detain him. It was later discovered that Jeremiah had recently been fired by the woman’s husband, and the motive for the murder was changed from theft to revenge.”
“So what happened to Jeremiah?”
Gertie shook her head. “My mama told me the man died in prison shortly after his conviction.”
“Did your mother believe that Jeremiah was innocent?”
“She did. It seems that Gracie made a very impassioned argument that a man who would risk his life to save a boat full of strangers would not be the sort of man who would take an innocent woman’s life. I never knew Jeremiah, so I can’t say for sure if Gracie’s faith in her father was justified, but she did make a good point, although I am sure there are those who will say that Jeremiah was guilty of the crime he was accused of and, in the end, got what he deserved.”
I stifled a groan. Jack and I were hoping to avoid controversy, but it looked like it was just what we’d uncovered in our very first story.
******
Electronic copies of the Gull Island News are sent out automatically at four a.m. every Wednesday. Those copies make up the majority of our circulation, but we do print a few hundred hard copies, which we distribute to businesses on the island like the grocery store, the library, and the museum, among others. If folks want to hold a real newspaper in their hands, they know they can pick one up at these locations. Jack had hired a part-timer who came in at six a.m. on Wednesday mornings, ran the papers, and then delivered them to their destinations. When I arrived at the office that morning at eight thirty, I found that the man who was supposed to handle the distribution had never shown up.
Running the papers is not a difficult task. Everything had been set up before Jack and I left the office the previous day, so all I had to do was push a button, print the copies, and then make the deliveries to the ten places on the list. Easy-peasy, except for the fact that it was pouring rain. I was half-tempted to call Jack and have him come in to help, but he’d been so in to his writing that I hated to bother him, so I hit the Print button and then started bundling the printed copies for distribution. Deciding to leave a note for Jack should he come in while I was making deliveries, I grabbed a pen and paper, jotted it down, and began loading my car. I realized once I started loading the newspapers that the real trick was going to be getting them from the building to the cargo area of my hatchback before they were soaked by the downpour. I had considered waiting for a bit to see if the storm let up, but according to the long-range forecast, we were in for a lot more rain before it let up.
My first stop was at the market. I realized it would be hard to hold an umbrella and lug the stack of newspapers inside at the same time, so I chose to park as close to the front door as I could and make a run for it. In the end, the bottom of my pants got wet, but I was otherwise unscathed. When I arrived at my second stop, the hardware store, I was going to use the same plan, which would have worked out perfectly again had I not left the shelter of the store as I headed back to my car at the exact moment that a car sped through the parking lot at a speed much too fast for the conditions, hit a pothole, and sent a wall of water streaming toward me. I tried to avoid the deluge, but there really wasn’t anything I could do to prevent the waterfall from cascading over my head.
I suppose that getting totally and completely soaked on the second stop did prevent me from obsessing over each and every little drop of rain that hit me as I continued my route. I was, after all, about as wet as I could get. By the time I arrived at my fifth stop, the museum, I was beginning to shiver.
“Oh my,” Meg said when I dragged my wet self in through her front door. “Whatever happened?”
“Jack is working on his novel, the part-time guy didn’t show up to make deliveries, a man driving too fast hit a pothole…”
Meg walked across the room and took the bundle of newspapers from my hands. “You are soaking wet and I bet half-frozen as well. How about a nice cup of hot tea before you head back out?”
I looked down at my clothing. “Tea sounds nice, but I don’t want to drip all over your floor.”
Meg set the bundle of newspapers on her counter. “Now don’t you worry about that. I’ll boil some water and you take off that wet coat. I have a nice fire going in the gas fireplace we installed a few years ago. It might not be a real wood fire, but it will warm you up. You go on over and I’ll fetch the tea.”
“Thanks, Meg.”
It was nice and warm standing in front of the gas insert that was styled to look as if real logs were giving off the heat, looking out the window toward the usually spectacular view of the sea. Today, the clouds hung low and all you could see were gray skies. Once the chill that had seeped into my bones was relieved a bit, I sat down on a wooden chair with a leather seat pad that I felt wouldn’t be too damaged by my wet jeans.
“Here you go.” Meg handed me a mug. “Nice and hot.”
I wrapped my hand around the mug. “Thanks, Meg. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I hope that I am the last stop on your route.”
I groaned. “No, you are my halfway point. I have five more stops to make. I figure I’ll just take care of them as fast as I can and then head home for a hot shower.”
“That sounds like a good plan as long as you don’t catch a cold before you have the chance to get warmed up.”
I took another sip of my tea and hoped it would be enough to warm up my insides. “I noticed that the stoplights are out in this part of town. Did you lose power?”
Meg shook her head. “We’ve had a few flashes that made it seem as if we would, but so far it has managed to stay on. Before you showed up, I was thinking of heading home. I kind of doubt we’ll have any visitors come by today.”
“If you want to head out, don’t let me keep you.”
Meg sat down across from me. “Actually, I welcome the company. Going home to an empty house doesn’t seem all that appealing.”
“I think George is home today. I bet if you call him, he will invite you over. In fact, I seem to
remember the last time it rained like this, you and George went over to the main house and played cards all day with Garrett and Clara.”
Meg smiled. “We did do that and we did have a wonderful time. Maybe I will call George to see what he is up to today. But first I plan to have a nice visit with you while you warm up.”
I took another sip of the hot drink. “I do appreciate that. I guess I was colder than I realized.” I sat back and enjoyed the coziness of the room.
“By the way,” Meg said after a brief pause, “Jack left me a message yesterday about the human-interest article you want to run about Jeremiah Groverson. I don’t know anything about him off-hand, but I will be happy to do some digging in the museum archives if you would like. I would enjoy having a task to keep me busy. The museum is usually dead during the winter, especially on days like this.”
“Anything you can dig up would be great,” I said. “I spoke to Gertie this morning, and she filled me in on the rest of the story.”
“Rest of the story?” Meg asked.
I shared with her what Gertie had told me about Jeremiah’s arrest and eventual conviction, and her opinion that the man may actually have been wrongly charged and died in prison not long afterward, well before he might have been eligible for parole.
“Wow, that is really sad,” Meg said. She narrowed her gaze and tapped her index finger on her chin. “You know, there is a book in the back that was written in the nineteen fifties. Basically, it’s a collection of short stories relating to the history of the island. It isn’t a complete history by any means, and the information is very much condensed, but they are fairly informative. I wonder if it includes a story about Jeremiah Groverson. A man risking his own life to save a boat full of people seems like the sort of story that would be included.”
“Is the book handy?” I asked. “It might be interesting to find out.”
Meg reached for my mug. “Let me get you a second cup of tea and I’ll have a look. I’m not sure if we will find anything but it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”
Meg brought me more tea and then went into the back room to look for the book. I glanced out the window, hoping to see that the rain had let up, but if anything, it appeared as if it was coming down harder. I really should finish the route, but part of me didn’t want to go back out anytime soon.
“Here we go,” Meg said, sitting down at the table and opening the book. “Let’s see what we can find.”
As it turned out, the book did include a chapter outlining the heroic efforts of Jeremiah Groverson, but like the article we found in the local newspaper, the author hadn’t mentioned a thing about the fact that he had been arrested for murder shortly after his rescue operation took place. The story was heartwarming and poignant, and written with the intention, I was certain, of demonstrating that there were still men and women in the world who would do the right thing despite the risk to themselves.
“That was a really nice article,” I said. “And exactly the sort of thing Jack and I want to publish.”
“I’ll keep digging,” Meg said. “As sad as it is that this man who saved so many lives lost his freedom as a result, I will say that the twist to the story of a local hero is going to make for a more interesting feature.”
“True, although we were hoping to avoid anything that might be considered sensational or controversial in this series. I’m not sure Jack will even want to do the piece once he finds out that Jeremiah died in prison, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk to his daughter before we decide. We have a meeting set up with her tomorrow.” I looked toward the clock. “As much as I have enjoyed sitting here chatting with you, I need to go. Jack told me that George wanted to help us with this project, and he thought you and Garrett might want to join in as well. I’ll talk to Jack and text you later. Maybe if you do head over to the resort, we can all get together to brainstorm a way to fill in some of the blanks if we do decide to run with the story.”
“I’d love to be included,” Meg said.
I stood up and pulled on my jacket. I looked out the window again. It seemed as if the rain might be letting up just a bit. As much as I didn’t want to go back into the storm, I knew that the faster I got the newspapers delivered, the faster I could go home, shower, and put on dry clothes, so I tucked down my head and made a run for it.
Chapter 6
I had just finished delivering my last stack of newspapers when Alex texted to ask if Jack and I would have time to meet him at Rick’s office. Rick had managed to get hold of Nolan Girard’s police report on Gina Portland’s murder. I texted back to let him know that Jack was busy today, but I had time and would head there next. I’d been longing for that hot shower for the past couple of hours, but the truth of the matter was, the rain had slowed and I was beginning to dry out.
“You look like a drowned rat.” Alex chuckled when I walked in through the front door.
“Thank you. That was exactly what I was going for.” I pulled up a chair and sat down. “So what do you have?”
“Rick was just going over the report submitted by Detective Girard, who, you may remember, was the detective assigned to the investigation.”
“And…?” I asked.
“I’m afraid that so far I haven’t come up with any smoking guns,” Rick admitted. “In fact, Girard admitted in his report that, prior to Donald Drummond coming forward with the information about Ryan having visited Gina’s home on the night of her murder, he’d all but determined the case would go unsolved.”
“We know that Drummond was interviewed when Gina’s body was first discovered but had lied about what he saw. Were her other neighbors interviewed?” I asked.
“All the neighbors within line of sight of Gina’s house were,” Rick said. “None admitted to having seen or heard anything.”
“Do you think that is odd?”
Rick answered my question. “Not really. It was late, so most folks were in bed, and it was winter, so most had their windows closed.”
I supposed that much was true. “Were Gina’s parents interviewed?”
Rick nodded. “Girard spoke with them, and they claimed not to know much about what was going on in Gina’s life. It seemed they’d pretty much disowned her after she became pregnant out of wedlock. In fact, the only note Girard made on his interview with the parents was that they’d made it clear that Gina had made some very bad decisions for which she would suffer the consequences of eternal hellfire in the afterlife.”
“Yikes,” I said.
“Yikes is right,” Rick agreed.
“So who, other than Gina’s parents and neighbors, did the investigator speak to?” Alex asked.
“He interviewed several people who worked in the same real estate office as the victim, including Andy Fallon, the man who seemed to have been behind Gina’s bid for custody of her child. At the time of the interviews, none of her coworkers, including Fallon, admitted to having a clue as to who might have killed Gina or why. I read over the statements given by the coworkers. Most didn’t say much at all, with the exception one agent, a woman named Lori Zetterman, who told Girard that Gina had volunteered to help out with a large number of open houses held by agents other than Andy Fallon in the months before her death.”
“As an administrative assistant to a broker, wouldn’t helping out with open houses be part of her job?” I asked.
“Not according to Ms. Zetterman, who said that each agent was responsible for organizing and staffing their own open houses. Gina would only be expected to work Fallon’s, not any of the other agents’ in the office.”
“And did Ms. Zetterman think that Gina helping out with the open houses had anything to do with her murder?” Alex asked.
“Actually, no. She made the statement in connection with another question, but for some reason the fact that she had been pulling extra duty rang a bell with me, so I did some checking. It seems that there was an unusually high correlation between the open houses where Ms. Portland assisted the other agents in the
office and burglaries of those same homes in the weeks after the open houses were held.”
I raised my brows. “So maybe she was doing some recon while she was in the house?”
“Perhaps,” Rick said. “Of course, only a small percentage of the homes in which she was involved later experienced a burglary, but it still seemed like a significant coincidence to me. I plan to go back over the burglary reports to see if I can get some additional insight as to what might have linked all those thefts. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Does anything else stick out as being potentially relevant?” I asked.
“I did notice that no one mentioned Mr. Spalding as a potential suspect until after Drummond brought up the fact that he had seen his car at Ms. Portland’s home, at which point quite a few people, including some of her friends, came forward to make statements about his violent tendencies. If what they said was true, I have to wonder why he wasn’t a suspect earlier in the investigation. In fact, it seems, given the situation, he should have been considered to be a suspect on that basis alone.”
“The detective did speak to him after Gina’s body was found. Maybe he just told a convincing story and as a result of that interview was simply not considered a strong suspect,” Alex said.
“I suppose that could be the case.” Rick shrugged. “I only just received this report shortly before I phoned Alex, so I haven’t had the opportunity to review everything contained in it. I’ll take a closer look as soon as I get the chance, and if anything pops, I’ll let you know.” Rick looked at me. “In the meantime, try to stay out of trouble.”
It irked me that he’d looked at me and not at Alex when giving that directive, but I let it go. I was beginning to wilt and really needed to get home to change into dry clothes. When I arrived at the cabin, Jack was still locked away in his office and poor Kizzy acted like she was desperate to go out. I figured I was wet anyway, so I grabbed my umbrella and took the poor cooped-up puppy out for a walk on the beach. A good run, even if it was in the pouring rain, ought to take care of some of the excess energy she seemed to have built up during the course of the day.