Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 1)

by Linda Watkins

  These thoughts, in addition to his refusal to believe me, fueled my anger and I poured myself another cup of coffee and pulled out my cell. I resisted the urge to heave the phone against the wall and instead clicked on Safari. The browser popped right up and I had to smile. At least one thing was going right … the Internet was back on.

  I took a deep breath and decided to put everything “Jeremy” on hold for a while. Curious about the information Hiram had provided the night before, I quickly Googled “Storm Island and bootlegging” and was gratified to find a fund of information.

  I spent the next hour or so reading about the four crime families who settled here and the workings of their illicit empires. When I finished, I was convinced I was right. The tunnels were the key and one of them led to the silo. Knowing what I had to do next, I pulled out Sloane Bradshaw’s card, which he had secreted in the witch book, and placed it by the phone. I would call him to find out what, if anything, he knew about the silo and the tunnels. Yes, I would prove to Jeremy, and to everyone else who thought I was bonkers, that I was right and that I was sane.

  A Conversation With Sloane

  LATER THAT MORNING, I went for a jog to clear my head. When I returned, I pulled out my tablet and opened the Notes app. Then I dialed Sloane Bradshaw.

  He answered on the first ring, as if expecting my call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mr. Bradshaw, it’s Katy … Kate Pomeroy. I met you last week with your nephew, Jeremy.”

  “Ah, yes,” he replied. “Katy. I’ve been expecting your call. You read the books?”

  “Yes, I did; well, the first one at least. Very interesting and disturbing history for such a small island. And, I know about the bootlegging, too. And the tunnels.”

  “My, my, you have been a busy young lady. But let’s forget about the tunnels for now. Let’s talk about the witches and, in particular, Maude Prichard. Tell me what you’ve found out about her.”

  I hesitated, wondering where he was going with this. “Only what it says in the book. There’s no mention of her anywhere on the Internet. She simply disappeared. Probably went back to the mainland and blended in with the rest of the population.”

  “Yes, you’re right about that, but let’s suppose something. Let’s assume that she did escape and made her way back to the mainland. How do you think she did it?”

  I leaned back, thinking. “She, and her group, were ‘fire.’ They settled here on the south end of the island … the site Stormview sits on today. Right?”

  “Yes, that is correct. Go on.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. I was going out on a limb here. “Before I answer, let’s clear something up. You lied when you said you knew nothing about the stone silo, didn’t you?”

  He was silent for a moment, then he chuckled. “Yes, I did. Now answer my question. How did Maude Prichard get off the island?”

  I ignored him. “She built the little stone silo, didn’t she?”

  “Again, yes,” he answered, getting impatient. “And, why do you think she built it?”

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember everything I’d read in the book and then thought about the silo. Suddenly, it came to me.

  “It was meant to be like a modern-day panic room,” I blurted out excitedly. “A place to go and hide when the Puritans came. And, she could mask it somehow … camouflage it so no one could find it.”

  Sloane laughed. “I knew you were a smart cookie. Much too smart for my nephew, I’m afraid. Yes, you’re right, it served the purpose of a panic room and she could cloak it … like the Klingons hid their spaceships in Star Trek. Only difference was she used magic, not technology, to make it invisible to everyone except those who were her kin. But what do you think happened after she went inside to hide. How did she get off the island?”

  “I don’t know … unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless she built a tunnel … she had to have a tunnel to enter it. There’s no door. Am I right?”

  “Yes, but keep going. Where was the tunnel’s entrance?”

  “It would have to be at the sea … somewhere she could hide a boat. Waiting for her.”

  He laughed. “Bingo! Yes, that is what I assume happened. And, when she got to the mainland, she, like you said, blended in with the general population, hiding her Wiccan roots.”

  “Okay. So, why is this important?”

  “My child, what happened to her is of paramount importance. Assume with me again that after she assimilated, she married and had a daughter and her daughter married and had a daughter, and so on and so on, until about fifty-five years ago when the daughter was named Cassandra Jones, who married Ham Pomeroy and had a daughter. A daughter named Kate.”

  I sat up straight in my chair, stunned. He was telling me I was a direct descendant of Maude Prichard, the head witch of Storm Island!

  “You still there, Kate?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

  “Yes, I’m here, but how do you know this?”

  “You’ve seen the stone silo, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, you took Jeremy to see it, didn’t you? But when he was with you, you couldn’t find it. Am I correct?”

  “Again, yes.”

  “And, what did I just tell you about the silo … what did she do to it?”

  “You said she cloaked it so only her kin could see.”

  “Yes, and you saw the building as did your mother before you. Jeremy couldn’t see it and neither could I when you mother tried to show it to me. Hence the conclusion, you and your mother are Maude Prichard’s kin … her direct descendants and, as of today, you are the last of her line.”

  I sat silent, trying to absorb what he was saying. Finally, I spoke.

  “Okay, say you’re right and I am related to this woman. What does it mean? And what, if anything did it have to do with my mother’s death?”

  “It had everything to do with your mother’s death. If we hadn’t investigated … meddled in things we shouldn’t … then she’d still be alive. Kate, I think we should talk in person. I’ll drive down your way tomorrow. Can you meet me for lunch?”

  “Yes, I can get a water taxi over. Where?”

  “Do you know Alioto’s on the water?”

  “Sure, everyone knows that place.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there at noon. And, in the meantime, write down all that’s occurred related to that stone house. I need to know everything. And, one more thing – read the second book. It may explain a lot.”

  I hung up, flabbergasted. What did it all mean? I quickly made some notes, then put my tablet away and checked the time. I had to meet with Aunt Hettie in an hour for our weekly psych session.

  I got up and went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I was still sweaty and smelly from my jog. A quick shower was in order and, if I was to be on time for Hettie, I knew I’d better get to it.

  Hettie Offers Some Advice

  HETTIE AND I had our usual session at one p.m. I recounted dreams, some real and some imaginary, and she analyzed. I also told her about my plan to leave surgical residency training, stay on Storm, and become a country doctor. She greeted this revelation without comment.

  Toward the end of the hour, she rose from her chair and walked to the window. Her office was on the second floor of the house and had a commanding view of the ocean.

  “Are we done?” I asked.

  She turned and smiled at me. “Yes, I think we are. You seem to be fine and I don’t see any reason to continue this charade. However, I do have some advice more from the perspective of a family member than a therapist.”

  I sat up, curious. “Go on.”

  “Your plan to bring medicine to the island is a noble one and I applaud it. However, I worry that it’s not based on altruism, but, rather, on continuing your relationship with the Bradshaw boy. Am I correct?”

  She had me there. Jeremy was one of the reasons I wanted to stay.
<
br />   “In some part, yes, that is right. I do want to stay with him.”

  She sighed. “Then I’m afraid you may be setting yourself up for a disappointment. Jeremy is … oh, how shall I say this … he’s a bit of a lothario.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sat down facing me and took my hands in hers.

  “Last summer, I had a guest here … a fashion model from New York.”

  “Yes, I know. Jeremy told me about her.”

  “Really? But did he tell you everything?”

  She didn’t wait for me to answer, but continued speaking.

  “She was a nice girl, not at all affected by her fame and fortune, and she fell for Jeremy like a ton of bricks. They were together all summer and, in August, when it was time for her to leave, he promised he would keep in touch. You know, he’d visit her, she’d visit him. Well, that never happened. She called him several times, but he always had an excuse. Finally, he told her, basically, to get over it, that it had been just a summer romance … a fling … and that it was time to move on.”

  “So,” I countered. “It didn’t work out. Just because it didn’t work for them doesn’t mean the same will happen to me.”

  “Sweetheart, I told you that story as an illustration. It’s just one of many. Jeremy’s had a different girl almost every summer for the past ten years. He calls them his ‘summer girls.’ And you, my dear, are this year’s model.”

  I stood, pulling my hands from hers. “I don’t believe it. We have something special. I know it.”

  Again, she sighed. “If that’s what you believe, then fine. I’m only warning you because I don’t want you to get hurt. No matter what you think, your psyche is still very fragile and I’m afraid a rejection at this point could send you over the edge.”

  Angry, I gathered up my backpack and sweater and faced her. “Thank you for trying to protect me, but I’m a big girl and I’m the best one to know what’s right for me or not.”

  “Okay,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t get yourself all bent out of shape. I was just trying to help.”

  She looked so sincere, I softened. “I know, Aunt Hettie. But the only one who can run my life is me. Okay?”

  “Fine. Why don’t you stop by for dinner tonight? Not a command performance, just shrimp on the barbie.”

  “That sounds good. Seven?”

  She nodded, then linked her arm in mine and we walked down the stairs to the door. She air-kissed my cheeks, then stood in the doorway as I walked away on the path back to the carriage house.

  When I arrived home, I checked the answering machine. There were no messages. Jeremy had said he’d call, but it was already going on three. If he’d gone out fishing in the morning, odds were pretty good he’d be back in by now. Maybe he was still enjoying his “space.”

  I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down, checking my email. I was due at Stormview for dinner at seven and I was damned if I was going to sit and wait for the phone to ring. So, I decided to take a walk down on the beach until it was time to get ready for dinner.

  As I strolled, I thought about what Hettie had said. Jeremy was apparently the local lover boy … a new girl every summer. And I was his current conquest. Just the thought of that made me angry. I’d opened myself to him, told him things I’d never told anyone before … placed my trust in him. Could my judgement be that poor? No, Hettie had to be wrong. She just had to be. But then there was the fact that he didn’t believe me about the silo or being drugged – was he already getting ready to dump me and move on to another girl? I hated the thought of that, but had to admit it was a real possibility. Maybe my judgement about men was lacking.

  Not wanting to dwell on these negative thoughts, I once again put “Jeremy” aside, and turned my mind to the phone conversation with Sloane and our planned meeting the next day. The one fallacy in his argument regarding Maude Prichard’s lineage was the fact that someone other than me was entering that building, lighting the oil lamp, and writing in the journal. But I hadn’t told Sloane about those things. All I’d told him was that I’d found the silo, not what was in it.

  I picked up a flat rock and skipped it across the water. Sloane had asked me to read the second book, The Genealogy of New England’s Witches, and I thought, maybe, there was something in it that could help clear up the mystery of who, besides me, had access to the silo. I decided I’d start it when I got home from Stormview that evening.

  In addition, I knew I would I tell Sloane everything tomorrow. Maybe, being brutally honest was the only way I could ferret out the truth.

  I got back to the carriage house a little after six. The answering machine was still silent. I stared at it for a moment, as if trying to will the little red light to blink, but it remained dark.

  Sighing, I grabbed a quick shower, washed my hair, and threw on clean slacks and a sweatshirt. Then, with one last look at the phone, I left the carriage house, closing the door firmly behind me.

  The evening at Stormview was pleasant and I found myself wondering if Jeremy wasn’t right … there was no reason for any of these people to want to harm me.

  Raoul was in his element as master of the grill, enticing us with an array of shrimp, scallops, and fresh tuna steaks. Tossing in a Caesar salad, the result was the perfect meal … light, tasty, and elegant.

  I left a little after nine and, when I got home, was gratified to see that red light was finally blinking. I checked the caller ID. It was Jeremy.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I listened as I poured myself a glass of wine.

  “Hey Katy,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “I’ve had a bitch of a day. Went out beyond the bar and ran into engine trouble. Seas were rough and I finally had to be towed. Just got back from the boatyard and I’m exhausted. Going straight to bed. I’ll probably be tied up the next couple of days finding parts and getting the damned thing fixed. I’ll call you.”

  And that was it. I listened again. Was he telling the truth, or was this the beginning of a breakup … a way to let me down easy?

  I sipped my wine, thinking about my conversation with Hettie. Maybe she was right.

  Finally, I again pushed “Jeremy” to the back of my mind and sat down on the sofa. I leaned back, tucking my legs up under me, picked up a book, and opened to page one of The Genealogy of New England’s Witches.

  Lunch At Alioto’s

  THE NEXT DAY, I took a water taxi to the mainland at eleven. It was a short walk from where they dropped me to Alioto’s Restaurant and I relished the chance to get some exercise.

  When I arrived, the maître d’ escorted me to a table overlooking the busy harbor. Sloane was waiting for me and stood as I approached.

  “Katy,” he said, smiling. “So good to see you again.”

  I smiled back as I shrugged off my backpack and placed it on an empty chair.

  “Good to see you, too, Sloane. And, thank you for meeting me.”

  “The pleasure’s mine. I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of chilled Pinot Gris. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  We took some time looking over the menu and ordering, then, as we sipped our wine, Sloane got down to business.

  “All right, Katy. It’s time for you to fess up. I know you’re keeping things back and, in a way, I don’t blame you. But if we’re to find any answers, we both have to be straight with one another. So, tell me everything you know about the little stone building.”

  “On one condition,” I replied. “Afterward, you tell me everything about my mother and your relationship with her.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully, then refilled my glass and his.

  “Agreed,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said. “It started the evening I arrived here…”

  I described to him all my experiences at, or near, the stone silo, including information about the notebook and the Poem for Summer. In addition, I told him about my mother’s missing journal and my memories of the day she
died.

  Halfway through my recitation, our food arrived and we continued to talk as we ate. Finally, it was all out there and I felt drained.

  “And that’s it,” I said. “That’s everything I know. Now, it’s your turn. Tell me about my mother.”

  Sloane sighed. “I think I could use a cup of coffee. You?”

  I nodded.

  He signaled to the waitress and ordered coffee for two, then waited while the busboy cleared our plates from the table.

  The coffee arrived and, after taking a sip, Sloane began.

  “I knew your mother slightly from the time she started coming to Storm. We were both artsy types and, I guess, it was natural that we gravitated toward each other. I was married when I first met her, but, unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Marion and I got divorced and I became a bit of a recluse, hiding away in my shop, working.

  “Cassie would often stop by to see what I was doing. I didn’t know much about the Storm Island witches in those early years. Oh, of course, there were tales … mostly meant to frighten kids from searching out the tunnels and getting killed … but I never gave them much thought.

  “It wasn’t until that last year, the year she died, that I took more than a cursory interest in the island’s history. The winter before was a bad one and a friend gave me that book … the first one I passed on to you … thinking that I might enjoy a little light reading. Well, it sparked my curiosity and I began to do research on that period and, most importantly, on Maude Prichard.”

  “But what could you find?” I interjected. “She disappeared, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but no one disappears without a trace. There’s always something … and, I believe, Maude knew that and ultimately wanted to be found. She left subtle clues behind for an astute researcher to find and, I guess, I was that guy.”